OPINION:
In 1621, Richard Warren scuffled for survival on the western edge of the North Atlantic along with the small group of Pilgrims at Plymouth (just 102 of them), almost half of whom died in that first year from disease and privation. Despite this difficult beginning, or perhaps because of it, Warren joined the survivors in thanking God for bringing them to the New World.
They were not alone in offering those thanks.
The first Thanksgiving on what would eventually become American soil probably occurred in May 1541 near Canyon, Texas, where the Rev. Juan de Padilla said Mass for an army of 1,500 soldiers under the command of conquistador Francisco Vazquez de Coronado. Or it may have occurred on Sept. 8, 1565, when the Rev. Francisco Lopez said Mass for the 800 newly arrived Spanish colonists in St. Augustine, Florida.
On Dec. 4, 1619, the leaders of the settlers in Virginia who landed at Berkeley Hundred (in present-day Charles County) commanded: “This day of our ships’ arrival, at the place assigned for plantation, in the land of Virginia, shall be yearly and perpetually kept holy as a day of Thanksgiving for Almighty God.”
Probably for good reason, the Pilgrim celebration remains the dominant narrative of Thanksgiving in our society. In 1621, in the wake of a bountiful harvest after a year of terrible sickness and unimaginable hardship, the Pilgrims set aside a day to thank God for all of it.
Thanksgiving for bounty? Absolutely. Thanksgiving for sickness and hardship? Again, absolutely. The Pilgrims rightly believed that everything we receive, both the events and people we immediately recognize as good and the events and people in which we have trouble seeing the good, is a gift from God.
Nowadays, on Thanksgiving, we endure litanies about whatever happy things have happened to relatives, friends and famous people. Worse, it’s never clear to whom or what they are thankful. How often is the Author of all things mentioned?
Bad things happen to all of us, and for reasons we don’t always understand, God lets them happen. Our lives are not solely our own; we did not create ourselves or the universe in which we live. Consequently, we are rarely in a position to determine which experiences are good and which are bad.
Many of the bad experiences people endure are also the richest opportunities for learning and for growth, although they may not be understood as such when in the moment. As Kierkegaard wrote, “Life can only be understood looking backward, but it must be lived [looking] forward.”
The Pilgrims knew all this and were grateful not for the harvest or the friendly Indians or whatever. They were grateful for God’s providential, watchful and caring love, however that was manifested in their lives. The word they chose to describe themselves — “pilgrim” — is derived from the Latin “peregrinus,” which means wanderer. They were animated by an understanding that we are all wanderers here.
They were familiar with St. Paul’s admonition that we “have not here a lasting city.” Everything we see and touch will one day cease to be. The only things that last are the divine and whatever share of the divine we have curated through our lives. These are uncomfortable facts for some; they are the source of comfort and resilience for others. Our own destiny and that of our nation are, in many respects, in the hands of a loving and just God.
Which brings us back to Richard Warren. His wife and children, who had stayed in England, joined him in 1623. The couple had two more children together before he died in 1628. His children survived into adulthood and had large families. It is estimated that 40% of those who claim ancestors on the Mayflower (including Joseph Warren, the founder of Harvard Medical School, both presidents named Roosevelt and this author) are related to him.
All of us who have benefited from Warren’s steadfastness remain grateful for his sacrifice and suffering in those difficult moments on this continent, moments that eventually and with patience yielded fruit a hundredfold.
This Thanksgiving, think about Richard Warren and the millions of others who have struggled to improve their lives and those of their children, neighbors and nation. Make sure to thank the Author of all things for these people and everything you’ve been given — good and bad.
• Michael McKenna is a contributing editor at The Washington Times.
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