“Though the fig tree doesn’t bloom, and there’s no produce on the vine; though the olive crop withers, and the fields don’t provide food; though the sheep is cut off from the pen, and there is no cattle in the stalls; I will rejoice in the Lord. I will rejoice in the God of my deliverance.”
Habakkuk 3:17, 18 (Common English Bible)
In our nation’s ritual observance of Thanksgiving Day, we are summoned to express gratitude for what we have. We may have little when measured against our neighbor, but we are, nonetheless, called to acknowledge what we do have and express gratitude. We know the story, the origin of this national holiday well. English immigrants – later to be called Pilgrims – sailed by accident into Cape Cod harbor, staked their claim upon the land, and named it New Plymouth. These immigrants, these Pilgrims, labored hard working the land, fought disease, and defended themselves against every threat this strange new frontier presented. Life produced struggle upon struggle. But they persisted. Then, in 1621, the harvest exceeded every expectation. To celebrate their good fortune, a harvest festival was held to which they invited the native Americans who occupied the land first.
As a child, I would be reminded by my mother and father that Thanksgiving Day was an occasion to “count my blessings.” As I consider this instruction it seems to me that there is nothing wrong with a regular habit of doing so—counting my blessings. I have provided the same guidance to my children. Focusing on what I have versus what I don’t have is a mindset that must be intentional. For some reason, I find that many of us have a default setting to do just the opposite. Many days, I am caught up in complaints—usually in silence. I don’t have enough, whatever “enough” may be. If I dwell there long enough, I grow convinced that I have been cheated. If you have traveled this same route, you know it is an unpleasant journey. Then, I am reminded of the wisdom taught me so many years ago—count my blessings, regardless of how meager those blessings may be.
The difficulty with this scripture from the minor prophet, Habakkuk, is that it seems to invite us in the opposite direction. At first blush, this seems to be a well-rehearsed complaint: the fig tree doesn’t bloom, and there’s no produce on the vine, and on and on. Sounds familiar, like a child who is struggling through a difficult day. The only difference between the child and the adult is that many adults have learned restraint. We feel as strongly as the child about what we don’t have, but we have learned to keep our lips sealed. Our lips may conceal what is on our hearts, but rarely is it a secret to others. When our lips are sealed, our general continence betrays us. Others see our dissatisfaction, our annoyance, our general selfishness. Then, as we are reading the Bible, we stumble upon these words from Habakkuk. Permission granted for making our complaint! Or so it seems until we keep reading.
We are jolted by a speed bump in verse 18. After a considerable complaint, the prophet Habakkuk concludes with gratitude! A bleak and depressing picture is painted for us and is then completed with, “I will rejoice in the Lord. I will rejoice in the God of my deliverance.” It appears that someone has confused the lyrics of one song, a song of complaint, with the lyrics of another song, a song of gratitude. One doesn’t follow another, not smoothly anyway. Failure and loss move rather quickly to a celebration of hope and confidence. How does the prophet explain this disjointed movement? It may be that we have gratitude all wrong. Perhaps gratitude doesn’t begin with what we have. Perhaps gratitude doesn’t even begin with us. If we lean into the pages of this prophet, what we learn is that gratitude begins with God, with God’s fidelity, that we are included in God’s redemption. Gratitude begins when we realize we belong to God.
Joy,
Nurture Faith with Dr. Doug Hood 