Giving Thanks In The Dark

For some time I have been meaning to read my way through Wendell Berry's Port William series again. So I picked up Hannah Coulter. It is a novel in which Hannah, now an elderly woman, shares her memories of loss and love. It is, as she says, "my story, my giving of thanks." How timely, I thought, given the recent national holiday. 

For some, giving thanks is an easier task; easier because of one's lot in life and/or easier because of one's disposition. For others, we may find ourselves unsure of how to proceed in giving thanks due to some difficulty or tragedy. Is it OK to give thanks even in the midst of grief? Does that shortchange sorrow? "In every thing give thanks," St. Paul tells us, but how can we? Hannah Coulter, the aged widow, provides us wise counsel: "From the time I was a girl I have never been far from [grief]. But grief is not a force and has no power to hold. You only bear it. Love is what carries you, for it is always there, even in the dark, or most in the dark, but shining out at times like gold stitches in a piece of embroidery."

The persistent presence of love–Divine Love–is the means of giving thanks, even when life is dark. We now enter into the season of Advent, the season of entering into the dark. Christmas is still a ways off. For now, we take a hard look at the world–ourselves as well–that we might come to our senses, reckoning that only God can save us. So we look off into the distance and wait.