This is the 54th Thanksgiving we have spent in the house we built when Bill and I were teaching high school English. Our house has always been the Thanksgiving place. We have enjoyed gatherings of 40 and more from both sides of our family. Bill’s parents and my parents have been a part of this gathering along with my sister and her family and Bill’s siblings and their children.
As the older generation has left our family circle, their spirits have not. They all continued to be a part of our celebration of gratitude, as we retold to each new generation the stories each of the patriarchs and matriarchs made famous.
Always a part of Thanksgiving, too, has been single parents and their children, our kids’ college friends who could not go home for the short holiday because they were from other countries or states too far away, and friends who no longer had family in the area. The families of our grown children’s spouses have been a delightful part of our celebration, as well. So lots of cousins, friends, grandkids, and drop-in guests have formed teams for driveway basketball, music bands, and groups for harmonizing. Fortunately, we always had guitarists, bass players, drummers and keyboardists in our circle who shared a repertoire of pop songs, gospel tunes, and 80s rock classics.
The center of our Thanksgiving, however, has always been the sharing of the Indian corn. The youngest child had the honor of passing a little turkey-shaped basket filled with kernels of Indian corn to everyone gathered around our farm kitchen. Then I am usually the one to tell the story of the 102 passengers and 30 crew who set sail for a 66 day trip across the rough Atlantic in a ship called the Mayflower. That first winter took almost half of their lives as provisions dwindled and disease took its toll.
It was friendly native Americans who, come spring, taught the remnant of survivors to plant crops that would grow in the new land: corn, beans, squash and herbs. About 40 of these first “pilgrims” were separatists who were seeking freedom to worship away from the state-run religions. Others of the group were secularists who came for adventure, prosperity, or a fresh start in a new land. That first harvest and the game and fish from the new land became the first day of feasting, games, and music in gratitude for not only the harvest, but life itself.
Often, we read aloud the poem by Felicia Doretha Hemans “The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.” As the little basket is passed again, each person drops a kernel of corn into it, and he or she tells what they are most thankful for since we were gathered in this circle last year. Every year for 54 years the year has brought joy, pain, breakthroughs, some losses, and many years a new baby. The privilege of expressing to each other our gratitude for someone’s kindness, someone’s support, someone’s encouragement, someone’s forgiveness is an unforgettable moment.
This simple tradition makes us all so glad to be alive, to be together, and to be so blessed by the delicious spread on our kitchen island, groaning with the everyone’s special contribution to the feast.
This year this traditional celebration will not happen for our family and for many other families across this great land. Because of the Covid-19 pandemic, Bill and I wrote a letter to our loved ones, telling them that we won’t be gathering in this great old house this year. We sent a big puzzle to each family, looking forward to a time when we can once again spread the puzzle pieces across our cleared dining room table and make together a grand scene that can never be complete without each person’s pieces.
But not being able to carve a turkey together cannot keep us from being grateful. It cannot cancel the memories we’ve shared or the music we’ve made, or the crafts we’ve created together after dinner is cleared away. It cannot silence the voices of our elders who have put so much into our family DNA, nor cancel the greater impact of their teaching, prayers, and life-skills they’ve built into us all by example, humor, and hard work.
I look at the history of our country and the years since that first Thanksgiving, and have to admit that, like most big families, our nation has made some mistakes and have at times hurt each other and been anything but Christ-like to each other. But even so, I know how to say “thank you,” as our daughter Suzanne and her husband Barry wrote in their song. And one thing for which I am most thankful is that our loving Lord deals with us all not just with justice but with mercy and grace. May all families grant these holy gifts to each other.
