Two Thanksgiving Homilies

Two Thanksgiving homilies, from our combined Thanksgiving service with First Universalist Society of Hartland;
Rev. Paul Sawyer preaches on the poem "Thanks" by W.S. Merwin;
Rev. Amy Davin preaches on 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11; November 19th, 2023.

Thanks

by W.S. Merwin

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
standing by the windows looking out
in our directions
back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you
over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you
with the animals dying around us
taking our feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
thank you we are saying and waving
dark though it is

(transcript for Rev. Paul Sawyer’s homily is unavailable)

***

1 Thessalonians 5:1-11

Now concerning the times and the seasons, brothers and sisters, you do not need to have anything written to you. For you yourselves know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. When they say, ‘There is peace and security’, then sudden destruction will come upon them, as labour pains come upon a pregnant woman, and there will be no escape! But you, beloved, are not in darkness, for that day to surprise you like a thief; for you are all children of light and children of the day; we are not of the night or of darkness. So then, let us not fall asleep as others do, but let us keep awake and be sober; for those who sleep sleep at night, and those who are drunk get drunk at night. But since we belong to the day, let us be sober, and put on the breastplate of faith and love, and for a helmet the hope of salvation. For God has destined us not for wrath but for obtaining salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us, so that whether we are awake or asleep we may live with him. Therefore encourage one another and build up each other, as indeed you are doing.

Remember a few years ago, when our economy was supposedly booming? I’d get a little notification from the New York Times at the beginning of every month that would declare our economy rose by such and such percentage. And at the beginning of every month, I would get so angry. (Why I never turned the notifications off is anyone’s guess). But the reason I’d get angry is because I would see these articles about our booming economy and I’d walk outside, this is when I lived in Philly, and I’d see the unhoused on every corner. I’d see the segregation of different streets, the stark differences in the upkeep of houses. That incredible economy I kept reading about certainly didn’t make itself known in my neighborhood. And then, despite these great stock market numbers, there would be article after article about a new gilded age, about the growing wealth disparities, and it all just struck me so ridiculous, that we could declare our economy booming while it was only booming for the absolute richest people. And in fact, as I was finishing up this sermon yesterday afternoon, a notification for a brand new New York Times article popped up on my phone that began, “Look at the economic data and you’d think that young voters would be riding high right now. Unemployment remains low. Job opportunities are plentiful. Inequality is down…and the economy has expanded rapidly this year.”  The article goes on to say that despite all these great numbers, young people are full of despair about the ever-growing cost of living, the never-ending student debt, the list goes on. It’s bleak in a way the numbers just don’t reflect.

In the passage that I just read, when Paul writes, “When they say, ‘There is peace and security…’”, it’s a little cryptic as to what he’s referring to here, but we can probably assume the ‘they’ are the Romans, in power at the time. As we’ve talked about here over the past few weeks, First Thessalonians is the earliest book of the New Testament, which means it was written during the Pax Romana—those 200 or so years of peace of the Roman Empire. But like our booming economy pre-Covid, or our “growing” economy now, is it really “peace” if people are being censored and oppressed? Is society really “secure” when there are starving and homeless people at the bottom of the socioeconomic food chain?

Now, there’s an apocalyptic edge here, to Paul’s letter, since at this time, they did think Jesus would return sooner than later, and those who claim peace and security would soon realize that that peace and security was deeply false. And so then, there’s this language of destruction and this cosmic war of dark vs. light, and it’s a lot, I know. But believe it or not, this passage, like all of First Thessalonians, is a passage of encouragement and reassurance. Analyzing some of these letters of Paul’s can be tough because we only have one side, we don’t know exactly what the Thessalonians wrote to him that prompted his response. But we can guess they were anxious. We can guess they were nervous. We can guess they wanted to make sure they were doing everything right—after all, these were the earliest days of Christianity, they were still figuring things out. We can make this assumption because of the way this passage starts—“…concerning the times and the seasons…you do not need to have anything written to you.” That’s Paul saying “I don’t need to repeat myself, you guys already know what’s what.” And despite this angry language about destruction, Paul’s much more concerned with lifting up his new friends than putting anyone else down, “…you all are children of the light, and children of the day…” and “…since we belong to the day, let us…put on the breastplate of faith and love, and the helmet of the hope of salvation.” In other words— “you guys are doing great, just keeping doing what you’re doing! You’re full of faith and hope and love, and so you are all good.”

It's fitting, I think, that this passage has this intense, apocalyptic and destructive language that sort of overshadows the overall message of hope; it’s fitting that we have to kind of dig for the good in this passage. It’s fitting, I think, because it’s tough to be full of gratitude, to be thankful, to find the good in the world we’re living in right now. It’s fitting because no matter what we can come up with to say that we’re thankful for around the table on Thursday, there’s that overwhelming feeling of darkness here and abroad—to quote the poem Paul (this Paul) chose, “thanks we are saying and waving / dark though it is.”

So apparently, a better translation of verse 8, where it’s written “put on the breastplate and the helmet” would more of a reminder that they’re already wearing the breastplate and the helmet of faith, hope, and love— these things were gifted to them by God, things they are already equipped. They have been gifted this armor to get them through these difficult times. They will indeed struggle and suffer against those in power, those who believe in this false sense of peace and security, but they are protected.

In my last sermon here, I noted that if we read between the lines, there’s a real sense of anxiety that Paul is responding to here throughout this letter. There’s a real sense of “are we doing this right,” “are we gonna get hurt” “how can we prepare for what’s coming,” but Paul is less concerned about the specifics of what’s coming, about when or where or how this second coming will occur, and rather much more concerned about how his friends the Thessalonians will continue to cope with the here and now. He’s much more concerned that they remain strong and steadfast in faith, hope, and love than concern themselves with things they can’t possibly know or understand.

It's easy to look at the world right now and despair, to be full of anxiety, to wonder what we’re doing wrong, how can we fix this? And I don’t have an answer for you, I never really do to be honest. But I know we can take heart that we have been gifted the gifts of love, hope, and faith. We have been gifted the gift of grace, that unconditional love and protection. These gifts won’t make us infallible. These gifts won’t stop us from feeling all the scary and totally valid feelings about the state of the world right now. But we can have faith that we’re on the right side of things, that we know things are broken; we can take heart in the fact that we are not fooled by numbers and rising stocks, that we know these things do not equal equality—and we can take heart that and we’re going to mend that brokenness, thanks to hope, faith, and love—that we are going to mend that brokenness, together. And isn’t that something to be thankful for? Amen.