"Let us give thanks," said the preacher, "for the wholeness of our bodies, for legs that walk and run, for ears that hear the song of the bird, for eyes that see beauty in flower, fruit, earth, and sky, for arms that envelop, and hands that hold."

And sadly, without a word, there arose the blind and deaf, crippled and paralyzed, and those who had lost a limb, and behold, ten made their way out of the church.

But the preacher continued and said, "Let us give thanks for our health, for lungs breathing in the soft air, for enjoyment of food and drink, for the firm tone of a skin that radiates soundness."

And there arose and departed those with TB, those with leprosy, those who knew no food but hot milk, and that taken with pain, and behold, ten more had left the congregation.

But the preacher continued his rhapsody and said, "Let us give thanks for earthly benefits, the comforts of this world, the rivers of wealth that this fruitful world has bestowed upon us."

And there departed the poor who had seen their children die of malnutrition and their parents of cold, ten more.

But the preacher, his eyes raised in riveted contemplation of comfortable thoughts, saw none of this, and said, Let us give thanks for home and hearth, for the families in which we dwell."

And there departed out of the congregation the dispossessed, the refugee, the old people from welfare homes, and the young girl disgraced and rejected by her family, in all ten more.

And the preacher persisted and said, "Let us give thanks for our friends."

And then from the congregation there arose forgotten women from lonely corners of great cities, the painfully shy who eat alone nightly in cheap restaurants, the isolated who dwell on farms far from a neighbor, and all who by others are considered odd or of wrong race or background, and quietly slipped away ten more.

But the preacher, drawing from his lozenge comfort and unction, said, "Let us give thanks for our beauty, surely no supernatural beauty, for we are humble, but that which makes us gracious, graceful, and good to be with."

And Sally who knew her chin receded, and George whose eyes crossed, and Louise who had piano legs, and seven more arose and departed that place.

Yet still, the preacher spoke, "Let us," he said, "give thanks for our wonderful minds, through which we understand art and science, literature and history, and probe the mysteries of the universe."

And several people of average intelligence blushed, and a moron looked bewildered, and an imbecile stared blankly, but they all arose, ten of them and walked to the door.

But the preacher, without a glance downward, almost sang as he said, "Let us give thanks for these virtues that make the path of life pleasant, as if bedecked by flowers."

And there were those who were tortured by bad tempers, wracked by jealousy, stabbed by envy, and made miserable by thwartings in their potency to love, and ten more were no more part of that congregation. But the preacher spoke on saying, "Let us give thanks for justice."

And a Jew from Cairo, an Arab from the Negev, a black from the ghetto, and all those deprived of recourse to law, medicine, and education, ten in number left.

But the preacher said, "Let us give thanks for peace."

And there departed ten more, victims of wars declared and undeclared.

And them the preacher looked out upon his congregation. And there was no one there. And his lozenge had melted. And there was no more sweetness and light to his voice. And he cried our, and his voice cracked, "O Lord, my Lord, where have they gone?"

And behold, a voice from heaven spoke, a still small voice, and it said, "Because you have exalted what I have not promised, and since the heart of man knows easily the taste of bitterness, they have departed your congregation.

"When have I promised you wholeness of body, health, or earthly comfort? When have I promised you unbroken bonds with family or friends? When have I promised you continued possession of beauty, intelligence, or virtue? When have I told you that in this world you will always know justice and peace?

Remember my servant Job? Remember my son Jesus? When have I promised anyone an easy lot. Have I even promised this to Christians?

And the preacher cried out, "Then, O Lord, what will you give us?'

And the voice replied, "Myself"

And the preacher ran to the doorway of the church, and there, sitting in the shadows of its great pillars and lofty spires, mute and with eyes cast down, were the hundred in whose eyes could be seen the eyes of the billions.

And the preacher took our his box of lozenges and hurled them into utter darkness, and he cried with a cracked but human cry, "O, my friends, I have deceived you. We may have health, we may have friends, we may have justice, but all we are sure of is God." Of old it was said by Job, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust him." And, later, in his dying, our Savior Jesus spoke to his Father, and said, "Into thy hands I commend my spirit." For this is all that is sure: that God gives to us himself. And that is all that counts."

And one who was blind wept. And one who was friendless grasped a neighbor's hands. And the black from the ghetto knew that all the struggles were worthwhile, And they all came back inside.

Behold the preacher mounted to his pulpit, and to him one hundred faces looked up. And the preacher said, "Let us give thanks that God himself is with us, world without end."

And one hundred voices cried out, "Amen!"

And there was joy in heaven. 

"Thanksgiving" written by Richard Hunter. First published November 15, 1965 in Presbyterian Life. Reprinted with permission of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)