One Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving on the Cloquet River

This week was one of mild disappointment. There, I said it. I released the anxiety and the minor upset and the bitter taste that sits in your mouth after you’ve tried for something and, through no fault of your own, you’ve failed. The details are wholly irrelevant and unimportant. What is important is that, despite my OCD nature, I am ready to put that failure, that upset, behind me and move on. Part of why this is so is because of last night.

You see, every year, many (not all) of the churches in Hermantown, MN; the little city that has been the center of our family’s life for the past 27 years (mostly because that’s where our sons have all gone to school) gather together for an ecumenical Thanksgiving worship service. It’s one of the only times when the Roman Catholics, Episcopalians, ELCA Lutherans, Presbyterians, and even (on at least one occasion) the Latter-day Saints worship together. I won’t pretend I’ve attended every one of these ecumenical celebrations. But whenever I have gone, I have carried away with me a sense of hope and promise that, despite the petty grievances and debates over ritual between denominations, is sustaining and real. Last night was no different. Thank God. It’s been a tough year and I needed the boost.

I am now at that age when my parents’ close friends, folks that were like extended uncles and aunts to me through nearly six decades of life (writing that phrase is daunting!) are passing away, one after another, leaving my parents behind. Now, don’t get me wrong: It is a real blessing to have Mom and Dad around. They’re both in their eighties, living independently and in good health. That, alone, is more than enough to be thankful for on this Thanksgiving Day. But the recent deaths of some of their closest friends, folks who had a huge influence on who I am as a person, have taken some of the wind out of my sails, so to speak. Then there was, as I’ve written in detail, the loss of Mercedes, my mother-in-law, a woman who raised six children on a railroadman’s salary and did her very best to see that they all became good Christians and good citizens. That was a tough one because, even though she was 86, her passing was very unexpected. But the blessing in it is that, for over 35 years, I got to love her as my second mom and she (hopefully) got to love me.

My daughter-in-law Lisa has had it rough this year, rougher than me by a long shot. She lost her father, a guy not much older than me, to a sudden heart attack, and also her maternal grandfather, all in the span of four or five months. Though I didn’t know either man well, their passings touched me because of the pain I could see, and still can see, in Lisa’s eyes when we talk about the men who made a difference, who held her up, in her young life.

All of this loss, this passing (even though, outside of my mother-in-law’s death, I haven’t been touched by gut-wrenching, knock-you-on-your-ass sadness) is sort of like being bit by mosquitoes: The bites don’t have the sting of a hornet’s barb but they begin to bother you over time. Still, even with all that’s happened over the past year, I am a thankful man, though it took last night to reinforce that notion.

Cheryl and I have known each other since we were four years old. We’ve been church friends, work friends, and friends at large for most of our lives. She has had her ups and her downs over the years but, in the end, she’s turned out to be a hell of human being. She’s a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a civil servant, an Episcopal Priest, and an artisan. She was one of the guiding lights in the little Episcopal church that Rene’ and I and the boys attended for many years. Her preaching is powerful yet compassionate. Her singing voice is steady and true. Her ministering is fair and even-handed. So, when she and I talked in my judicial chambers about my decision to leave the Episcopal Church and attend an ELCA Lutheran church closer to home, there were tears and hugs and quite a bit of sadness. I was, and am, despite the transition that needed to be made for our family, so grateful, so thankful to have sung by her side and listened to her wisdom for all these years.

So last night. I wandered over to our new church, Grace Lutheran, for the ecumenical Thanksgiving service because, well, because I had to. The minor disappointment of the week, sitting as it was, on top of the larger losses of the past year, compelled me to seek solace in faith. I know, from year’s of casting petitions to the great beyond, that not every wish or desire or whim I send up to God in a prayer comes to fruition. But I also know that sitting in community with others, listening to sacred music, hearing the words of the Savior, never hurts. And so I went. I am so glad that I did.

It wasn’t a huge crowd, maybe eighty or so Christians from all faith traditions worshiping together. But the vibe was so calming and grace-filled, the size of the congregation really didn’t matter. The sermon was rock-solid, like Peter roaring at the crowd on his best day. Each pastor or priest played a part, no matter how large or how small, in the service, giving the ceremony legitimacy in ways that an ordinary service, conducted by a singular man or woman of God, cannot. But the best was yet to come.

Cheryl and the musical director of Grace stood shoulder to shoulder by the keyboard and sang a duet, so spiritual and soothing, so thanksgiving laden, that tears came to my eyes. The music moved me to understanding, to releasing my burdens and bowing my head in a gentle, calm, and sincere prayer:

“Thank you, God, for I am truly blessed.”

The faces of all those who have departed (and those still with us), the dozens if not hundreds of friends, family, teachers, religious leaders, co-workers, Boy Scout leaders, coaches, and all the others who have carried me this far in my life came into focus during my silent contemplation. And with that prayer came the reinforcement of spirit that I so desperately needed and this realization:

I know I am a blessed man; the father of four beautiful sons, the husband of a wonderful wife, and the son of two caring and loving parents.

Nothing life throws at me can change that truth.

Peace.

Mark