Fall is my favorite season. I enjoy the change of colors on the trees in the Midwestern United States, the crisp autumn breeze, and the apple cider from local orchards that my grocer begins to stock. The months of October and November also contain some of my favorite celebrations (Halloween and my birthday) and mark the opportunity to gather with colleagues and friends at my professional society’s annual conference–always a joy. But, lingering just on the horizon, is one fall celebration that I am less excited by: the annual Thanksgiving feast.  

There are several reasons for this reticence. 

Some practical: navigating the family politics of whether we will dine with my parents or in-laws; arranging for someone to take care of our family pets if it’s decided that we’re traveling out of town; and, of course, the simple fact that I don’t really like turkey. 

Others ideological: feasting in abundance while so many in our country and, indeed, the world, go hungry; celebrating the myth of American exceptionalism and ignoring the colonial slaughter and theft of land from indigenous peoples; and, when we tell the true story of American domination, doing so with lament, but no real repentance or move toward reparations. 

This has been my position on Thanksgiving for awhile and it hasn’t really changed. But, last year, I overheard my thirteen-year-old daughter telling my mother that Thanksgiving is one of her favorite holidays. She explained that she really loves the quiet time to slow down and spend time with family and, especially, to cook with her cousins, grandparents, and me. And in a world filled with so much noise and busyness, it’s hard to argue with that. 

So, this year, while I’m still not a huge fan of Thanksgiving as a national commemoration, I’ve resolved to embrace the practice of thanks giving. As the world around us continues to claim a 24/7 cycle of bad news, in fact, I’m increasingly convinced that the practice of slowing down, listening, spending time with our beloved, and giving thanks is imperative.

At the church where I worship, thanks-giving is often an embodied practice. We show our thanks for teachers at the beginning of the school year by shopping for their most needed school supplies. We show our thanks to firefighters by delivering cookies to the local firehouse. And, sometimes, we simply say “thank you” by communally clapping our hands or individually sharing a quiet hug. 

At home, I’ve learned that there are different ways to best give thanks for various friends and family members based on their values and preferences. Some of my beloved are most moved by a handwritten note or drawing; others by a phone call; an others by a home cooked meal or a musical piece performed by one of my children. 

The common thread that runs through each of these practices is that they are related to people—individuals and communities of individuals—who have touched my life, whether directly or indirectly. This personal connection is, I think, what my daughter was celebrating when she uplifted Thanksgiving as her favorite celebration. In spite of the holiday’s difficult and entangled beginnings, this Fall, I invite you to give thanks by reconnecting—with your community, with your church, with your family, with your friends, with God and the community of God’s beloved.