Thanksgiving Lost and Found
I will praise the name of God with a song, and will magnify him with thanksgiving. Psalm 69:30
Say not, “What is the cause that the former days were better than these?” You do not inquire wisely concerning this. Eccl 7:10
Gone are the idyllic Norman Rockwell Thanksgivings of my youth. But how present are the memories! Each year, rising before daybreak, we’d roam the frosty woods of my grandparent’s farm, relishing our last few hours of small game hunting for the year. My Dad and grandfather, our dog, Mickey, the crunching leaves beneath our feet, the cackling of a startled ring-necked pheasant, the haunting perfume of spent gunpowder wafting on the crisp autumn air... The nostalgia is palpable.
As midday approached we would gather by the old foot-bridge to clean our game; then it was time to clean ourselves up for the greatly anticipated Thanksgiving feast. Down the winding wooded dirt road we paraded from my grandparents’ “forty acres” to my great-grandparents’ farm. As we gathered round the long, lavishly decked dining table for a time of truly sanctified gluttony, the old farmhouse seemed to embrace us in the warm glow of familial love. In the eyes of youth it seemed that tangible joy flowed among the turkey and stuffing, dishes of pheasant, squirrel, rabbit, and venison, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry, lima beans, pumpkin pie and fresh cookies.
Afterward, everyone would collapse themselves into the rustic living room chairs and sofas, the fire place roaring. I would curl up in a time of delightful eavesdropping upon the conversations and banter of the three elder Ed’s: “Dad”, “Pop-Pop”, and “Gramps”. Most of the stories had all been rehearsed many times before, but their telling was part of a tradition that never grew old, and never ceased to bring some warm sense of security to my childhood.
The inseparable appendage of Thanksgiving Day was “Christmas Tree Friday” - no Black Fridays back then. On some years there was snow, some years not - but every year was crisp and magical to me. Like mighty warriors off to battle, my Dad, my two brothers, and I mounted the wooded hillside behind my great-grandparents farmhouse on a quest for the holy grail of Christmas. Then, having ceased the prize, we strapped our trophy to the top of the old Pontiac and headed home to proudly present the Queen with the glorious spoils of our battle. Mom never seemed appropriately impressed, but she did her best to play along.
Soon, mounting the stairs to the old attic, we began the great celebrative transport of boxes of lights, ornaments, garland, icicles, manger scenes, nutcrackers. Of course, we saved the ultimate accessory of Christmas till last: my Dad’s American Flyer train set.
As evening settled upon us, the tree all magnificent, my brothers and I placed the last train track with a celebration that rivaled that of the Golden Spike of Promontory Point (Google it, if you must). The construction complete, we launched into a magical night of railroading adventure, complete with train robbers and damsels in distress tied to the tracks. The finale was the greatest! We would throw the metallic icicles across the train tracks to witness the array of sparks flying from the shorted rails. As the old black transformer responded, the pop and glow of the large red warning light next to the bright green power light signaled the end of another wonderful Thanksgiving, and the beginning of the long-awaited Christmas season.
Those Thanksgivings have long passed, along with the ring-necked pheasant, the old farmhouse, and that old train set. How easy it would be to drown in a sea of paralyzing nostalgia - a sinful longing for Thanksgiving Past. But I have found a much better way.
I gather these precious memories together like priceless gold, and review them on the lap of my Father, whose paternal love bestowed them upon my childhood in the first place. There, in the warmth of His love, a spontaneous Thanksgiving Present emerges; and from its glow, so many current blessings are illuminated and redound to the glory of God, as I contemplate the myriad of miraculous gifts I receive from His hand each day.
Often, in those moments, He holds before me the sure promise of Thanksgiving Future, when with my Brother we shall mount the wooded hillside beyond this old house, and lay hold of the one true Christmas tree: the eternally green, Tree of Life. -ejr3
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Come, Ye Thankful People, Come H. Alford
Come, ye thankful people, come, raise the song of harvest home;
All is safely gathered in, ere the winter storms begin.
God our Maker doth provide for our wants to be supplied;
Come to God’s own temple, come, raise the song of harvest home.
All the world is God’s own field, fruit unto His praise to yield;
Wheat and tares together sown unto joy or sorrow grown.
First the blade and then the ear, then the full corn shall appear;
Lord of harvest, grant that we wholesome grain and pure may be.
For the Lord our God shall come, and shall take His harvest home;
From His field shall in that day all offenses purge away,
Giving angels charge at last in the fire the tares to cast;
But the fruitful ears to store in His garner evermore.
Even so, Lord, quickly come, bring Thy final harvest home;
Gather Thou Thy people in, free from sorrow, free from sin,
There, forever purified, in Thy garner to abide;
Come, with all Thine angels come, raise the glorious harvest home.
-t&dw
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Thought of the Week.
The blessing enjoyed, the gift employed,
The treasure that serves, not hording reserves...
These are the acts of thanksgiving.
-ejr3
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Walking with Jesus... a devotional minute.
Only Little Children Need Apply
In that hour Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said, I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes… Luke 10:21-22
And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, And said, Verily I say unto you, Except you be converted, and become as little children, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Luke 18:2-3
Have you become a little child? The question is not frivolous. Jesus sets this as the qualifying standard for His kingdom, and we dare not trifle with it. It is in the simplicity of a child, with wide-eyed wonder, that we receive the great treasures of His storehouse. Yet there is in us a perennial tendency to intellectualize and complicate our walk with God.
Most of the consternations and anxieties of life come from “responsible adults” trying to maintain the comfort of some prescribed “norm” in an ever-changing world. The child simply trusts. In sunshine and rain he sings and skips to the sound of the trimbrel and dance emanating from his Father’s house. He does have a great responsibility, though. His responsibility is to always rejoice in his Father’s love, and to be extending that love to others. So doing, he fulfills all the law and the prophets. Seeking first his Father’s kingdom, all things necessary are provided him. His great wisdom is in letting go of the world and its anxieties.
I have known individuals who have put me to shame in this regard. A ten year old downs syndrome girl, whose spontaneous love for Jesus flowed forth in pure delight, captivating all who knew her. An incapacitated elderly lady, whose joy and kindness ministered to all who came to “comfort” her. These, and many others I’ve known, could not engage me in deep theological discussions. But they enveloped me in the very presence of God.
Life is hard. But little children find its serendipitous treasures even amidst the rubble. We are called to perpetually be God’s little children. Only then can we lighten up and enjoy the ride, safe in the arms of Jesus.
-ejr3
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Are there topics or questions you would like to see addressed in a future T&DW? Please submit them to pastored@springwoodchapel.com
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The Timbrel & Dance Weekly
November 19, 2010
Vol. 1 No. 25
The Timbrel & Dance Weekly is published by
Pastor Ed Ross, Springwood Chapel,
2360 Springwood Road, York, Pennsylvania 17402.
Phone: 717-741-3616
Email: pastored@springwoodchapel.com
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Also available at ChristMyCovenant.com
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