Only the Grateful Believe
Commentary
A schoolteacher asked her students to make a list of the things for which they were thankful. Right at the top of Chad’s list was the word “glasses.” Some children resent having to wear glasses, but evidently not Chad! She asked him about it. Why was he thankful that he wore glasses?
“Well,” he said, “my glasses keep the boys from hitting me and the girls from kissing me.”
The philosopher Eric Hoffer says, “The hardest arithmetic to master is that which enables us to count our blessings!” That’s true, isn’t it?
There’s an old legend about the angels of heaven coming to earth to gather prayers into large baskets. Thousands return with their baskets overflowing with every request, from a child’s prayer: “Bless Mommy and Daddy and Sister and Brother and my pet hamster” to the atheist’s cry: “O God! What do we do now?”
But a single lonely angel returns to heaven with a half-empty basket of thanksgiving notes. That’s all there are. Like the ten lepers Jesus healed, we run off with the nine and only once in a while stop to think and thank.
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Victor Hugo called his masterpiece Les Miserables a religious work. So it is. The story echoes the gospel message at nearly every turn.
The main character, Jean Valjean, has been beaten hard by the cruel twists of fate. He has seen the sham of hypocrisy on all sides. So he casts the name of the Lord to the ground like a curse. What does God know of him, and what does it matter?
Imprisoned for stealing break to feed his family and resentenced by the vindictive will of his jailer, Jean Valjean finally manages to escape. On his first night of freedom, he stays with a bishop, who treats him well. But behind Jean Valjean’s thankful mask is the cunning face of a thief, for the bishop has many valuables.
In the early morning hours, Jean Valjean steals away with some silver plates. And when his suspicious appearance brings him under arrest, he is forced to face the bishop again, charged with new crimes.
Then the miracle of grace occurs. For in Jean Valjean’s eyes the bishop sees something that begs forgive ness and hopes for mercy. Instead of taking revenge, the bishop declares that the silver dishes were a gift to Jean Valjean. In fact, he says Jean Valjean forgot to take the two silver candlesticks he had also given him.
In an instant, the bishop declares Jean Valjean innocent and gives him back his life. But with this gift of forgiveness, he commissions Jean Valjean to bring Christ to others. The rest of Jean Valjean’s life becomes a testimony of one who is made new in the grace of divine love.
This is what Moses is trying to communicate to the Israelites as he spends his last hours with them. Whatever their future might be, it is built upon their past, and their ability to remember the redemptive grace that gave them dignity. And only if they treated others with that same redemptive grace would their lives of thankfulness have meaning.
Philippians 4:4-9
There is a powerful scene in Shakespeare’s drama The Merchant of Venice. Portia is a beautiful, wealthy woman. Men come from all over the world begging to marry her. They have a goal in mind, but if they want to win her hand, they must first make a choice.
Portia knows that talk is often cheap, so she has had three large caskets created, and she uses them in a test of values. Whoever would win her hand must choose the casket that contains her portrait.
Each casket is very different from the others. One is made of silver, with an inscription that reads, “Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.” Those who are attracted to the shine of that fair vessel open it only to find the head of a fool. That, according to Portia, is what seekers of treasure deserve.
The second casket is even more spectacular than the first. It is gilded, and studded with baubles and gems. The inscription on this glittering icon reads, “Who chooseth me shall get what many men desire.” The suitors who nod for this prize open it to receive a dry and lifeless skull. Riches are dead. They have no life in them.
Of course, there is the third casket, but is rather ugly. It is only made of lead, and fashioned by a rather crude artisan. The message carved on the front is this: “Who chooseth me must give all and hazard all he heath.” It is, however, the one which contains Portia’s portrait.
This is the way it is on the path to the Kingdom of God. If you own this goal, then this goal must own you. There are no shortcuts. There are no detours or safety measures. That is why the Apostle Paul gave his own testimony of life and grace in Philippians 3. Now he can say the same to his friends in this beloved congregation. No one can take along any personal treasures or safety gear. Choosing this way is a hazard. It’s all or nothing. But what a joy it brings!
John 6:25-35
Frederick Buechner once wrote about a dream he’d had in which he was staying at a hotel with hundreds of rooms. When he checked in, the desk clerk gave him the key to a delightful room. It made him feel warm, comfortable, and cared for. Although later Buechner couldn’t remember exactly what the room looked like, he shivered with pleasure whenever he thought about it.
In his dream, he stayed in the room for a short time before setting off on a number of adventures. Later, however, his dream brought him back to the same hotel.
This time the clerk gave Buechner the key to a different room. When he opened the door, he immediately sensed the difference: it felt cold and clammy; it was cramped and dark; it made him shudder with fear.
So, in his dream, he went to the front desk and asked the clerk to move him to his first room – the bright and cozy one. But Buechner couldn’t remember where it was.
The clerk smiled and said he knew exactly which room it was. He told Buechner he could have the room any time he wanted it – if he asked for it by name. The name of the room, said the clerk, was Remember. A room called Remember.
That’s when Buechner woke up. And he has been haunted by that dream ever since. A room called Remember! A room of peace. A room that made him feel loved and at home.
What was it all about? Buechner knew. We all have memories, he said – bits and pieces of things that haven happened to us in the past; scraps of stories and songs we’ve learned; photo albums of our younger years. We all remember.
But, said Buechner, we don’t always use our memories. Sometimes we let them go to waste. Sometimes we shut them out of our consciousness. Sometimes we’re too busy to visit with them. And when we stop using our memories, we lose an important part of our lives.
Throughout the Scriptures we hear God calling us to remember. Remember what life is about. Remember who I am. Remember what you’ve gone through. Remember who you are.
One of the most powerful scenes in the Bible pictures Jesus calling us to remember. On the night of his death, Jesus sits quietly with the twelve, raises the cup in blessing, and says, “Whenever you come together, do this and remember me.”
A father watched proudly as his radiant daughter stood waiting to go on her first date. She was excited and nervous, and so was he. What advice could he give her without being overprotective? He put his arm around her shoulder and looked her lovingly in the eye. “Remember who you are,” he said. And that was enough.
Application
In 1637, Eilenburg, Saxony, was surrounded by the dark night of the soul. Europe was at war. Eilenburg was tossed back and forth by the armies. Three times during that year it was attacked and severely damaged. When the armies left, refugees poured in by the thousands. Diseases ran rampant. Food was scarce.
There was only one pastor in the city, a fellow named Martin Rinkart. His journal for 1637 indicates that he conducted over 4,500 funerals that year, sometimes as many as forty or fifty a day. Life was a constant death, and each morning stank of disaster.
Still, somehow, even today, 1637 is important for nearly every Thanksgiving celebration around the world. For Christians still sing the song Pastor Rinkart wrote that year. They sing it with gusto. They sing it with faith. They sing it, not because it catalogues a list of reasons for thanksgiving, but because thankfulness is all that is left when the bottom drops out of the world.
Now thank we all our God with heart and hands and voices,
who wondrous things has done, in whom his world rejoices;
who from our mothers’ arms has blessed us on our way
with countless gifts of love, and still is ours today.
Only the grateful believe!
Alternative Application (Philippians 4:4-9)
Remember Helen Keller? She was blind and deaf from her earliest years. When Helen was just a little girl and she’d first begun to speak with her hands, they brought the great preacher Phillips Brooks to her to teach her something about God. As he started to explain God to her with his talking fingers in her palm, little Helen got so excited.
Shen had always known about God, she signed back, but until now she had never known his name. How thankful she was to finally give expressions of praise to the God she’d always loved with her soul!
How well do you know God? The answer is found somewhere in your language of praise.
“Well,” he said, “my glasses keep the boys from hitting me and the girls from kissing me.”
The philosopher Eric Hoffer says, “The hardest arithmetic to master is that which enables us to count our blessings!” That’s true, isn’t it?
There’s an old legend about the angels of heaven coming to earth to gather prayers into large baskets. Thousands return with their baskets overflowing with every request, from a child’s prayer: “Bless Mommy and Daddy and Sister and Brother and my pet hamster” to the atheist’s cry: “O God! What do we do now?”
But a single lonely angel returns to heaven with a half-empty basket of thanksgiving notes. That’s all there are. Like the ten lepers Jesus healed, we run off with the nine and only once in a while stop to think and thank.
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Victor Hugo called his masterpiece Les Miserables a religious work. So it is. The story echoes the gospel message at nearly every turn.
The main character, Jean Valjean, has been beaten hard by the cruel twists of fate. He has seen the sham of hypocrisy on all sides. So he casts the name of the Lord to the ground like a curse. What does God know of him, and what does it matter?
Imprisoned for stealing break to feed his family and resentenced by the vindictive will of his jailer, Jean Valjean finally manages to escape. On his first night of freedom, he stays with a bishop, who treats him well. But behind Jean Valjean’s thankful mask is the cunning face of a thief, for the bishop has many valuables.
In the early morning hours, Jean Valjean steals away with some silver plates. And when his suspicious appearance brings him under arrest, he is forced to face the bishop again, charged with new crimes.
Then the miracle of grace occurs. For in Jean Valjean’s eyes the bishop sees something that begs forgive ness and hopes for mercy. Instead of taking revenge, the bishop declares that the silver dishes were a gift to Jean Valjean. In fact, he says Jean Valjean forgot to take the two silver candlesticks he had also given him.
In an instant, the bishop declares Jean Valjean innocent and gives him back his life. But with this gift of forgiveness, he commissions Jean Valjean to bring Christ to others. The rest of Jean Valjean’s life becomes a testimony of one who is made new in the grace of divine love.
This is what Moses is trying to communicate to the Israelites as he spends his last hours with them. Whatever their future might be, it is built upon their past, and their ability to remember the redemptive grace that gave them dignity. And only if they treated others with that same redemptive grace would their lives of thankfulness have meaning.
Philippians 4:4-9
There is a powerful scene in Shakespeare’s drama The Merchant of Venice. Portia is a beautiful, wealthy woman. Men come from all over the world begging to marry her. They have a goal in mind, but if they want to win her hand, they must first make a choice.
Portia knows that talk is often cheap, so she has had three large caskets created, and she uses them in a test of values. Whoever would win her hand must choose the casket that contains her portrait.
Each casket is very different from the others. One is made of silver, with an inscription that reads, “Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.” Those who are attracted to the shine of that fair vessel open it only to find the head of a fool. That, according to Portia, is what seekers of treasure deserve.
The second casket is even more spectacular than the first. It is gilded, and studded with baubles and gems. The inscription on this glittering icon reads, “Who chooseth me shall get what many men desire.” The suitors who nod for this prize open it to receive a dry and lifeless skull. Riches are dead. They have no life in them.
Of course, there is the third casket, but is rather ugly. It is only made of lead, and fashioned by a rather crude artisan. The message carved on the front is this: “Who chooseth me must give all and hazard all he heath.” It is, however, the one which contains Portia’s portrait.
This is the way it is on the path to the Kingdom of God. If you own this goal, then this goal must own you. There are no shortcuts. There are no detours or safety measures. That is why the Apostle Paul gave his own testimony of life and grace in Philippians 3. Now he can say the same to his friends in this beloved congregation. No one can take along any personal treasures or safety gear. Choosing this way is a hazard. It’s all or nothing. But what a joy it brings!
John 6:25-35
Frederick Buechner once wrote about a dream he’d had in which he was staying at a hotel with hundreds of rooms. When he checked in, the desk clerk gave him the key to a delightful room. It made him feel warm, comfortable, and cared for. Although later Buechner couldn’t remember exactly what the room looked like, he shivered with pleasure whenever he thought about it.
In his dream, he stayed in the room for a short time before setting off on a number of adventures. Later, however, his dream brought him back to the same hotel.
This time the clerk gave Buechner the key to a different room. When he opened the door, he immediately sensed the difference: it felt cold and clammy; it was cramped and dark; it made him shudder with fear.
So, in his dream, he went to the front desk and asked the clerk to move him to his first room – the bright and cozy one. But Buechner couldn’t remember where it was.
The clerk smiled and said he knew exactly which room it was. He told Buechner he could have the room any time he wanted it – if he asked for it by name. The name of the room, said the clerk, was Remember. A room called Remember.
That’s when Buechner woke up. And he has been haunted by that dream ever since. A room called Remember! A room of peace. A room that made him feel loved and at home.
What was it all about? Buechner knew. We all have memories, he said – bits and pieces of things that haven happened to us in the past; scraps of stories and songs we’ve learned; photo albums of our younger years. We all remember.
But, said Buechner, we don’t always use our memories. Sometimes we let them go to waste. Sometimes we shut them out of our consciousness. Sometimes we’re too busy to visit with them. And when we stop using our memories, we lose an important part of our lives.
Throughout the Scriptures we hear God calling us to remember. Remember what life is about. Remember who I am. Remember what you’ve gone through. Remember who you are.
One of the most powerful scenes in the Bible pictures Jesus calling us to remember. On the night of his death, Jesus sits quietly with the twelve, raises the cup in blessing, and says, “Whenever you come together, do this and remember me.”
A father watched proudly as his radiant daughter stood waiting to go on her first date. She was excited and nervous, and so was he. What advice could he give her without being overprotective? He put his arm around her shoulder and looked her lovingly in the eye. “Remember who you are,” he said. And that was enough.
Application
In 1637, Eilenburg, Saxony, was surrounded by the dark night of the soul. Europe was at war. Eilenburg was tossed back and forth by the armies. Three times during that year it was attacked and severely damaged. When the armies left, refugees poured in by the thousands. Diseases ran rampant. Food was scarce.
There was only one pastor in the city, a fellow named Martin Rinkart. His journal for 1637 indicates that he conducted over 4,500 funerals that year, sometimes as many as forty or fifty a day. Life was a constant death, and each morning stank of disaster.
Still, somehow, even today, 1637 is important for nearly every Thanksgiving celebration around the world. For Christians still sing the song Pastor Rinkart wrote that year. They sing it with gusto. They sing it with faith. They sing it, not because it catalogues a list of reasons for thanksgiving, but because thankfulness is all that is left when the bottom drops out of the world.
Now thank we all our God with heart and hands and voices,
who wondrous things has done, in whom his world rejoices;
who from our mothers’ arms has blessed us on our way
with countless gifts of love, and still is ours today.
Only the grateful believe!
Alternative Application (Philippians 4:4-9)
Remember Helen Keller? She was blind and deaf from her earliest years. When Helen was just a little girl and she’d first begun to speak with her hands, they brought the great preacher Phillips Brooks to her to teach her something about God. As he started to explain God to her with his talking fingers in her palm, little Helen got so excited.
Shen had always known about God, she signed back, but until now she had never known his name. How thankful she was to finally give expressions of praise to the God she’d always loved with her soul!
How well do you know God? The answer is found somewhere in your language of praise.
