Rector's Sermon - Thanksgiving Day 2002

First Reading	Psalm	Epistle	Gospel
Deuteronomy 8:7-18	65:9-14	2 Corinthians 9:6-15	Matthew 6:25-33

     This ancient story comes from the communities of Christians who lived in the deserts of Egypt around the fourth century: There were two peaceable monks who decided that they should have at least one quarrel like other people. So one said to the other, "Let us begin to quarrel." However the other replied, "How do we initiate a quarrel?" "Here", said the first, "I will put this brick between us and then I will say, 'It is mine!' After that you will say, 'No it is mine!' This is what will lead to a ongoing dispute." So they placed a brick between them, and the first monk said, "This is mine." So the other answered, "I beg your pardon, but it is not yours, it is mine." The first one insisted, raising his voice, No, No it is not yours, it is mine!!! So the other answered, "Well then, if you really think it is yours, take it!" Thus they did not manage to have a prolonged quarrel after all.

     Christianity is not by definition anti-materialistic. Jesus did not deny the necessity of material things, nor necessarily believe that the goal of a pious life was simply to get rid of all one's possessions. Jesus and the original disciples did not camp out in the desert or live in caves. Rather they lived in the villages around the lake of Galilee and enjoyed dinner parties, celebrating weddings and participating in the social events of the Holy Days of the local synagogue. The Gospel record does not support a contention that Jesus was anti-social or anti materialistic. Indeed the revelation that in Jesus, God came and entered our existence is another in a series of signs that God does not spurn the material world. Yet Jesus was concerned on the significance we place on material things. A favorite expression of many an old Methodist preacher was "Jesus never minded that a man had a little money, but was always upset when a little money had a man." Jesus would probe those he met, asking what do you do with what you call yours?. How do you relate to your property. Do your possessions possess you? How do you share your love, laughter, tears, intelligence, skills, and accomplishments, all those tools that are in your tool box of gifts.

     This past Monday I received a phone call from a friend in Saranac Lake. She wanted me to know that an old friend of mine had died. I don't know how we originally met. We had little in common, he was not a member of my parish, nor active in any community affairs that I was. He was the high school music teacher, but since our children were still very young, our paths did not cross there. But we both loved railroads. Hence on a Saturday or perhaps on a summer day during school vacation, we would get permission from our wives to sneak away, exploring, searching for railroading adventures. We would go up into Canada to a museum holding treasures of the Canadian National, or find a spot where the rails of Delaware and Hudson and Central Vermont, converged and paralleled each other above Plattsburg, as trains rushed in and out of Montreal. We even took a few excursions on Amtrak south to Whitehall where the D & H still kept a pair of engines called sharks, and we were able to jaw and drink honest coffee with the yard crew. As we drove to place to place we would talk and I learned that his grandfather had been an engineer on the D & H, with the nickname of 'soup' because he could back up and couple his tender to the lead car without spilling anyone's soup back in the dining car. While most of our adventures were out of town, he did convince me to build a railroad layout in the cavernous basement of the rectory. He had heard of a new way of making mountains, and together we made twenty of thirty feet of mountains.

     When I moved to Iowa, we didn't keep in touch. In one sense he kept nothing of mine and I had nothing of his. (The scenery he had helped make in the basement, I left behind, for which my successor in the rectory, not being a railroad fan, has never quite forgiven me.) Yet I will always treasure and give thanks for his friendship because of what we shared. That, together with all the other pieces of sharing in our lives, is what makes Thanksgiving into a special Holy Day.

     None of us gets through life with any healthy sense of contentment solely on what we have, or get to keep, or have been able to take. We get through life by the grace of the gifts that have been shared with us, and by the gifts we have shared with others. Genuine thanksgiving is never about taking stock and counting what we have. Thanksgiving, whether the one at Plymouth centuries ago or one today in Ithaca, is about appreciation for the continual revelation of what has been shared among us.

     And I offer this to you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.