One winter some years ago, I was working a few days a week out of town in Radford and Ferrum, and on many of those days I would finish up and head for Blacksburg, where my sister and her family lived, and spend a night or two with them. This particular night was my birthday, and we were planning to celebrate it at her house. When I arrived, I found out that my parents had come down to surprise me. My sister had prepared what we might call an eclectic meal that included sushi because I liked it and tacos because Dad liked them, and I can’t remember quite what else. My nephew Peter was still very small, just learning to express himself in words that we could understand, and when I arrived, I could tell my sister had been coaching him on what to say.
“Your auntie’s here! Remember, it’s a special day – now, what do you want to tell her? Do you remember?” And Peter was so excited, trying very hard to remember the right words, and my sister was trying to prompt him. “Happy…happy…” and finally Peter burst out,
“WE HAVE CAKE!!!”
Cake is still an important part of my nephew’s life. He turns 16 years old tomorrow. His favorite, red velvet, is on the family menu this week along with pumpkin pie, cranberry salad, turkey, stuffing, and all of the other Thanksgiving dishes.
That years-ago birthday feast of sushi, tacos, cake, a surprise visit from our parents (and Peter’s excitement about cake) was all about abundance – not just an abundance of food, but also and abundance of gratitude and of love. Sharing meals together, breaking bread together, is the tradition and the way of celebrating – and the sacrament – that we go to when we give thanks for God’s blessings. These are times when we respond to God’s abundance by practicing abundance.
We do this every Sunday when we set aside time for Eucharist – a Greek word which actually translates as “thanksgiving,” when we set the altar with silver and fine linens and beautiful flowers and invite everyone to the table. And we practice abundance on this day every year, planning and cooking and baking and sharing a meal with family and loved ones, making dishes and following traditions with their own stories and histories, food and traditions that define us as families just as the sacrament of communion defines us as Christians. In sharing the table, we share ourselves.
But abundance, at least earthly abundance, does not look the same for all of us. Where today’s psalm, for instance, invites us to give thanks, to know the generosity of God, today’s epistle reading, from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, reminds us of what comes after gratitude. What do we do with our abundance, besides give thanks?
Paul writes: “God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work. As it is written, ‘He scatters abroad, he gives to the poor; his righteousness endures forever.’”
Abundance, as well as gratitude, is meant to be shared. We are right to respond to abundance with abundance, but sometimes we don’t go far enough, if the guests at our table, literal or metaphorical, are only the people we know.
The Seattle Times published a piece this week by one of their columnists, Danny Westneat, a story about a man who lived in his neighborhood named James Gaines. James did not have a permanent home, an apartment, or a house, anything we would think of as warm or secure, but slept usually in bus shelters. He wore a winter coat in every season and carried all his belongings with him every day for almost 10 years. The people of his neighborhood got to know him. One woman, a nurse, would cook breakfast for him and do periodic street checkups on him. Others would pick up lunch for him, and many tried to convince him to seek medical help, to move into a shelter, but he didn’t want to go. His mental illness got in the way of his seeking help. In James’ mind, the columnist explained, he wasn’t allowed to go into those safe spaces.
But…“He was unfailingly respectful as he would turn you down,” said one person. “He’d say thank you and God bless you, but also firmly No.”
And when people gave him meals, talked with him, he would always try to pay them back, to give them what he called “revenue.” “James was a regular at our East Cherry Food Bank,” said another person. “He would ask us if we could use any ‘revenue’ …such a gentle soul.”
So the people in James’ neighborhood kept taking care of him as best they knew how, and he continued to live on the streets and sleep in bus shelters, always wanting to give back to those who were giving to him, in revenue and in kindness.
Earlier this month, James died. He was found in one of the bus shelters where he frequently slept. He was 61 years old, and the medical examiner said that it was heart disease.
James, ill and alone and cold as he was, limited by his mental illness and by a system that couldn’t help him, chose to be kind, to be kind to everyone. Even without a home, without enough food, without health care, James lived in a state of abundance. The love that he received from others he gave back to the world.
I don’t tell this story to diminish or to ennoble James’ very real need. If he had had shelter, he might not have died. If he had had mental health treatment, he may have stayed connected with his family, wherever they are. They couldn’t find him. I tell this story because it suggests what abundance can be, even in the midst of what seems like utter poverty, and also that we also may need new eyes to look at how we practice abundance.
One more story.
Last night I preached at Good Shepherd in Folly Mills – some of you were there – at the edge of Staunton, and they just celebrated their 100th anniversary, this small church that has been primarily lay-led for most of its existence. It began as a Sunday School open to children from any denomination, and it was taught by several women from here at Trinity Church. One of the lay leaders, who is also the organist at Good Shepherd, spoke with admiration for those women, who stopped in, saw a need for teachers, and every Sunday spent their entire day at church, in the morning at Trinity and in the afternoon at Good Shepherd. They chose to give out of their abundance of time, resources, and passion so that all children would have the weekly opportunity for faith formation.
Eventually, the teachers and the community decided it was time to start a church, and the church became Good Shepherd Episcopal, founded on Thanksgiving Eve 1923, the cornerstone laid in 1924. One hundred years later, Good Shepherd’s congregation still comes to church every Sunday, often without a priest; their ages range from 3 or 4 to 94, I believe; they bring flowers from their gardens for the altar; and they cook their own recipes for coffee hour. That is abundance.
Here at Trinity, our children’s faith formation is carried on every Sunday morning. A couple weeks ago, our upper elementary students visited the Community Foundation photography exhibit on homelessness you may have seen in here that we hosted and spent a morning creating “blessing bags” for our neighbors who have little. That is abundance. Cooks show up in our kitchen every weekday of the year, slicing potatoes, cooking greens and chicken and casserole and soup and more for anyone who comes in the door. That is abundance. Every Tuesday and Thursday and Sunday, volunteer musicians of every age arrive to rehearse and sing and to shape our liturgy – not just on Sundays, but on Thanksgiving morning and funerals. That is abundance. All our volunteers, who prepare the altar, who bring Eucharist to those who are homebound, who write cards and help in the office, set up receptions and teach yoga and go to Honduras – they are all responding to abundance by practicing abundance.
On this day we gather together to break bread with loved ones in the familiarity and comfort of our family homes and in the familiarity and comfort of this space. It is meet and right so to do, to celebrate our abundance with gratitude. But we are also reminded of what we are to do with that gratitude after the celebration, that responding to abundance with abundance also means sharing beyond our comfort zones, inviting more people to the table than we know.
Let us pray. Creator God, we give you thanks for family, for feasts, for warmth on cold days and shelter from the rain, for time with those we love, for another year of time together in prayer and in celebration. In receiving such gifts from you, we ask that you inspire us, that you show us where we may invite others in and share beyond ourselves, to see who is missing from the table and invite them into your love and your abundance. In the name of your son Jesus Christ, Amen.
— The Rev. Cara Ellen Modisett, Curate, Trinity Episcopal Church of Staunton
Thanksgiving Day, November 23, 2023
Listen to this sermon here.
