The Slow Way: Gratitude Born in Sorrow (Some Thoughts for Thanksgiving)

May we feast with generosity and compassion for those around us. And may we find true gratitude that flows out of our pain, not in spite of it.

for the frantic strivers, serial doers, and weary achievers

Two years ago at Thanksgiving I wrote this:

“Gratitude is a mysterious practice, one that begins in the most painful places — the losses, the failures, the things we’ve been grieving that we never wanted to grieve . . . Often there is a gift underneath the pain waiting to be discovered. There is no magic way to discover the gift underneath the pain. It’s really just a practice, to reach through the reality of our hurt and look for the solid and good thing waiting.”

I’m still pretty sure that the solid, good thing waiting at the bottom of our suffering is called gratitude. Over the years I’ve wondered how best to describe the elusive and confusing *feeling* of gratitude. But I’ve come to believe that gratitude is difficult to define precisely because we most often speak of it as a feeling. If thankfulness is nothing more than an emotional overflow for good things, then it can only exist in the midst of ease. If it’s no more than a good feeling we have from time to time, it will rarely survive the challenges of life. If gratitude is a feeling and life is difficult, how in the world can we be grateful?

We will all eventually suffer. In the long vision of life, gratitude can only truly exist through practice.

In 2010 on my ancient blog, Mama Monk, I began practicing “Thankful Tuesday.” Each Tuesday I shared a list of my “thankfuls” as a way of inviting others into what was already an off and on prayer practice I had been doing since my twenties. My blog is now gone, but I have carried the practice over to Instagram over the past few years. I have a lot of fun with Thankful Tuesday. It feels great to look back through my week for the twinkly things, the sweet moments worth celebrating, the things that are easy to call “good.” But the reality is that gratitude is a much deeper practice than what I can post on an Instagram reel. Most often, true gratitude needs to grow out of our pain or suffering. If we want to move the practice of gratitude from Instagram lists to transformative ritual, I find it wise to begin where our pain is.

This past weekend I preached at my church Good Shepherd New York about the example of Jesus in Matthew 14, a story of grief and miracles, when Jesus learns of the brutal murder of his mentor, friend, and cousin John the Baptist. He needs to work through his grief, and he’s able to get away for a bit of time before the crowds find him. He needs this time away to process, to pray, to cry. And when it’s clear that his followers need him, he’s able to turn toward them with compassion because he’s taken the time to “be with [his] Father.”

I discovered this quote from Etty Hillesum this week in an Instagram post from author Chuck Degroat. I haven’t read Hillesum’s journals, though her words here are a reminder that I should. Her wise and poignant experience of sorrow points us toward the similar example of Jesus in Matthew 14:

"And you must be able to bear your sorrow; even if it seems to crush you, you will be able to stand up again, for human beings are so strong, and your sorrow must become an integral part of yourself; you mustn’t run away from it. Do not relieve your feelings of hatred, do not seek to be avenged on all Germans, for they, too, sorrow at this moment. Give your sorrow all the space and shelter in yourself that is its due, for if everyone bears grief honestly and courageously, the sorrow that now fills the world will abate. But if you do instead reserve most of the space inside you for hatred and thoughts of revenge—from which new sorrows will be born for others—then sorrow will never cease in this world. And if you have given sorrow the space it demands, then you may truly say: life is beautiful and so rich. So beautiful and so rich that it makes you want to believe in God."

-Etty Hillesum, d. 1943, Auschwitz concentration camp

What does she mean when she instructs her reader to give “your sorrow all the space and shelter in yourself that is its due,” to bear “grief honestly and courageously”? In Matthew 14, Jesus gets the news that his mentor and friend has been brutally murdered, and that he may be in danger as well. And he does what he needs to do to pause, to be with his sorrow, to be in prayer. The gospels are rarely good at giving us time markers, so we don’t know how long he gets away. Is it only a couple of hours or a couple of days? All we know is that the crowds of people find him and he’s able to return to caring for them from a wholehearted posture.

He’s not only able to turn to the crowds with compassion, he is also able to respond with a steady spirit when faced with the problem of the crowds’ hunger. In a similar situation, a person who craves power, or whose energy comes from ego might respond with a flashy miracle — bread falling from the sky manna style, fish flying out of the sea and landing at the feet of the hungry. Instead, Jesus is sturdy in heart, able to consider the needs of the disciples he’s guiding. Instead of an unhealthy and flashy response in the midst of Jesus’s grief, he chooses a slower way, a transformative path. He gives the disciples instructions and allows them to be the witnesses of the miracle, watching the bread and fish grow as the disciples faithfully serve. It’s a beautiful picture of how healthy miracles can flow out of our own pain and suffering.

So what does Jesus’s example or Etty Hillesum’s words have to do with Thanksgiving? I believe there’s a turn we all have to make in life, one where we move from gratitude that exists only because life is easy, and hard-earned gratitude: the ability to honor the goodness in ourselves and in the world that is born out of pain.

A practice of authentic gratitude will flow most wholeheartedly from the strength and beauty that finds its foundation in our grief. We see that example in Jesus. Would the feeding of the 5,000 have existed were it not for Jesus’s grief? What about the walking on water that came immediately after? What if the truest miracles come because of our pain and not in spite of it?

Tomorrow, as we gather with our loved ones and feast, it may feel easier to breeze past the hard-earned work of gratitude, to feast without acknowledging why we feast. But this practice of finding gratitude at the bottom of our pain is a ritual best shared with others.

As we move toward those we love tomorrow, may we do so with the grace with which Jesus moved toward the crowds with compassion in the midst of his grief. After all, anyone can eat a meal. It takes intention to feast, though. It takes courage to celebrate the good in our lives, especially when the days that led to this one have been especially painful.

May we feast with generosity and compassion for those around us. And may we find true gratitude that flows out of our pain, not in spite of it.

A Slow Practice:

Today, I’m offering you three practices for Thanksgiving! One that is individual, and two to help you practice gratitude in community:

An individual practice: This prayer from the Carmina Gadelica is one of my favorites for setting my heart and mind in a place of gratitude. I love that there is an acknowledgement of gratitude before the invitation to move toward worship, praise, reverence, and ultimately love and devotion. A decade ago I wrote about this prayer on Thanksgiving in light of a difficult situation in my life. I called it, “Giving my half-heart in gratitude.” Maybe you feel that way when you pray this prayer, only able to offer half of what the prayer says you should offer. There is transformation to be found even in our acknowledgement of that reality.

“Thanks be to Thee, Jesu Christ,

For the many gifts Thou has bestowed on me,

Each day and night, each sea and land,

Each weather fair, each calm, each wild.

I am giving Thee worship with my whole life,

I am giving Thee assent with my whole power,

I am giving Thee praise with my whole tongue,

I am giving Thee honour with my whole utterance.

I am giving Thee reverence with my whole understanding,

I am giving Thee offering with my whole thought,

I am giving Thee praise with my whole fervour,

I am giving Thee humility in the blood of the Lamb.

I am giving Thee love with my whole devotion,

I am giving Thee kneeling with my whole desire,

I am giving Thee love with my whole heart,

I am giving Thee affection with my whole sense;

I am giving Thee existence with my whole mind,

I am giving Thee my soul, O God of all gods.”

-taken from the Carmina Gadelica, found in The Celtic Way of Prayer: The Recovery of the Religious Imagination, by Esther De Waal

A communal practice:

Our family has a little ritual we’ve been doing since the kids were little. Every year during Thanksgiving week I create a giant tree out of a butcher paper and tape it to the wall. Then I cut out construction paper leaves. The kids, Chris and I, and our guests then have the opportunity to decorate our leaves with words or images of what we’re thankful for. (I usually have magazines laying around with scissors and glue sticks for those of us—me!—who prefer not to draw.) Then we tape the leaves to the tree. There’s something sweet and simple about seeing the things we’re grateful for all together in one physical space.

A second communal practice:

If making a tree for the wall or cutting out leaves is just too much for you, here’s a simplified shared practice: Have some strips of paper cut out with some pens or markers close by and a jar or bottle in the center of the table. Invite your family members or friends to take a moment to write down what they’re thankful for. It can be something they want to share or something personal. (They can write their names on it or choose not to.) They are welcome to write as many “thankfuls” as they want, putting one on each strip of paper. Make sure everyone has a chance to write something down. Then, if everyone agrees to it, take the jar and read some out loud as the group sits for the meal. This is a way for everyone to participate, without the discomfort of needing to speak in front of the table. And a way to acknowledge the moment for gratitude, particularly if there are folks present who may not be comfortable with prayer.

I’m wishing you a wholehearted feast, my friends. May we honor each gift God “has bestowed”. . . and find reason to be grateful in “each calm, each wild.”

A List of Things:

• I had the best time with The Lucky Few Podcast in Orange County a week and a half ago at the NDSS Adult Summit. The first of our two keynote “podcast style” talks is available through our podcast. Find it here.

• I also had the chance to preach this past weekend on Matthew 14, which I touched on in this letter. If you’re interested in more, find it, along with Good Shepherd New York’s gorgeous digital service here.

• I’m available to speak at your next group event: on faith, prayer, disability, and/or the Beatitudes. Reach out! michaboyett@gmail.com.

• As always, my book Blessed Are The Rest of Us is available wherever books are sold, but you can find at 40% off the price of other booksellers at BakerBookHouse. Just use the code SLOWWAY at checkout.