“A THEOLOGY OF GRATITUDE”
A Sermon by the Rev. Bruce Clear
Sunday,
All
Every November, as Thanksgiving Day approaches, I find myself saying to someone, somewhere, that I think Thanksgiving is – or ought to be – a profound religious holiday for Unitarian Universalists. The whole myth is drenched in values we celebrate. The quest for religious freedom, the embrace of community, and at the mythical dinner table, the honoring of diversity in welcoming those who are different, and the expression of gratitude for surviving hardship and for the bounty of harvest, and all other blessings of life. The fact that the Pilgrims (who should not be confused with the Puritans who came later) established a church that was eventually to become Unitarian only adds to the aptness of the story.
Yes, I know, it didn’t happen exactly the way the children’s school books usually present it. And yes, I know, that eventually other immigrants would come not only to establish a tyrannical religious government, but also tear the native population from their homeland and practice genocide against them.
I know all that, of course. But in any religious story, the myth carries more truth than real facts do, for it is the myth that we live with and that shapes our vision. The Thanksgiving myth shapes a vision of celebrating with others of diverse backgrounds, welcoming the opportunity to learn from other cultures, and appreciating nature’s bounty. Oh, yes, and eating, which is another of the Unitarian Universalist values exhibited through the Thanksgiving story.
Each year in November I think about this, and I wonder why no one else seems to recognize it. And then in the last issue of the Unitarian Universalist “World” magazine, I saw a article by the Rev. Galen Guengerich proposing, in its subtitle, that “gratitude should be the center of Unitarian Universalist theology.” The article did not mention the Pilgrims, but I think they might second that motion.
For most of us, myself included, gratitude is probably not the first thing that would come to mind if we were asked to define Unitarian Universalist theology. And yet I think a persuasive case can be made that if it is not the center of our tradition – and I don’t think it is the center – it is at least a vital part of who we are, and our religious values could not survive long without it.
Look for a moment at religion itself. I’ve said before that I have yet to find a definition of religion that seems to me to be wholly adequate. Yet one of the best I’ve found comes from the nineteenth century philosopher Immanuel Kant. “Two things,” he said, “fill the mind with ever new and increasing wonder and awe – the starry heavens above, and the moral law within.”
These, of course, are metaphors. The “starry heavens above” refers to the beauty and grandeur and mysteriousness of nature, or that which is greater than us. That which transcends us. The “moral law within” refers to human conscience, sense of compassion, and sense of justice. Are these not, after all, the pillars of our human religious sense, regardless of creed? Is this not what all world religions have in common, so that all can be identified as ‘religion?’
All religions have their version of standing “in awe” under the “starry heavens,” whether the “starry heavens” is a metaphor for God, or Allah, or Yahweh, or Krishna, or simply the majesty and mystery of the universe, or as in Buddhism or Taoism, or that which is so great that it cannot be named. But in every case, whether naturalistic or super-naturalistic, the sense of awe elicits a sense of gratitude. One cannot stand in awe without appreciating the very experience of awe.
All religions have their version of the “moral law within,” the development of conscience, a sense of duty to others, a sense also of compassion for those who suffer, and a contempt for injustice. Gratitude plays a role in the moral sense as well. We are grateful for the efforts of all who try to help others in need and make the world a better place. Those who labor to make the world more just are affirming of life itself. When we witness an act of justice or simple kindness, we want to say “thank you.”
In some ways, gratitude is simply a way of affirming what we perceive as good in our world. It is saying, “I find value” in that for which we are grateful. To explore the traditions of Unitarianism and Universalism is to discover a long tradition of such affirmation, of gratitude. When we say in our statement of principles that we honor “the inherent worth and dignity of every person,” aren’t we affirming the value of each person, being grateful for the value they bring into the world?
Our principles affirm words like justice, equity, compassion, peace, liberty, and even the democratic process. Aren’t these all concept that evoke from us a feeling of gratitude when we experience them? After listing the principles of Unitarian Universalism, the UUA Statement continues by acknowledging what it recognizes as the “sources” of our principles. With each “source,” we can feel gratitude. According to this list, our principles derive from the following:
Ř “Direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder [that] renew[s]. . . our spirit.” Thank you mystery and wonder for renewing us!
Ř “Words and deeds of prophetic women and men.” Thank you for those words and deeds!
Ř “Wisdom from the world’s religions which inspires us.” Thank you wisdom for your inspiration!
Ř “Jewish and Christian teachings, humanist teachings, spiritual teachings of Earth-centered traditions,” that speak of love, reason, and harmony in life. Thank you traditions for the wisdom we inherit!
In that same statement, this list of principles and sources of our religious principles is followed with this comment: “Grateful [there’s that gratitude idea again] for the religious pluralism which enriches and ennobles our faith, we are inspired to deepen our understanding and expand our vision.”
Gratitude can
be a very basic human experience. One
need not look far to find objects for appreciation. Centuries ago,
“People go abroad to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering.
“[Now let us] acknowledge the wonder of our physical incarnation – that we are here, in these particular bodies, at this particular time, in these particular circumstances. May we never take for granted the gift of our individuality.”
Socrates lived a simple life, and a very frugal one. He was not impressed with wealth or possessions. When his students noticed that he seemed to love to walk through the city market, he told them that he loved to look at goods in the market, “and see all the things I am happy without.’
It seems to me that gratitude is a human response that can be trained, as well. Walt Whitman’s poem on “Miracles,” which I used earlier as a reading, shows how this can happen. He cites many ordinary experiences – watching a bee fly around a hive, watching the sunset, sitting at the dinner table with strangers – all ordinary life experiences can be transformed into some sense of miracle if we choose to do so. “Miracle” may be too strong a word for many of us, but surely for those experiences which we can stand in awe to understand we can also bestow appreciation. Gratitude.
I know a successful person who is uneasy whenever someone says to her, “you should be proud” of something. She has raised wonderful children, but she doesn’t feel right saying “I’m proud of my children.” After all, she says, if she takes responsibility for them turning out well, it would justify her taking blame if they didn’t, and she doesn’t want that. She has accomplished a great deal in her profession, but is unwilling to claim she is “proud” of the work she’s done because so many others contributed to make it successful.
I don’t wholly agree with her position on this, but I can say that she surely has room for “gratitude.” She must be grateful for how her children turned out, and she must be grateful that her work has been so successful. And surely she can be grateful for her contribution to the successes of her children and her work. In a way, gratitude can be a form of pride, only with a heavy dose of humility.
In fact, gratitude may be an effective antidote to excessive pride, because gratitude recognizes the value of persons and things outside of ourselves. Being grateful for someone or something else places value on things outside of our own ego. But it acknowledges our own need for affirmation.
Two weeks ago, I spoke on the recent cultural phenomenon that has come to be called “The Secret.” In doing so, I mentioned that I agreed with their view that “gratitude” is the most basic element of nurturing a positive attitude toward all the rest of life. Too many of us focus our minds on what we don’t have, or what is missing in our lives. In order to develop a positive orientation toward life, it is essential first to appreciate the many gifts we already have. Those who are able to begin with a sense of gratitude find it much easier to embrace life.
The ancient writer Cicero once said that, “gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, it is the parent of all the others.” It is the parent of all virtues, perhaps, because life, after all, is a gift – the primal gift. None of us earned the privilege of being alive. Once we accept and appreciate that gift, we are better able to affirm and appreciate those experiences in life that enhance and protect that gift.
It is also the parent of all virtues, perhaps, because virtue expresses our wish to contribute to a better world. The great psychologist and philosopher William James went so far as to say, “The deepest craving of human nature is the need to be appreciated.” Gratitude may be the parent of all virtues because we see its value in our own need to be appreciated.
It would be a mistake to think that this affirmation of gratitude is a denial of the fact that life can be filled with pain. It is, rather, accepting the pain and seeing beyond it. Elie Weisel, the Holocaust survivor who has written extensively on life’s pain said that “Gratitude emerges from the kingdom of the night.”
We can be grateful out of both pain and joy. The sources for gratitude are always with us. And whenever we experience it, we affirm our life in relation with something else. When we are grateful for that beautiful sunset, we affirm our relationship to it. When we are grateful for the person who lets us change lanes in front of them, we affirm the people who are courteous. When we are grateful for the great composers who give us music to enjoy, we affirm the place of music in our lives. When we are grateful for people who greeted us this today with a sincere “Good Morning, we affirm the warmth that people give to others.
The list is literally endless, but in every case, gratitude illustrates our relationship to something human or non=human outside of ourselves. Gratitude is impossible in isolation, without affirming relationships.
And this is the place at which gratitude crosses the path of religion. Religion is our way of finding personal meaning in how we relate to other people and to the world around us. In his article, Guengerich says it this way, with which I’ll close:
“You may recall that the word “religion” does not mean to liberate or set free, but rather to bind together. Religion unites the purpose of our lives as human beings with the purpose that animates the universe. Religion unites the meaning of our lives as human beings with the meaning that pervades the universe. Religion unites the spirit of humanity with the spirit that keeps the stars shining, the planets spinning, and the flowers blooming in springtime. I believe that gratitude is the appropriate religious response to the nature of the universe.”
The Pilgrims may have had other motives when they sat down with Native Americans to break bread and give thanks together. But it seems to me, intentionally or not, they showed us what religion should be about.
So thank you. All of you. I appreciate and am grateful for you. I hope we can all think of those things for which we are grateful, and return to them often in our minds. It’s therapeutic. It’s refreshing. And it’s a religious experience.
READING from Oscar Hammerstein:
“I am a man who believes he is happy. Why do I believe I am happy?
“Death has deprived me of many whom I loved. Dismal failure has followed many of my most earnest efforts. People have disappointed me. I have disappointed them. I have disappointed myself.
“Further than this, I am aware that I live under a cloud of international hysteria. The cloud could burst, and a rain of atom bombs could destroy millions of lives, including my own. From all this evidence, could I not build up a strong case to prove why I am not happy at all? I could, but it would be a false picture, as false as if I were to describe a tree only as it looks in winter. I would be leaving out a list of people I love, who have not died. I would be leaving out an acknowledgement of the many successes that have sprouted among many failures. I would be leaving out the blessing of good health, the joy of walking in the sunshine. I would be leaving out my faith that the goodness of humanity will triumph eventually over the evil that causes war. The conflict of good and bad merges in thick entanglement. You cannot isolate virtue and beauty and success and laughter and keep them from all contact with wickedness and ugliness and failure and weeping.
“I don’t
believe anyone can enjoy living in this world unless he can accept its
imperfection. He must know and admit
that he is imperfect, that all other mortals are imperfect, and go on his own
imperfect way, making mistake and riding out the rough and bewildering,
exciting and beautiful storm of life until the day he dies.”
READING: “MIRACLES” by Walt Whitman
Why, who makes much of a miracle?As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,Or stand under trees in the woods,Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love,Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,Or animals feeding in the fields,Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.To me the sea is a continual miracle,The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships with men in them,What stranger miracles are there