This weekend we’ll be preparing for Thanksgiving. There is a
lot of shopping and cooking to do --but there are also emotional preparations
to be undertaken this week. Like many, you may be torn between the happy
anticipation of a good meal and seeing family, but also the dread of family
feuds that leave you wishing to hide in a corner of the living room.
Along with the usual
“issues” that each family faces around the turkey table—the in-laws,
sibling rivalries, and adolescents with attitude—we can stir in some raw
feelings about national politics and a debate on the economy. It’s Thanksgiving
in the REAL America and nobody’s very happy.
So many of us so want it to be the other Thanksgiving, the
one we imagine that other families have, but which really only happens in
made-for-TV movies. We think that Thanksgiving’s
just not what it used to be-- But then again, it never was.
It seems that we can’t shake our romantic idea about that
first one with the grateful Pilgrims and the wise Indians, but it’s safe to say
that most of us wouldn’t have been comfortable at that dinner either. The truth
is that the Pilgrims, with their cute buckled shoes, weren’t innocent refugees
from persecution. Rather they were religious zealots and not exactly tolerant.
Here’s the history: After the Protestant Reformation and the
split from Catholicism—creating the Church of England--there were many who felt
the church still needed to be “purified”
of Rome’s influence. Those were the Puritans. Among the Puritans were some folks
who were even more extreme and who wanted complete separation. These
were the Separatists--we know them as the Pilgrims. These were not folks who
believed in freedom of religion. What the Pilgrims believed was that the Church
of England was corrupt; that Catholics were the Devil’s spawn and that they were superior in knowing God’s
truth.
We still have some emotional resonance of those ancestors
and their vibe is with us at Thanksgiving. So be prepared.
Part of
the problem is that religion permeates this day directly or indirectly; someone
or something is being thanked for the good in our lives, but there are
political tripwires from the stuffing all the way through to dessert. Most of
us will be sharing a meal with folks who not only mix their potatoes with their
peas but who mix politics with their religion:
Every current event, everything in the headlines--war, terrorism,
same-sex marriage, the war and the Middle East—touches religion in some way. And
that intersection of religion and current affairs will cut right through the
dining room table on Thursday.
Even saying grace is tricky. When the blessing includes a
prayer for peace someone at the table will be listening for what kind of
peace? Do you mean Get-out-of-that country peace or the bomb them into
submission kind?
Next Thursday we may be humming, “We gather together…” but
in our heart of hearts we want to insist that OUR team should win, that OUR
recipe for stuffing is the best, and that OUR candidate was right.
So if you find yourself dreading the doorbell, or if Uncle
Harvey mentions the President when he says grace, you may want to retreat to
the kid’s table or sit in the den to watch the game. But instead, give thanks
that this holiday comes only once a year, and remember--- it’s all in the
spirit of the day.
2 comments:
Oh yeah! Alex was blocked on Facebook by my neocon brother after she posted that our Thanksgiving group of 12 were overwhelmingly grateful for Obama. He wrote back on Facebook, "If all of you are that stupid then none of you are welcome in any of my homes. (Hawaii, Aspen, Decatur and his prepper refuge out west) When she wrote back to say she hoped they would visit us in our home, she found she was blocked. Just goes to show that Norman Rockwell is dead, dead, dead.
Oh yeah! Alex was blocked on Facebook by my neocon brother after she posted that our Thanksgiving group of 12 were overwhelmingly grateful for Obama. He wrote back on Facebook, "If all of you are that stupid then none of you are welcome in any of my homes. (Hawaii, Aspen, Decatur and his prepper refuge out west) When she wrote back to say she hoped they would visit us in our home, she found she was blocked. Just goes to show that Norman Rockwell is dead, dead, dead.
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