Thank God For Himself Series

A chaplain of some prison trustees once came to his group and announced

that he was going on a six week trip to Europe. He had been a faithful

servant to them for years, and they appreciated him a great deal. They

began to slap him on the back as they expressed their congratulations, and

they gave him big hugs. When the service of that day was over the leader

came to the chaplain with a big box. He said, "We can't give you much, but

we want you to have this, and asked that you not open it until you get

home."

He was so touched, he could not wait to get home and share with his

wife what had happened. It was an exciting moment as he pulled the top of

that box back, and there he saw his own billfold, his own tie clasp, his own

pen, and his own watch. In embracing him they had stripped him of every

loose possession he had, and this is what they gave him back. They had

nothing to give him that was not already his. So it is with us and God.

The poet was right who said,

We give thee but thine own dear Lord,

Whatever the gift may be.

All that we have is thine alone,

A trust O Lord from Thee.

If all we are and all we have is a gift from God, then the best we can

do is to give back to God what is already his. But this leads to a problem.

The problem is, it seems like much ado about nothing. Our giving to God is

like giving a thimble of water to the ocean, or like giving a candle to the

Sun. It seems so insignificant that we tend to lose the thrill of

Thanksgiving.

Sir Michael Costa, a famous composer and conductor from Naples, was

once rehearsing with a vast array of instruments and hundreds of voices.

With the thunder of the organ, the roll of the drums, the sounding of the

horns, and the clashing of the cymbals, the mighty chorus rang out. You can

understand the mood that came over the piccolo player who said within

himself, "In all this din it matters not what I do!" So he ceased to play.

Suddenly, Costa stopped and flung up his arms, and all was still. He

shouted out, "Where is the piccolo?" His sensitive ear missed it, and it's

absence made a difference to him.

God has a sensitive ear as well, and he misses any voice that is not

lifted in Thanksgiving to Him. Besides the angelic host of heaven, millions

on earth join the chorus with all sorts of spectacular things to thank God

for, and it is easy for us to feel like that piccolo player and say, "How

can it matter what I do? In the colossal symphony of voices, what does it

matter if I remain silent? God's blessings are more than I can count, but

my ability to express my thanks is so inadequate."

Simon Greenberg expresses the frustration of the thankful heart as he

deals with the gifts of God just in nature alone:

Five thousand breathless dawns all new;

Five thousand flowers fresh in dew;

Five thousand sunsets wrapped in gold;

One million snowflakes served ice cold;

Five quiet friends, one baby's love;

One white mad sea with clouds above;

One hundred music--haunted dreams,

Of moon--drenched roads and hurrying streams,

Of prophesying winds, and trees,

Of silent stars and browsing bees;

One June night in a fragrant wood;

One heart that loved and understood.

I wondered when I waked that day,

How--how in God's name--I could pay!

He never even got into the greatest gifts--the gifts of love and

salvation and eternal life in Jesus Christ. We can't even pay for the gifts

of natural life let alone for the gifts of eternal life. So let's face up

to the reality that Thanksgiving is not a way to pay God back. All we can

give is what is already His, and we can only give a fraction in return for

the fullness He has given us. So forget the idea that thanks is to pay. It

is not to pay, it is to pray, and to say to God, this is how I look at life,

history, nature, and all that is, because I acknowledge you as my God.

Thanksgiving is the expression of an attitude, or a philosophy of life.

The thankful person is a person who looks at life from a unique

perspective, and, therefore, sees what the ungrateful do not see. At best

we see only a part, a mere fraction of God's grace. We see through a glass

darkly Paul says, and so none of us can be as thankful as we ought to be,