Proper 15

In today’s Epistle, Paul talks of “giving thanks to God … at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

When you first hear those words, you may say to yourself, “What a ho-hum verse! Giving thanks to God … what else is new? Isn’t that just what every Christian’s supposed to do?”

But not so fast. There’s more to it than just giving thanks. The apostle goes on to add: “at all times and for everything.”

Add that phrase to the end, and what has been a matter of common courtesy — dropping God a little thank-you note from time to time — is now something much bigger and far more difficult.

Are we really supposed to give thanks constantly? More than that, how are we ever going to give thanks for everything? Surely Paul is engaging in a little sanctified exaggeration, a little holy hyperbole, right?

Nope. The apostle is setting the bar pretty high, but that doesn’t mean that, because it’s difficult, we ought to give up trying. Giving thanks — at all times and for everything — is a lofty goal.

How are we ever going to give thanks at all times? That would mean we’d have to stop doing some things, like complaining!

Yes, complaining. It’s not an easy thing to keep on complaining if you’re feeling grateful, is it?

Complaining is an odd thing. In a backhanded way, it makes us feel good — you know, “misery loves company.” Okay, maybe we’d prefer it if that huge, bodacious problem would just go away. But if it shows no signs of doing that, we’ll settle for second best. We’ll milk it for all it’s worth, a ready supply of gripes we can pull out and use — like fingernails scratched across a chalkboard — to make others pay attention to us.

We’ve all known chronic complainers: folks who scarcely ever have a good word to say about anything — and a whole lot of negative things to say about everything.

An Army chaplain once told the story of being out on a training exercise with a battalion of soldiers. He was assigned to the signal corps. In those days before satellite phones and GPS systems, these were the soldiers who set up radio antennas and other communications gear so units could communicate with each other in the field. Once they’d set up the antennas, they divided up into little teams who maintained the equipment.

The chaplain was out visiting one of these communications posts when he happened upon a soldier with a notably sour attitude. “Soldier, how’s it going today?” asked the chaplain.

“Chaplain,” he admitted glumly, “it’s a pretty bad day.”

The chaplain went on to talk with the soldier about all the things that were bothering him. None of them had anything to do with the field exercise, which in fact was going rather well. The complaints were all of a personal nature.

The next day, the chaplain moved on to another signal corps installation. He knocked on the door of the truck that served as both workstation and home away from home. To his surprise, the same soldier answered the door. He’d moved during the night.

“Well, how’s it going today?” asked the chaplain.

“Chaplain, it’s a pretty bad day …” the soldier began. Then, he went through the same down-in-the-mouth litany as before.

The third day, to his surprise, the chaplain ran into the very same soldier, in another part of the operation. You can pretty much guess what happened: same question, same gloomy answer.

“You know,” the chaplain continued, “I met you yesterday and that was a pretty bad day. I met you two days ago, and you told me that was a pretty bad day. It seems to me, if this continues, someday you’re going to stand before your Maker, who’s going to ask you, ‘How was your life?’ I’ve got a feeling the only answer you’ll be able to give is, ‘It was a pretty bad life.’”

Then the soldier smiled. The chaplain knew he was getting through to him. He’d gotten the point.

As should we all when it comes to this business of complaining, which is the polar opposite of giving thanks. Sure, there are times in life when complaints are in order, but when complaining becomes a constant habit, the only thing it can accomplish is to drag us down — and very often, everyone else along with it.

The antidote to that emotional spiral of doom is thanksgiving. To seek at all times — on rainy days and sunny — to find something for which to offer thanks. That begins to approach what this verse means by giving thanks at all times.

The apostle also advises us to give thanks for everything. Here’s where things get really sticky! The author directs our attention not just to the timing of our thanksgivings, but also to their substance.

It’s one thing to thank God for a promotion at work. It’s quite another to offer thanks for a pink slip. It’s one thing to thank God for a family member who’s helpful, cooperative and a joy to be around. It’s quite another to offer thanks for the black sheep of the family, the one who’s nothing but a trial to everyone. There are circumstances when thanksgivings don’t come easy, when the act of saying, “Thank you, Lord,” is the spiritual equivalent of hard labor.

Yet this is exactly what today’s Epistle instructs us to do: “Give thanks for everything.”

You may be inclined to think, at this point, “Why bother? What’s the purpose of giving thanks for everything, when doing so is such hard work? Isn’t there something unnatural about trying to make ourselves feel thankful?”

Here’s a little secret. You don’t necessarily need to feel thankful, right at that moment, to offer thanks. It’s like a parent saying to a child, “I love you,” when the child has done something really naughty and deserves to be punished. Amid the punishment, the child turns to you, with tear-stained cheeks, and asks, “Mommy, Daddy, do you love me?”

Maybe you don’t feel a whole lot of love for your child at that moment. Maybe there’s a part of you that can imagine nothing beyond meting out terrible retribution to the little offender (even though you’d never actually do that). So, what should a parent say in response to that question?

The answer is simple. You respond by saying, “I do love you.” You may not feel it right then, but you know on an intellectual level that you do love your child, very deeply. And so, you don’t respond out of the immediate emotion of the moment. You offer the only answer you could possibly give: “You know that I love you.”

It’s the same with thanksgiving. It’s awfully hard to give thanks to God for the troubling medical test result your doctor just told you about, but it can be done — even if it does seem like a spiritual stretch. It’s a matter of good theology, really — what we believe about God, when the going gets tough.

Our faith teaches that God created the heavens and the earth — and that when each stage of creation was completed, the Lord pronounced it good. That means, even though some parts of creation defy explanation — that may, in our estimation, have fallen from their original glory — they’re still part of an otherwise good universe.

It can be hard, for example, to give thanks for mosquitoes. Which one of us has ever offered a prayer of thanksgiving for a mosquito? We’re just not up to it. Yet, our theology tells us that even mosquitoes were created by God, and that somewhere in the great scheme of things, they have their part to play, along with the leaping dolphins and the soaring eagles. We may not see it right at this moment, but maybe we will someday, in the next life if not this one! Maybe you’ll be able to thank God for the bug perched on your forearm, knocking back a hemoglobin cocktail. Not now, but maybe someday.

In all seriousness, though, even suffering can — on some occasions — have a positive aspect. It may sound pollyannaish to opine that “every cloud has a silver lining,” but there’s a fair bit of truth in that statement.

In the meantime, consider offering this honest prayer, or something like it: “Lord, I don’t know what you’re doing with this situation, but give me the faith to thank you for it, anyway.” Surely that fits within the definition of “giving thanks for everything!”

 One example of that kind of prayer was uttered by Teresa of Avila, a notable spiritual leader of the medieval church. One day, Teresa was out for a walk with several of the sisters from her order, when they happened to cross a small footbridge. The bridge began to swing and sway, and before long, Teresa and all her sisters found themselves standing knee-deep in the frigid waters of the stream.

Teresa is said to have offered this prayer: “Lord, I know you have promised never to give us more than we can handle, but sometimes I wish you didn’t trust me so much!”

It may not be an out-and-out prayer of thanksgiving, but it comes from a stubbornly thankful place. “Give thanks always and for everything.”

May that be the motto for us all.