The Inadequacy of Gratitude

Some gifts defy any expression of gratitude. There is the collection of psalms that belonged to a friend’s grandfather, a family heirloom that she chose to give to me instead of passing on because I spoke to her once about the beauty of the Psalter. Then there was the presentation of my grandmother’s cookbook to me, taped together by my grandmother herself, a gift from my aunts and cousins after she died. They entrusted this sacred family text to me because of my equal love for the kitchen. When our first daughter was born, a little girl in our church handed me her beloved and worn copy of the children’s book “Hug!” Her mother explained that it was her favorite and she wanted my baby to have something she knew she would love and cherish.

After the first of the year, a friend popped his head in my office to ask if I had a second. I welcomed him with a hug and it was then that I noticed a strangely shaped, natural cotton sack in his hand. He said he had something for me, if I wanted it. He said it had been resting in its sack for years and he was a firm believer that if you didn’t use something after a time, you should give it up. He said he wanted me to have it; “My favorite Mary for my favorite Mary,” were his words.

I slipped the item out of its protective case and we unrolled it together. Stitch by stitch, button by button, we opened a hand-stitched quilted hanging of the Mother Mary with Baby Jesus in her lap. Actually, he isn’t sitting on her so much as sitting in her, as though, somehow, he is still a part of her womb, still comforted and nurtured by her in a fundamental way.

Words failed me. I looked at him in disbelief and told him he could not give this to me. It is a magnificent piece of art and I argued with him that surely he wanted to keep it. He gave me his most patient and characteristically generous smile, insisting that he could, indeed, give it to me and that he was. He felt called to pass it on to me and my husband, knowing it would find a good home with us, however we chose to use it. All I could do was hug him and utter the horrifically insufficient words, “Thank you.”

As soon as my husband got home, I eagerly handed him the tapestry back in its sack so we could unwind it together. He was equally overcome by the beauty and generosity of the gift, leaving immediately to buy the hardware necessary to hang it in our living room. Upon his return, he pulled the Christmas tree away from the wall and went to work. He would not be satisfied until Mary and Child took their proper place, a place that seemed destined for them on our wall.

Today, I can see it in the weak afternoon light, illumined by the little bit of sun that has filtered its way through the cloudy sky. The Christmas tree is back in its place of hibernation in our basement and my view of Mary and Child is entirely unencumbered.

She is love. She is the love Mary had for Jesus. She is the love of hands that carefully stitched every slip of fabric, every button, every embellishment in place. And she is the love of the friendship and kinship that brought her to be a part of our family. I look at her and warmth rises from my belly, up into my throat. If I stare at her too long, I risk feeling the wetness of warm tears on my cheeks, each one a small offering of thanksgiving for the breadth, depth, and ineffability of love.

In the weakest of words but with the warmest of hearts, may we lift our “thank yous” to God for one another, for the gifts of relationships, and for the beauty of art that can render us immobile with gratitude.

A Cheerful. . . Receiver?

Part of my job is working as a chaplain at a middle school. I love this work. I love those baby adults so very much. They crack me up every day and they laugh at me on a regular basis. Today at lunch I told one of them that I saw her pitch at her game yesterday and that I was proud of her. She rolled her eyes and groaned.

I said, "What? You don't think it was a good game?"
Her response: "I pitched a terrible game yesterday! The worst."

I said, "Well, you were out their pitching, though. I can’t pitch like that and I’m proud of you." She continued to rolled her eyes and say what a bad game at was. She could not bring herself to say, "thank you."

Compare this to my five-year-old. He had a T-ball game on Monday and after the game I said, "Good game! You played well and I’m proud of you!"

His response? "I know. Thanks." Friends, he is not a genius T-ball player. He spent most of the game making designs in the dirt between second and third base, knelt on the ground next to his father. His big accomplishment was swinging the bat and hitting the ball rather than the T or his coach.

That’s it then. Middle school is the age when we no longer except a compliment as it is and have to excuse it away. That is when we become uncomfortable when someone tells us we’ve done a good job or has told us we look nice or that they are proud of us. We shift from self-assuredness and a simple, "thanks," to self-doubt and arguing with the person offering their love.

In his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul says that we are to be a cheerful giver. In church we use the saying on and off throughout the year as our offertory sentence, just before we pass the plate. I say the first part of the passage, "The point is this: the one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. Each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves. . ." and the congregation replies within an enthusiastic, "a cheerful giver!" I can't claim this practice. Our bishop introduced it a few years ago and it's become a part of our regular worship.

Yesterday I had lunch with a church member and he started to argue when I reached and paid for the bill. He interrupted himself and said with a laugh, "I guess I need to learn to be a cheerful receiver."

He hit it right on it. That’s it. We talk about being a cheerful giver, which is very important, but the reality is most of us are much worse at receiving than we are at giving. We are particularly terrible when someone is giving us a compliment or a pat on the back or anything we think we might not deserve. (Which pretty much is everything).

A lot of us are happy to give you anything: a compliment, cash, a ride to the airport, to babysit your kids when you’re having a bad day, or give you a gift certificate for your next cup of coffee because you look like you need one. But you turn around and do the same thing for us and we are all excuses and pardoning and shame and guilt. In our embarrassment and excuses. We make you look like an idiot because you thought we might possibly be worth it.

Of course, we do this for number of reasons. We don’t believe in ourselves; we think we should be able to do it by ourselves; we are self-sufficient and independent and can do it all on our own. "I don’t need your help because I’m capable enough and good enough and strong enough and know if I’ve done a good job or not."

The side effects of this is worse than we intend. We mean to be self-deprecating and humble but the result is that we have said to the other person, "I don’t need you;" or "I don’t think you’re good enough to take care of me;" or "I don’t trust you;" or "You don’t know what you’re talking about." None of us means this of course. We just don’t know how to handle a gift when it’s given to us.

Here’s the thing, though. How do you feel when you offer a compliment? Or offer to help a friend? Don’t you do it because you want to help that person? Don’t you offer, not out of obligation, but because you genuinely like that person and you want to help her? You cook the casserole and take it to the parents of a newborn because you remember what those first weeks were like. You take your friend out for a cup of coffee because you realize he could use a break. Or maybe you just would like some of his company.

The people who offer to help you feel the same way. They are offering because they love you. They are offering not so that you will be indebted to them. Most people try to help because they are your friend they love you and they are trying to minister to you.

I am not overstating this when I say it is a sin not to receive, and receive graciously. You aren't proving how tough, independent, and awesome you are. The people around you already know that. Instead, you are blocking the other person's opportunity to do ministry. You’re keeping them from doing what God is asking of them. Are you going to get in God’s way? Let other people do onto you as you do onto them. Let them pay for the dinner. Let them take your kids one Saturday afternoon so you can take a break. Let them bring you chicken soup when you get a cold. It’s their way of saying, "thank you" for all the times you have done the same. It’s their way of saying, "Hey! I love you and I see you. I see you could you some help." And take that compliment! People are proud of you and like what you're doing, wearing, or saying! There’s no shame in that.

I don’t say this lightly, by the way. I’m a terrible receiver. I hate asking for help. It has taken me years to allow people to do for me. I still feel guilty and I still do it reluctantly because most days I want to pretend that I am 100% self-sufficient. But I am always glad for the renewed relationship, the increased intimacy, the spirit-filled time we have together. This is only possible when I acknowledge, "Yes I could use some help. Thank you for that compliment."

May we strive to be a cheerful giver for it is, indeed, in giving that we receive. But may we also strive to be a cheerful receiver - stretching our arms out in love and humility to accept the gift someone is reaching out in love to give us.