Thanksgiving is the beginning of the holiday season. This week, in spite of Covid precautions, many families and friends will gather. We will eat, drink, watch football – all in the spirit of gratitude. Even so, many of us will be experiencing depression and grief. The celebration will mask our sorrows.
It seems we cannot escape the virus. The coronavirus has changed the way we do everything – the way we shop, the way we dine, the way we worship. It has profoundly affected our moods. Soon after recovering from the coronavirus in March, I discovered that I was going through the various stages of grief – shock, denial, depression, and anger. As much as we may try, one does not just “snap out” of the grief process. Especially when the crisis is ongoing.
The virus has reminded us of the fragility of human life. Like it or not, we are mortal. The shadow of death follows closely. We are engaged in biological warfare. The coronavirus has robbed us of many friends and loved ones. The cruelty of the virus is the sense of isolation that it imposes. Our loved ones face death alone because we are forbidden to stand with them in their final moments. The virus does not allow us to gather to remember and celebrate our loved ones. Since the beginning of this crisis, we have experienced unending cycles of unresolved grief. Every day we read another obituary. This year Thanksgiving will be much different.
Even so, we must practice the discipline of thanksgiving. Yes, thanksgiving is a spiritual discipline. A discipline is a practice in which we engage in order to modify, or change our behavior. A discipline does not come naturally, it is an intentional practice. Thanksgiving is easy when we are full; but difficult when we are empty. The discipline of thanksgiving is not easy in seasons of sorrow. The practice of thanksgiving becomes even more difficult when the absence of loved ones is so keenly felt. Can we honestly give thanks to God when we feel isolated or abandoned?
In the midst of his profound suffering, Job offered thanksgiving: “The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD!” (Job 1:21). This was not an expression of joy, but it was indeed an expression of faith. Job’s confession of faith was offered in the midst of his deep sorrow. I’ve seen this kind of faith many times:
The doctor offers a grim diagnosis. The patient and assembled family began to weep. In the midst of weeping someone says, “It’s time to pray.” When the shadow of death appears, faith compels us to look toward the face of God. In the weeks and months that follow family and friends continue to “believe God for healing” in spite of the progress of the terminal disease. Even as the day of death approaches, faith requires that we resist its power. As we gather at the grave of our loved one, with heavy hearts we sing a hymn of thanksgiving. Maybe “Amazing Grace” or “Blessed Assurance”.
When we face death, when we feel isolated or abandoned, all we have left is God. That’s why we offer thanksgiving even with tears running down our faces. Our faith may be shaken, but we know that we can trust God. Thanksgiving is an act of hopefulness. We offer thanks to God because we are filled with hope. We hope in the resurrection of Jesus Christ. This is not an easy thanksgiving, but it is a necessary thanksgiving. It is a confession of faith in God’s faithfulness.
