In one week, our national consciousness will remind us to give thanks as we celebrate a distinctly American holiday. We spent our childhood scribbling on paper turkeys the things for which we are grateful; and we instill in our kin those same important traditions as a reminder that God has blessed us. But we also know that it’s easy to give thanks when life is good, when things go our way. It’s easy to bless God when we’ve seen His promise bear fruit in our lives: when we’ve asked for something, and we’ve received it; when we’ve sought, and we’ve found, when we’ve knocked, and the door has been opened for us. But what about when we’ve asked for something, and haven’t received it? When we’ve sought, but haven’t found? When we’ve knocked, and the door seems shut and even locked?
Scripture provides a helpful hint. The Prophet Isaiah captures the power of memory as a cause for gratitude even in the midst of Israel’s great turmoil during the Babylonian exile: “The loving deeds of the Lord I will recall, the glorious acts of the Lord, because of all the Lord has done for us, the immense goodness to the house of Israel” (Is 63:7). Isaiah underscores these sentiments of gratitude precisely because his fellow compatriots suffered loss after loss—invasion from foreign enemies and threats of their very extinction—as if to say: Israel, don’t forget. Don’t forget what God has done for you, even in this moment of loss. Indeed, the words of Job became lyrical for a people constantly oppressed and displaced: “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21).
The same God who freed his people from the tyranny of Pharaoh promised to free them from a far more pernicious enemy, albeit elusive and not yet revealed. For centuries, the promise remained untouched, but unfulfilled. And the chosen people did often grapple with and grumble against a God who seemed to take back his promise; for when they asked, they didn’t receive, and when they sought, they didn’t find, and when they knocked, they were locked out. In those times of trial, God invited them not to see their suffering as meaningless, but to offer it back to him as an oblation. The Psalmist sings, “How shall I repay the Lord for his goodness to me? The chalice of salvation I will raise, I will call on the Lord’s name” (Ps 116:13). The chalice from which the priest consumes the Precious Blood of Christ—the same chalice from which the Lord Jesus asked to be relieved in the Garden of Gethsemane—holds the Eucharist, which means Thanksgiving. The sacred liturgy thus calls us to see in our moments of trial an opportunity for even greater Thanksgiving, because the Lord has not abandoned us, but carries our cross with us. Indeed, He’s preparing us for something great—a door that will open, we know not when or how, and for which we will cry out in joy: thanks be to God!
