The Thankful Heart

December 10, 2006

Second Sunday of Advent
Malachi 3:1-4; Philippians 1:3-11; Luke 3:1-6
The Reverend Stephen P. Bauman

Some years ago, quite unexpectedly, someone thanked me for something I didn’t know I had done. He showed up at my office one morning looking vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t even close to placing his name. That’s one of the curses of my profession, of course: I’m meeting new people all of the time in a wide variety of contexts and it’s a challenge to keep my memory current.

This young man reminded me of his name as he walked through the door saying, “You probably don’t remember me. My name is David.” He told me we had met on a city bus 18 months ago at a time when he had been in a particularly tough personal place, facing a couple of excruciating decisions. He recounted how embarrassed he had been at the time, when tears welled up in his eyes as he tried to verbalize his difficult situation.

A foggy memory began to clear. Taking a long ride home from uptown on the M15, he had dropped something near my feet, as I recalled, which led us into conversation. David had been highly agitated and I remembered that I said very little as he spontaneously spilled out his story. I simply listened, murmuring a comment or question once in a while. I imagine we spoke for no more than 30 minutes or so.

Now, in my office eighteen months later, he reported that moment had been a critical turning point for him. By the time he stepped from the bus to the curb, he had arrived at his decisions. He was clear. And free.

David had now returned to thank me. Evidently I had given him a business card in case he had wanted any follow-up conversation. I didn’t remember doing that. Usually I’m out of cards, forgetting to re-load my wallet. I never seem to have one when needed. He said he stuck the card in a jacket pocket and lost track of it, until recently, when wearing that same jacket the card appeared as he pulled out a glove.

I was rather taken aback by his effort to track me down. I thought my small part in his tale was truly minimal compared to the size of his gratitude, or so it seemed to me. But in his effort to find me, I learned something I haven’t forgotten over the intervening years. It has to do with a thankful heart. That’s clearly what David had – a thankful heart. He was a thankful man. Full of gratitude. He made a generous contribution to the church. But more than that, I could tell that to a large degree this spirit of generous gratitude defined his orientation towards life.

Now, I suppose one lesson drawn from this little episode might relate to how every moment is pregnant with potential. Every single one. Even a ride home on the bus. But, while that’s a pithy bit of practical wisdom that’s useful to consider, that isn’t my focus today. Instead, I want to stick with this matter of thankfulness. I think it deserves serious attention.

After David said his piece and went on his way, I was left with a question: Did I have a thankful heart? Or maybe asked this way: How pervasive was a sense of gratitude in my life? How often did gratitude find its way to my lips and tongue? I sensed the truthful answer was a bit sobering. And, I realized it was a matter of some spiritual importance.

Paul’s letter to the Philippians is my favorite biblical epistle. That’s due largely to the obvious gratitude that permeates every paragraph. Paul clearly loves these friends and he can’t help letting his gratitude for them spill over. You heard him begin like this: “I thank my God every time I remember you….” And from there his sentiments explode with joy, goodwill, and love.

And this is all the more remarkable given that Paul wrote this letter from prison. Whenever it shows up in our lectionary, invariably I’m struck by the juxtaposition of the gratitude that pours out of this man though he is locked behind bars. Thankfulness, joy, goodwill and love ooze from its few pages and the man writes from a first century Roman prison.

Now, part of the reason we read this during Advent is Paul’s confident expectation of his vindication at the coming of Christ, as well as the vindication of the Philippians. But this is wrapped in a spirit of thanksgiving for the community they share together, how they have mutually supported one another, how they have attempted to advance the cause of Christ by loving God above all things and their neighbors as themselves.

Though his life is one of great hardship, Paul is full of thanksgiving, love, goodwill and joy. Next week we’ll read another passage written from prison in which he instructs the Philippians to rejoice always. Always. I suppose that’s hyperbole; I mean, how could anyone rejoice always? Still, it surely points to deep spiritual wisdom about our essential relationship towards life. Call it our fundamental point of view.

That’s what occurred to me to consider when David walked through my door those years ago. You know how this is, you can think a thing is true until you smack up against it for real in your own experience.

Which reminds me of a story I heard about a pastor who was talking to one of his rural parishioners about the need to raise money for the church building fund. Trying to work into the subject subtly, he asked the farmer, “Now Bill, suppose you had 100 horses, would you give me 50?”

The farmer said, “Certainly.”

The pastor asked, “And if you had 100 cows, would you give me 50 of those?”

The farmer said, “Well, of course.”

Then the pastor asked, “Well now, if you had two pigs, would you give me one?”

The farmer said, “Now cut that out, pastor; you know I have two pigs!”

As you well know, there’s nothing like factual experience to clarify what’s really at stake with those things we say actually count.

It was a small thing for sure, this encounter with David in my office, but a window opened on the matter of the thankful heart. I hadn’t been expecting it, but there it was. All of us have met persons with this fundamental disposition towards life. That is, persons with what I’m calling a thankful heart. I bet if I asked, most everyone here could think of such a person they’ve known. Inevitably, we enjoy their company. They are life-enhancers, aren’t they? Generally this quality is something more sensed and observed than spoken.

And, it most certainly isn’t dependent upon one’s material position. All of us know that stuff and things do not make a thankful heart. A thankful heart is instead an inner disposition, or orientation, towards life no matter what we have or where we are, even imprisoned behind bars of some sort or another.

Here’s the other thing to note from Paul’s letter to his friends: their evident care for one another and Paul’s expression of thanksgiving are evidence of God’s presence with and among them. In other words, their thankful community is already a harbinger of Christ’s coming.

As they await their vindication, they are already living in a manner that is consistent with the qualities of his kingdom. Thankfulness and gratitude characterize the household of God. That’s why Paul can tell them to rejoice in all things.

Well if this is true, then you can see pretty clearly one way of responding to John’s call to “prepare the way of the Lord” at this time of year. We can prepare by considering this matter of thanksgiving – reflecting on the matter of “our thankful hearts,” such as they are, or aren’t.

Here’s the good news no matter your particular situation at the moment: thankfulness is especially susceptible to the practice of the folk wisdom to “fake it till you make it.” In other words, if you sincerely desire to develop the heart muscle of gratitude, then simply start practicing it. There is no better season, no better time to re-establish your basic orientation towards life. The desire for a thankful heart is a very noble desire. One of the noblest.

Part of this spiritual practice includes developing a prayer of thanksgiving. Make it an Advent mantra. Keep it to a sentence. Something like, “Loving God, thank you for this day,” or maybe, “Generous God, give me a thankful heart today.” That sounds too simple, perhaps. But I guarantee that if you surround that short prayer with silent intention you will discover transformative power. It will change you. It’s not every proposition that can guarantee such an outcome.

And then, every day purposefully thank someone for something. Every day. Be intentional. It would be fine to make a list if that’s your style.

Here’s something I don’t have to fake at all: my great gratitude for really wonderful colleagues here. I have great colleagues – professional and volunteer alike. I have really good work among an increasingly thankful community. I have a loving, supportive and challenging family. I have good friends. I’m deeply thankful that all of us have each other.

And I’m increasingly aware that, embedded within these good things, resides the spirit of Christ. Somehow I recognize that the more I exercise my thankfulness, the closer Christ draws near. There’s mystery in this. But then, mystery is part of the wonder of this season.

You want to experience the true spirit of Christmas? A thankful heart is the one essential ingredient. If you have that, Christ will come for certain.

Listen to this sermon

Previous sermon: Hope • Next sermon: Listening Hard, or Hardly Listening?

All past sermons