Abundance and Gratitude

Rev. Amy A. Freedman
Channing Memorial Church
December 3, 2000

In many ways, Robert Frost is the contemporary voice of New England. His poetry of stone walls, birch trees, and the road not taken speaks not only of the environment but describes an interior landscape. The scenery of New England is a reflection of the character of people who call this home. I invite you then as you listen to a poem written by Robert Frost to place yourself in the picture. Call up in your mind's eye a place where water, land, and sky meet. Where you encounter both your own reflection in the solitude and the wild calls you beyond modern concerns.

He thought he kept the universe alone;
for all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
in the cliff's talus on the other side,
And then in the far distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the great water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush--- and that was all.
I offer this poem because it touches upon the contemporary misconception that our lives are our own possessions. Western society continually perpetuates the idea that the individual is of utmost importance. We are surrounded in this culture by messages that each person must "make something of himself", strive for "success", and "be all that you can be". Although I have nothing against holding oneself to high standards, it can sometimes lead to a sense of isolation and despair. As Frost writes, "He thought he kept the universe alone; for all the voice in answer he could wake was but the mocking echo of his own."

Historian Calvin Luther Martin describes how the Western view developed with what scholars call the agricultural revolution. The shift from hunter-gatherer societies affected not only food consumption, but also the way in which human beings viewed the world. Here is what Martin proposes, "The secret to agriculture, its genius, is timing, and the sovereignty of the priest-kings lies in their wielding the temporal sword. Man, literally the male gender, allied with the fabulous gods, now imagined himself in league with the lunar, solar, and various planetary cycles. Once again, the heavens presented a giant clockworks that astronomer-astrologers discovered they could both chart and predict, and join forces with, through numerals--- the numbers that were themselves divine beings."

In the modern age, the idea of giant clockworks in the heavens may have been abandoned however numbers are still perceived as divine beings. This is in evidence in many ways. On a national scale, the divine numerals tell us that the American economy is robust no matter what the condition of our poorest citizens. And many are still convinced that human beings are masters of natural processes. For example, science has brought us genetically altered vegetables resistant to pesticides and nutritionally bankrupt. The Y2K panic was a symptom of our dependence upon a numerical system. The idea that our computers might fail due to the change from the year 1999 to 2000 was enough to cause anxiety around the globe. Remember how many people waited with fear as the date changed to 2000 as if the world itself might stop? These mechanisms, that are supposedly signs of progress, have served to distance us from the abundance of nature that sustains life.

Personally, I am just as much a product of this thinking. This spring when the battery of my watch stopped, I passed several days without it. I was astonished to recognize how frequently I glance at my wrist! I am a slave to my watch constantly following the demands of time.

The formal idea of time was imported by the Europeans. Joseph Bruchac in his book, Lasting Echoes explains how the Abenaki word for watches or clock is Papeezokwazik that means "that thing which makes much noise and does nothing useful". His Abenaki ancestors had no need of clocks- they were attuned to the changing seasons and movement of the sun, moon, and stars. In 1881, Carl Sweezy, of the Arapaho, said the following:

"Every white man seemed to have a great concern about time. We had our own names for the seasons and for the months that made up the year, but they were not the same as the white man used. . . It was a long time before we knew what the figures on the face of a clock meant, or why people looked at them before they ate meals or started off to church. We had to learn that clocks have something to do with the hours and minutes that the white people mentioned so often. Hours, minutes, and seconds were such small divisions of time that we never thought of them. When the sun rose, when it was high in the sky, and when it set were all the divisions of the day that we ever found necessary when we followed the old Arapaho road. White people, who did not try so hard to understand the ways of the Cheyenne and the Arapaho as we did to understand their ways, thought we were all lazy. That was because we took a different attitude toward time than theirs. We enjoyed time, they measured it."

There are many different tribes and many different Native American languages. Each one has unique traditions and mythology. Like Robert Frost who expresses through his poetry the New England landscape, each tribe held a deep connection to the environment in which they lived. However, there are teachings that Native America holds in common. A wisdom inherent in this land that we call home no matter where our ancestors originated.

An idea in stark contrast to rugged individualism is that of seven generations. Oral traditions of many tribes honor the concept. The Iroquois hold that whenever we do something, we must do it with seven generations in mind. So instead of purely considering the benefits to myself, I must consider how my actions affect the lives of those who live seven generations from now. The current generation is also viewed as the middle of seven generations. We can remember three generations who preceded us- parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. If we are fortunate, we may know three generations after us- our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. This certainly gives a more lasting and sustaining view of our existence.

Native American ceremonies have very little to do with salvation of the individual or even the prosperity of the tribe. The rituals are expressions of gratitude by human beings for all forms of life. Western society often loses sight of the sense of relationship and gift. I am reminded once more of Frost's words:

Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.

That "original response" nurtures and sustains us each moment. We are sustained through the air we breath, the ground we walk upon, the water which quenches our thirst, the plants and animals that serve both as our food and companions on this earth, and the fire which warms us.

The ills of modern society are many. The clockworks that the Europeans introduced cannot simply be turned back. However, there is a larger truth. There is a "counter-love" that meets us if we honor "all our relations" like Robert Frost's buck splashing to meet him across the water. This means opening our hearts to the people, animals, and plants that surround us. Being able to accept thanks as gracefully as we offer it. Remembering that even in times of loneliness, our actions are connected to seven generations.

On this Thanksgiving week, hear the words of Joseph Bruchac:

When I first heard the drum,
I did not yet know
that it was my heart
and the heart of my mother.

When I first saw the sun,
I could not see
that it was the gift
of life from our Creator.

The stories helped me
to understand.

The words of elders led me
to walk with care
on this land.

An old song says
Earth always remains.
Beneath our feet
the earth is alive.

If we stay close to the earth
and do not forget,
we, too, may survive.

The lives and words
of our ancestors
are part of the land
lasting echoes, never gone.

They return to us
with each story, each song,
as old as the sun,
as new as each dawn.