Thanksgiving: Let's Party Like it's 1621

Human creatures can be notoriously ungrateful. Often, we think we would be grateful if only we had more than we do. If we had more money, or different families, or better health or looks or cars or what have you, we would surely be appreciative of our blessings. This is routinely disproved by reality. The poor, hungry man is immensely thankful for a scrap of bread or a cup of soup, while the rich man picks contemptuously at his lobster. Ah, but Thanksgiving Day gives us the perfect opportunity to at least pretend to be thankful for the good things we have been given (or, for the naturalist, the things which Chaos and Old Night have been pleased to spit our way at random. How does Thanksgiving dinner go down for those chappies, anyway?), even if we're tremendously ungrateful the rest of the year.

Friends, we’re Bing Crosby. You know, in that one scene from Holiday Inn? Wait, you don’t know? Well, go, watch it, and sin no more! Anyway, Bing sits down on Thanksgiving to eat a whole turkey by himself. He’s feeling mighty blue, because his buddy Fred Astaire stole his girl (again). It’s a great scene: Bing puts on a record of himself singing “I’ve Got Plenty to be Thankful For” and mocks his own song while he eats. “Are you kidding? Like what?” he asks his recorded self. He then criticizes, “you’re a little flat, too.” Turning to the turkey on the platter in front of him he says, “You know, you’re better off than I am!” The movie is on YouTube. The Thanksgiving scene is near the end, around the 1:48:00 mark. You can thank me later. 

The Bing on the record has something of the right idea; Bing on camera with his turkey sounds more like us a lot of times. Or maybe Bing and I are the only ones who sometimes want to trade places with roasted turkeys? No, I refuse to believe that.

Every schoolchild knows the story of the first Thanksgiving. Or at least, they know whatever version of it is being shilled in the schools these days. Anyway, what were the Pilgrims thankful for? Not starving to death, for one. When the happy story of Pilgrims and Indians sitting down for a thanksgiving feast gets told, what often gets left out is the bit about the brutal, bitter winter those Pilgrims had just endured. They had arrived at Plymouth in late 1620, just weeks before winter. That first winter claimed the lives of half of them. Of the original one hundred pilgrims, only fifty survived until that First Thanksgiving in the fall of 1621 (see, half. I told you I could do the maths). They had all lost family members, friends, colleagues. One hundred is a pretty small, tightknit group, and it goes without saying losing half in less than a year must have been unimaginably devastating and heart-wrenching.

Above: Mayflower Passengers
Below: Those who survived until the first Thanksgiving

Life was hard. It’s hard now still. But for most of us, not quite that hard.

Edward Winslow, one of the Plymouth colonists, wrote:

"Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruits of our labor. They four in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the company almost a week. At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which we brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain and others. And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty."

They rejoiced. They feasted. They thanked Almighty God for His providence, for providing for them, for granting them the abundance of their first harvest, and most importantly, for granting them the freedom from the impositions of the Church of England, and the ability to worship God according to His Word, as their consciences convicted them.

Friends, have we not as much for which to be thankful? Have we not more? Life itself is a gift. Every breath we breathe is a gift from God. Let us gather with friends and family, and rejoice as William Bradford and Plymouth did so many years ago. Let our hearts overflow with gratitude to the Lord, and with Christian charity towards one another.

“O give thanks unto the LORD, for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever.”

Let’s party like it's 1621.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends! 

Don't Say "Might as Well"

I closed the door of the Range Rover and strode towards the door of the dilapidated gas station, the one all my friends avoid because they think they’ll get robbed. Some of us are made of sterner stuff, and fear not such things. As it is, I myself now avoid this particular gas station as well, but my reasons for so doing, rather than being fearfully motivated, have to do with the idea that perhaps an establishment as shady as this one can’t necessarily be trusted to dispense a gallon when a gallon is purchased. But I digress.

At least they know what they want . . . 

I pulled my cream fedora down farther onto my brow, straightening my tie as I stepped over the threshold. The other patrons wore stained tank-tops and baggy jeans around their knees, and they looked at me as though I were from Mars. I am not from Mars. I took my place in line behind another customer. He was short, unshaven, wearing faded, concrete-spattered denim, and he was purchasing two 40 oz. cans of Bud Light. As he set them down of the counter, the clerk tried to make some small talk. “Oooooooh,” she said. “Looks like you’re going to party tonight, eh?”

Now, Bud Light isn’t really my idea of a party, but we’ll let that one slide. The man half nodded, half shrugged, and replied, “Might as well!”

I was taken aback, not by these words, but by my reaction to them, which was rather extraordinarily Baptist-y. Now, as a Reformed Baptist I am not opposed to alcohol as such. In fact, it would be a stretch of the truth to describe me as anything other than whole-heartedly in favor. The Lord’s Supper is celebrated with wine, which is no accident. The Israelites were commanded to celebrate with “strong drink,” a kind of ancient beer. The Apostle tells us to “test the spirits,” and I always oblige. (That’s a joke, people. Lighten up a bit, what?). Which is to say that I was altogether surprised to find myself begrudging (ever so slightly, mind you) this fellow his beer. However, I also have a fairly well established philosophy concerning how alcohol is and is not to be used, and it was this sensibility of mine which was offended. It was the shrug and the phrase might as well that raised my Scandinavian eyebrows. Friends, never say "might as well." Don't think it either.

Initially, I suspected my knee-jerk displeasure was merely a reaction against cheap alcohol. Confessedly, I have some not-so-slight inclinations towards snobbery. I want to enjoy alcohol if I drink it, which means that the alcohol needs to be enjoyable; id est the drink in question ought to be one of quality. But this is only a small part of the matter. While I might not enjoy a typical American pilsner (e.g. Budweiser or Coors) as much as a craft ale or an imperial stout, I have to concede that this is a matter of preference. That beverages ought to be enjoyable does not speak to the fact that others enjoy different things than I.

No, but alcohol is to be enjoyed. It is celebratory. Wine is the perfect accompaniment for a fine meal. A jolly evening with friends should include porter and stout and ale. Scotch is the drink you should choose for a quiet evening with a pipe and book. Warm brandy comforts the body and sooths the soul when you have the flu. But these beverages are not to be enjoyed for the sake of the alcohol they contain, nor is alcohol to be used for the purpose of becoming drunk. They are to be enjoyed because they are delicious. If you buy cheap alcohol because you enjoy it, well and good. By all means, let me not stop you. But if you buy the cheapest beer you can find because you are using the beer as a delivery mechanism for alcohol and nothing else, this ought not to be.

Now, if you’re downing two 40 oz. cans of Bud Light because you “might as well,” this raises the obvious question: Might you, then, just as well not? If you are only drinking because you can’t think of anything else to do, I beg to differ, sir. You might better use that money on your wife and family, or on clothes or food or shelter or charity (some might make this argument regardless of the reasoning behind the purchase of the alcohol, but for my purposes here I will conveniently forget that such arguments exist. In the mean time, I shall simply point you to John 12:3-7 and assume that my point is made).

If you are enjoying a beer because you are with old friends and are having a roaring good time, I am with you. If you want a mug of the frosty brew because you have toiled all day in the hot sun and wish to be refreshed, I shall gladly buy the first round. But if you’re drinking “cause, like, why not, like, you know?” then I suggest you repent, quit drifting through life as though it were one of the less exciting rides at Disneyland,  and develop the fine and manly qualities of tenacity and assertiveness.

I have used the example of alcohol, but I wish to illustrate a far broader point. Whatever we do, or say, or think, it should be done purposefully. An action might be neutral in and of itself, but no action is neutral when placed in the context of real life. Do you eat or sleep or read a book or go to the gym? These are neutral actions. But at present, you either should or should not be doing them. Are you playing the violin? Well and good if you are practicing for a symphony, but woe to you if you are watching Rome burn. Do not say “might as well.” Act purposefully, or refrain from acting, also purposefully. “Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.”

Thou Art as Thou Smokest

Ever notice that stuff from way back when tends to last longer than stuff made today? For instance, your great-grandfather's desk is probably as solid today as it was the day he bought it. Sure, there might be a few scratches in the finish where you gouged it with a penknife when you were five, but that’s your own darn fault. Other than that, it’s as good as new. Moreover, if you’ve had to move it to a different room or a new house, you’re aware that the thing weighs a ton. That’s because it’s built solidly. The hardwood is of the highest quality, as is the construction. The thing was built to last, to be useful long after the craftsman who built it had died. It’s a desk which is very pleasing to the eye. Whether it’s built with a simple and practical design, or decorated with ornate carving, it’s designed to be not only functional as a desk, but also a piece of art.

Compare this to the piece of junk that passes for a desk today. It's ugly, and it’s made out of plywood. It wasn’t built to last four hundred years; rather, it’s designed to break in five years so that you’ll have to buy a new one. Thanks a lot, corporate scam-artists.

I chose furniture as the subject of that little rant, but there are any number of things which would have served as nicely: cars, architecture, clothing, Ritz cracker tins. People used to place value on craftsmanship, quality, beauty, charm. Now, mass production, cookie-cutter design, and disposability run the show.

On what, as a society, do we place value? On permanency or disposability? The answer to this question will inevitably pervade every aspect of our lives.

In the 1940s, men smoked pipes. Oh, they smoked cigarettes too, and often they smoked both. But over seventy percent of all men chose to smoke their tobacco in briar pipes, which is, needless to say, and astounding number. Nowadays, those who choose to imbibe the fragrant leaf can be seen rushing out of their office-buildings to stave off their nicotine cravings, hastily gasping in a few lungfuls of acrid smoke before returning to the earning of their daily bread, or at a bus stop passing the idle minutes, only half conscious of the roll of paper and tobacco pinched between their fingertips.

The pipe brings forth a very different image, and this is no mistake. Pipes are the natural companions of thoughtful solitude, large arm chairs and larger books, tea and brandy and deep contemplation. The pipe likewise (and perhaps to an even greater degree, the cigar) is at home amongst good company, wherein thick billows of fragrant smoke constitute the very atmosphere for comradery and conversation, of jovial brotherhood and earnest discussion alike. The very nature of the pipe demands that it be approached in a very different manner from a cigarette. It must be carefully packed, carefully lit, and thoughtfully smoked. Twenty minutes is hardly sufficient time in which to smoke a small pipe, and an hour or more is required for a larger one. These things give the pipe its character and virtue, but they are the very same things which have caused its decline in popularity. The very nature of the pipe makes it unattractive to the man who craves only a quick nicotine hit.

When we examine the briar pipe, we find that is a beautifully simple object designed for a beautifully simple task. It is in essence a small furnace, constructed so that the smoker may draw smoke from the burning tobacco into his mouth so as to savor it, and, in so doing, simultaneously keep the tobacco lit by supplying the coal with oxygen. Yet it is more than this. It is a small work of art, a testament to and legacy of the craftsman who made it. It is simple, but it is beautiful. It is not discarded after smoking like a cigarette; rather, it is a constant companion and friend. It can serve your grandson as faithfully as it has served you. It lasts. It is permanent.

As men made in the image of God, we are designed for eternity. This mortal body will wear out, but our next one never shall. We were designed for permanence. How many times in Scripture are we exhorted to think not of the temporary things of this world, but to be concerned with things that are forever? In light of eternity, even gold and silver are to be considered perishable. Yet we are made in the image of God, and an aspect of that image is our creativity. God creates. And when God creates, he creates things that are functional, beautiful and lasting.

The man who smokes cigarettes is concerned with a temporary sensation of relief. He is in bondage to nicotine, and inhaling smoke into his lungs keeps his cravings at bay. He takes the momentary pleasure in his cigarette for what it’s worth, and then tosses it aside. It is disposable. It is temporary.

The man who smokes a pipe is not a slave to nicotine. He does not draw the smoke into his lungs, and could just as easily refrain from smoking if he so desired. It is not nicotine he craves, but fragrance, flavor, relaxation, rest, and thought. When he knocks the last of the ashes from his pipe, he returns it to his pocket or his coffee table or desk, until next they meet as friends, and the old ritual – the filling, so carefully yet so naturally; the striking of a match, the kiss of the flame upon the leaf, the steady puff, puff, puff, the billows of smoke, the gentle tamping of the coals, and the easing into an hour of quiet bliss – is repeated once more. The pipe lasts. The pipe is permanent.

Moreover, the pipe, like everything worthwhile in life, takes care, maintenance, and commitment. A cigarette can be smoked thoughtlessly. This is impossible to do with the pipe, as anyone who has tried it knows. The pipe must be cared for and maintained, lest it turn bitter. It must be packed carefully before smoking, and tended carefully while smoking, lest it either die or burn hotly.

That our society has replaced pipes with cigarettes should not surprise us. Everything else which was once permanent is being replaced by the disposable as well. Cars which were made in the 1940s, ‘50s, or 60’s are still prized today. Now, a car is old after five years. And mark my words, in fifty years no one will be thrilled by the sight of a 2015 Toyota. They might say, “Wow,” but it will be “wow, that’s ugly.” The man who goes through cigarette after cigarette is the man who will goes from job to job, house to house, church to church, worldview to worldview, marriage to marriage. It should be stated that the point of this is not to condemn everyone who chooses to smoke cigarettes. Rather, it is to point out that certain attitudes have pervaded our society, from the smallest things to the greatest. The attitudes of our society can be demonstrated in our smoking habits, and these will in turn correspond to our attitudes about employment and marriage and religion. “He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much.”

Let us not be those who value convenience over beauty, cheapness over quality, disposability over permanence. Let us not be those who are blown by every wind of doctrine. Let us not plow through marriages like so many cigarettes. Let us, rather, be as those who smoke pipes. 

Celebrate Reformation Day

Now, let me say from the start that I promised myself not to say anything along the lines of “cult of death.” You can thank me later.

Today, millions of American children (and an increasing number of adults) will stream into the streets demanding candy of strangers (I’m not against demanding candy, but, hey, why limit that to just one day a year? I say march up to your neighbor’s door and demand candy any old day of the year, so take that) dressed as skeletons, monsters, demons, witches, voodoo-zombies, the Texas Chainsaw Murderer, and Katy Perry. You know, wholesome stuff.

Meanwhile, many Christian families and churches who are for some reason uncomfortable with their children participating in the Cult of Death (dagnabbit!) will have their own celebrations in an attempt to mitigate the damage. These events will be called Trunk-or-Treat, Harvest Festivals, or something equally lame, vanilla-y, and vaguely pagan (which is a difficult trifecta to pull off).  

My friends, we don’t need a fake version of Halloween. October 31^st is already our holiday. For those on the outside looking in, October 31st is Reformation Day. It is the day on which, in 1517, Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the door of the Wittenberg Church and sparked the Protestant Reformation. Initially reacting to flagrant abuses on the part of the Roman Church such as the selling of indulgences, the Reformation lead to the recovery of the biblical doctrines that salvation is by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone, that our standard is Scripture alone, and that the glory for this blessed salvation belongs to God alone.

This is our history and our heritage. We should be celebrating it.

Now, you don’t have to slap the 95 Theses on the door of the local Catholic Church (something I would certainly never do, I’m sure) but you do need to celebrate. How? Let us count the ways.

1.      Throw a party.

If your church has an event, it should be called a Reformation Day party, and it should be rigorously Christian, not just another version of Halloween. Go tell your pastor that. Right now. Alternately, you can throw your own party with friends, or just your own family. Regardless, your celebration should be characterized by joviality and mirth, thanksgiving, feasting, and reflection.

You are celebrating God’s blessings and providence, and you are celebrating those Christians throughout Church history who boldly proclaimed the Gospel of Christ at great personal cost, even death. Be grateful, and joyful. Sing A Mighty Fortress and Rise Again Ye Lion Hearted at the top of your lungs. If you choose to celebrate with a good meal and some craft beer, Luther would approve heartily, especially of the beer.

Candy, or course, is permissible, but pies and such will be much more enjoyable. Even better, German chocolate cake. That would be sehr gut und sehr köstlich.

Of course, I will leave it to your discretion as to whether or not you should dress up as a Reformer. If you do, though, dressing like Ulrich Zwingli and carrying around a plate of smoked sausages will totally impress all the Church History nerds.

2.      Wish people a happy Reformation Day.

Whether celebrating at a Church event, or privately, you should wish everyone a happy Reformation day.

“Happy Halloween, man.”

“And a happy Reformation Day to you, good sir.”

“I’m Catholic.”

Hey, it might be rough at first, but it’ll go much smoother in a few years after it catches on.

3.     Evangelize.

You’re going to have scores of strangers at your door all night. Invite them to church. Or drop a (decent) tract or a New Testament in their candy bags. Just be sure to give ‘em some candy, too, otherwise they’ll just hate you.

4.      Sing at the top of your lungs and make puns. All day.

I know I already mentioned singing, but seriously. Break out A Mighty Fortress, or any other favorite, and be cheery. Also, be sure to spend the day trying to turn everything into a reference to Reformation history. It’ll be fun! I do this every day, so I’m sure you can manage it once a year. Phrases like, indulgences, theses, printing press, Popery, Diet of Worms, and anathema are your friends here. Just imagine:

“Honey, you’re cranking out those flapjacks faster than Guttenberg turned out Bibles.”

“Please stop.”

“Really, Guttenberg met a pressing need.”

“Stop.”

“Anyways, looks delicious. Sure beats a Diet of Worms.”

“STOP!”

“Here I stand. I can do no other.”

“I will smack you.”

“I’ll grant you that Indulgence.”

“Good grief . . .”