An Intentional Thanksgiving
Rev. Diane Rollert
Unitarian Church of Montreal, October 10, 2021
Birds literally planted sunflower seeds in the middle of my garden box this summer. I don’t know which ones. It could have been the chickadees, the finches or the mourning doves who carelessly dropped what they had greedily plucked from the bird feeder. Though I suppose it could have been an enterprising squirrel that placed the seeds in the exact middle, in a perfect spot that the deer couldn’t reach. At first there was a gaggle of sprouts that I almost weeded, but somehow had the wisdom or self-control to leave alone.
And then, one lone sunflower plant began to grow taller and taller throughout the summer, until it blossomed into two large, smiling yellow flowers that followed the sun. When the flower went to seed, the birds came and feasted on their own harvest — or the harvest left for them by the squirrels. Though I still want to believe that it was the birds who accidentally provided for themselves.
If you’ve ever seen how sunflower seeds grow in the middle of a blossom, they are really quite amazing, tightly packed together in perfect rows, like the rows of kernels on a corncob. When I used to teach young children, I would bring sunflower heads to school in early October, along with tweezers, so that the kids could carefully pluck each seed, leaving behind what almost looks like honeycomb. It was an activity that kept even the most rambunctious child busy for long stretches of time.
In my garden, the birds carefully plucked the seeds from the blossoms with their beaks, never once forcing the long majestic stem to bend.
Sometimes someone or something provides what we need when we least expect it. That is grace. For the birds it was sustenance. For me it was gratitude for the miracle of nature that manages to provide for itself.
Sometimes we need to be reminded that grace does exist, that something is given to us, like the seeds that grow in the earth, without us asking for the harvest that waits for us at the end of a long season.
Years ago, the author Barbara Kingsolver spent an entire year with her family intentionally eating only what they could grow or find locally. It was her way of trying to do something that would be sustainable for the earth and her children’s future. It was a way of living with intentional gratitude for everything she ate.
It wasn’t difficult, she said.
“We went into it probably thinking too much about what we were not going to be able to have, you know? ‘Oh, my goodness. No strawberries in January.’ But when we changed our thinking and started every meal with the question, ‘What do we have? What’s in season? What do we
have plenty of?’ — it became really a long exercise in gratitude.”
I could go on about this, about the sustainability of eating local food, something all humans did until we developed the capacity to ship foods long distances. But my heart isn’t there this morning. Our relationship with food is complex. What once was a given is now a privilege, where some have access to more healthy, local food than they need while others have none.
I’m wrestling with Bryan’s question. Why am I thankful? I’m asking that question on behalf of all the people I’ve spoken with recently who are struggling with depression, sadness or anxiety. This pandemic continues to take its toll on so many of us. I am thankful for the grace that comes with living, breathing and being with all of you, even as we struggle. I am thankful because the capacity for gratitude is born within each of us.
Reaching out, slowing down, stopping to be intentional about what we do or how we eat, looking for gratitude in the smallest things: maybe this is how we begin to recover and heal. Maybe we take one small step, or take one deep breath to then breathe out, in order to feel a single moment of release.
Maybe that’s as much as we can do right now, a simple prayer of thank you. And if we can’t do it for ourselves, maybe we do it for someone else.
As I break bread on this Thanksgiving weekend, I will give thanks for seeds planted by careless birds or by intentional squirrels. I will give thanks for all that is given without our asking, for all that exists to nourish us.