The Experience of Homelessness

Sermon copyright (c) 2025 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. The sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation. The text below may have typographical errors, missing words, etc., because I didn’t have time to make any corrections.

Readings

The first reading is from an essay by sociologist Musa al-Gharbi titled “Two Cheers for Symbolic Capitalists”:

“Referring to homeless people as ‘unsheltered individuals’… [is a] discursive maneuver that often obscures the brutal realities that others must confront in their day-to-day lives. If the intent of these language shifts is to avoid stigma, the reality is that these populations are still heavily stigmatized….

“Critically, however, pointing out unfortunate consequences of [this] approach to language and social justice does not invalidate the idea that language matters. In fact, it powerfully illustrates that how we choose to talk and think about society, alongside the ways we try to influence others’ thoughts and discourse, actually can have important social consequences — for better and for worse.” [https://musaalgharbi.com/2024/09/30/two-cheers-symbolic-capitalists/]

The second reading is from the recent book “Rough Sleepers: Dr. Jim O’Connell’s Urgent Mission To Bring Healing to Homeless People,” by Tracey Kidder:

“The modern era of homelessness began in the 1980s, when the size and visibility of the problem began to rise dramatically. Driving south on I-93, Jim O’Connell tried to draw me a picture of what had gone wrong in Boston. Coming out of the tunnel in the center of the city, he gestured to a portion of the South End. ‘Just look at this. Look at these new buildings, all along here. All those are apartments and all the ones behind them. There’s got to be, by my calculation, at least four thousand new units there, right next to the Pine Street Inn. But no a single one for homeless people.”… Back in the 1920s, Boston had 35,000 single room occupancy units for rent. They had served as homes for immigrants and low-wage workers, elderly people on fixed incomes, and, more recently, for struggling Vietnam veterans. In 1965, the city and South End residents had overwhelmingly approved a plan to turn the neighborhood into ‘an economically, socially and racially integrated community’ with rental housing for ‘all displaced low-income residents wishing to remain.’ The destruction of the old buildings, with their inexpensive … rooms was widely praised as an act of civic virtue, and it might have been, if anything like that plan had been followed….

“A severe recession in 1980 had inaugurated the era of rising homelessness. But the problem was driven and sustained by many long-brewing problems: the shabby treatment of Vietnam veterans; … the grossly inadequate provisions made for mentally ill people;… the continuation of racist housing policies…. Also the arcana of applying for Social Security disability — a process so complex that anyone who could figure out how to get assistance probably didn’t need it.

Sermon — “The Experience of Homelessness”

Today is the date of the annual Winter Walk for the Homeless, sponsored by Boston Health Care for the Homeless. This is a fundraising walk to raise money to help fund healthcare for people who are homeless. First Parish has a history of supporting both this annual walk, and Boston Health Care for the Homeless. We most recently supported Boston Health Care for the Homeless by donating the entire collection from our Christmas Eve candlelight service. And this year, quite a few of us from First Parish planned to go on the walk, though because of the snow it’s not clear how many will be able to make the drive up to Boston.

Two things are especially notable about the Winter Walk for the Homeless: first, it takes place outdoors, regardless of the weather; and second, it includes both housed and unhoused people walking together. Thus it’s more than just another fundraising walk. It’s also a chance to experience the conditions that people who live on the street have to cope with twenty four hours a day, seven days a week; and to be out in the weather with some folks who live outdoors all the time.

Now — there are quite a few of us who cannot participate in the Winter Walk for the Homeless, for a wide variety of reasons. But I thought it might be worthwhile to talk with you about the experience of homelessness, as a way for us to participate at a distance (as it were) in the Winter Walk. I’m not going to try to explain the causes of homelessness and housing insecurity. At the end of the sermon I’ll make a couple of ethical observations. But I’m not going to suggest policies to end homelessness, or tell you what we should be doing about homelessness. I’m just going to talk about the experience of being homeless.

The last two congregations I served had members who were homeless, and both those congregations were in places where there were significant numbers of people who were homeless. As a result, I got to know people who were homeless, and I got to hear some of their stories. Since I’m a minister, I do need to protect people’s confidentiality. So the stories I’m going to tell you will provide no details that can be used to identify individuals; you won’t even know whether they lived on the East Coast or the West Coast. To further protect privacy, I’ll be combining elements from different people’s stories. All this means that the stories I’m going to tell you are, in a sense, fictionalized; at the same time, they’re entirely true.

I’ll start by telling you about someone who came close to being homeless, though he ultimately managed to avoid it. Harry had started his career as a computer programmer. Then there was one of those sudden changes in technology, and suddenly his skills were no longer in demand. He tried to pivot in the new job market by learning new computer skills. Unfortunately, he guessed wrong: just when he had spent six months becoming proficient in the new skills, all the jobs using those skills dried up. By this time, he had used up all his savings, so he didn’t have the money to start yet another training program. Then too, he was well over fifty, and the high tech industry is notorious for its age discrimination. In order to pay the rent and put food on the table, his only viable option was to take any job that he could. He wound up working at Walmart. It was supposed to be a full-time job, but (as was typical with Walmart jobs) after he’d been there a couple of months, they cut his hours to about twenty-five hours a week, and gave him an irregular schedule so it was impossible for him to pick up another part-time job.

When I met Harry, he was living in studio apartment in a rough part of town, barely able to make the rent each month. After he paid the rent and bought food and gas, he couldn’t afford things like dental care. But between his siblings, and his friends in our Unitarian Universalist congregation, he just managed to stay in his apartment. What finally saved him was that he turned sixty-two and was able to taken Social Security; and because of his days of earning good salaries as a computer programmer, he received enough money to get by. So, by the skin of his teeth and with a lot of luck, Harry managed to stay housed. But though he was never homeless himself, he experienced the constant threat of homeleness.

In his recent book called White Poverty, the Rev. William Barber, organizer of the Poor People’s Campaign, argues for an improved definition of what it means to be poor. Barber argues that if you can not find the money to pay an emergency bill of four hundred dollars — that is, you could not borrow against home equity, you could not take it out of savings, you could not put it on a credit card — then you’re poor. By this measure, Harry was poor. Barber says that by this measure, about a quarter of all Americans are poor. And if you’re poor like Harry, it’s much easier to fall into homelessness.

This brings me to the next person I’d like you to meet, whom I’ll call Alice. Alice was in her late twenties when I knew her. She began attending our Unitarian Universalist congregation regularly. She was interesting, intelligent, and articulate; and I always enjoyed chatting with her at social hour. At one point I asked her if she wanted to be listed in the congregation’s directory. It became clear that she really didn’t have a home of her own. She was staying with friends and acquaintances for a couple of weeks at a time, with no set address. Not to put too fine a point on it, she was couch-surfing. Thus, even though she wasn’t living on the streets or in her car, she was homeless.

One of the big drawbacks to being homeless is that it can make it hard to stay connected with other people. The homeless people I’ve known all have had cell phones, but their phone plans have very limited minutes, so if you try to call them it’s likely you won’t get through. The homeless people I’ve known all have email addresses, but because they don’t have regular internet access they may not be able to respond to email right away. Being homeless can be isolating, and if you have a friend who’s homeless, it can be tough to stay in touch with them.

Alice was able to check email regularly because she had email access through her job. However, she didn’t like to receive personal email at work, and asked not to be listed in the congregation’s directory. She still showed up every week for Sunday services. I finally said to her, “Look, you’re here nearly every week, you’re obviously a Unitarian Universalist, why don’t you become a member of this congregation?” And then she told me her good news. She had managed to navigate the Byzantine application process for Section 8 housing. (From what I’ve heard almost requires a college degree to navigate successfully, and Alice did in fact have a college degree). There is so little Section 8 housing that actually getting into Section 8 housing is almost like hitting the lottery. But Alice hit the lottery, and got Section 8 housing. I congratulated her on her great good fortune, and then she told me the bad news — the Section 8 apartment she had gotten was an hour’s drive from our congregation. In fact that was the last Sunday she was going to be with us. Not surprisingly, we never heard from her again.

Here I’d like to interject a short description of the different kinds of homelessness.

First, there’s couch-surfing. Alice was a couch-surfer, doing short-term stays in other people’s homes. Couch surfing can feel relatively stable, if you have hosts who are willing to let you stay for long periods of time. But couch-surfing ranges all the way to very unstable, where you’re staying for short periods of time in homes where you don’t feel safe.

Next is car dwelling. In Silicon Valley where I was based for thirteen years, car dwellers included people who owned homes in the Central Valley, a three hour’s drive away, but who lived in their RVs during the week while working at Silicon Valley jobs. And all the local state colleges had students who were full-time car dwellers during the school year. At the other end of the car dwelling scale were people who lived full-time in their cars, and barely had enough money to keep the car insured and registered.

Next are the people who live in shelters. From talking with shelter dwellers, I learned that homeless shelters can be a mixed bag. At the upper end of the scale, there were the shelters like Heart and Home in Palo Alto. This is a women-only winter shelter housing its guests in churches in Palo Alto; volunteers bring meals, and sit with the guests to talk and share dinner together. At the lower end of the scale are the big city shelters, some of which can feel overcrowded and unsafe to the guests. Not everyone feels safe in a shelter, and some people would rather live on the street.

And that brings me to Anna. When I first met Anna, she was living in a shelter. She had heard about our Unitarian Universalist congregation, and decided to come check out a worship service. After the service, she found me and, like a typical newcomer, asked me a series of questions about Unitarian Universalism. She came back again the next week, and pretty soon she was calling herself a Unitarian Universalist. A couple of months later, she went through the formal process to become a member of the congregation, making an annual financial pledge; and she pledged a greater percentage of her disposable income than most of our middle class members.

Anna was a regular at Sunday morning services, so we began to worry a bit when she missed two weeks in a row. Anna was in her mid-seventies, and we wondered if she had gotten ill or injured. I tried calling her, but not surprisingly was unable to get through — she paid by the minute on her phone plan, and didn’t pay for any minutes unless she needed to make a call. Fortunately, she showed up the next week, and I asked her if she had been ill. She told me it wasn’t illness, it was that she had decided to leave the shelter because it just didn’t feel safe any more. You have to understand that Anna was clean and sober, and that her mental health was excellent. But not everyone who stays in a shelter is sober or mentally healthy, and the staff in shelters are usually overworked and can’t monitor everyone adequately. What had really gotten to Anna was the drinking and drug use in the shelter where she had been staying; she had 35 years of sobriety, attended Alcoholics Anonymous regularly, and had little tolerance for people who wouldn’t deal with their addictions. She decided she preferred to live on the streets, rather than live with “a bunch of drunks and druggies” (using her words, as best I can remember them).

From then on, we only saw Anna at Sunday services about once a month. It all depended on where she wound up spending the night, and whether she could catch a bus that would get her to the church in time for services. Of course, the church offered to give her rides; but she didn’t know where she was going to be on any given Saturday night, nor could she afford the phone call to arrange rides. Nor would she accept money from the congregation’s fund for members in need. Anna felt it was her duty as a member to financially support the congregation, not to have the congregation financially support her.

When I talked with Anna at social hour, she was mostly interested in talking about the sermon, or about Unitarian Universalism. She kept saying that here she was in her mid-seventies, never knew about Unitarian Universalism before, but she realized now that she’d actually been a Unitarian Universalist all her life. So that’s mostly what we talked about. But sometimes she told me a little bit about her strategies for living on the street safely. Since her methods were so idiosyncratic and creative, I feel like talking about them would betray confidentiality; suffice it to say that she developed creative ways of navigating life on the streets.

As I was leaving that congregation, I heard that Anna had been finally put on the waiting list for permanent housing — not in a shelter this time, but in an actual apartment. I don’t know if that worked out. All too often, such permanent housing deals fall through for homeless people at the last minute. But I hope that she did get housing. I’d grown fond of Anna — a good conversationalist, an incisive observer of other people, smart and funny and independent — and like to think that she wound up living some place safe. I don’t like to think of her living on the streets into her eighties.

So there you have some suitably anonymized stories of a few people’s experiences of housing insecurity and homelessness. I’m reluctant to make generalizations based on these experiences. I told you about Harry, who was housing insecure and just missed being homeless. His experience was very different from Alice, the couch-surfer — not just because of their different situations, but because of their different ages, and their different personalities. And Anna had yet another completely different experience. Therefore, I’m not going to make any generalizations about the experience of homelessness.

But I would like to make a couple of ethical observations. First of all, despite what many politicians try to tell us, homelessness cannot always be blamed on the person who winds up being homeless. That is to say, homelessness and housing insecurity do not always result from some individual moral failing. The people I have told you about were all upright and moral people; they were all intelligent, none of them was mentally ill, none of them was an addict or an alcoholic. Based on the homeless people I’ve known, homelessness is just as likely to result from bad luck as from personal failings. I still remember the thirty-something man who arrived at a homeless shelter in Palo Alto who said he had grown up in Palo Alto, graduated from Palo Alto High School, returned to Palo Alto after college, and wound up homeless due to medical bills he couldn’t pay. He did everything right, and ended up homeless through bad luck. Unfortunately, one of the legacies of the Christian tradition that lies at the root of so much of American political culture is a strong tendency to say we are each individually responsible for our sins. Even though Jesus taught us to help those who are poor, Americans have a strong tendency to blame those who are poor. This is a theological position that we Unitarian Universalists categorically reject.

The second ethical observation about homelessness I’d like to make is related to the first. If we can’t blame the homeless person for being homeless, then that means that society is to blame. And society actually includes all of us. This, I believe, is why so many politicians prefer to blame homeless people for being homeless — because if homeless people are not to blame, then it’s within our power to do something about homelessness. This, by the way, helps explain why the American tradition tries to put the blame for being poor on those who are poor — because otherwise, the blame falls on the rest of us for allowing homelessness to occur. And that’s a very uncomfortable feeling.

So end my brief ethical observations. I hope we can get past our feeling of discomfort about all being responsible for homelessness. I would like it society changed so that a responsible sober women in her seventies no longer had to worry about living on the streets.

Person with luggage getting on a city bus at night.
Screen grab from the video “Hotel 22” by Elizabeth Lo. This 8 minute video gives insight into what it’s like for a homeless person who seeks refuge on a city bus at night. Click on the image above to watch the video.

New Year’s Wishes

Sermon copyright (c) 2024 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. The sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation. The text below may have typographical errors, missing words, etc., because I didn’t have time to make any corrections.

Readings

The first reading was an excerpt from the poem “The Loneliness of the Military Historian” by Margaret Atwood (available online here).

The second reading was a poem by W. S. Merwin titled “To the New Year” (available online here).

Sermon: “New Year Wishes”

Even though the end of the calendar is a somewhat arbitrary moment, nevertheless for many of us the end of the year prompts us to reflect on what we’ve done in the past year, and what we might do in the year to come.

Admittedly, I’ve never been a fan of reflecting on the past year. If I start reflecting on the past year, I tend to focus on the things that have gone wrong, and the things I’ve done wrong, all of which always makes a long list. Maybe you’re one of those people who can reflect productively on the past year, and if that’s the case, this would be a worthwhile activity. Since I’m not that kind of person, in this sermon I’m going to avoid any reflection on the past year’s events.

But I do find it helpful to think ahead to the new year; to reflect on what the new year might hold for me. I’m not talking about the stereotypical New Year’s resolutions. I have a poor track record with New Year’s resolutions: I make them, and within a week I forget them. Instead, I’m talking about something that is perhaps less mundane. Rather than coming up with resolutions that I know I’ll forget, what I’d like to reflect on with you are these two questions:

— What might we hope for in the new year?

— What wishes and dreams might inspire us?

You do have to be careful with these questions. It’s easy to become hopelessly impractical. For example, as I reflect on the coming year, I might wish to be a better person than I actually am. I frequently wish that I were smarter, and more talented, and richer. But the reality is that I’m not going to get any smarter; it’s highly unlikely that I’m going to discover any previously unknown talents; and I have no rich uncle who is going to die and leave me billions of dollars. (That’s billions and not millions; if I’m going to have a fantasy about getting rich, I want to be really rich.)

These sorts of fantasies don’t make for good wishes, nor for good dreams. I am who I am, and you are who you are. We don’t have to wish that we’re different people than we are. The real point is to make better use of what wisdom, talents, and wealth we actually have. That is, it makes more sense to wish that we could make better use of what we actually have. Such an attitude might lead to more modest, and therefore more achievable wishes. I might wish that I could use what wisdom and talents I have to be a better friend and family member. Or, in another example, looking farther afield, I might wish that I could use what talents and skills I have to be a better citizen.

Even then it’s important to remain pragmatic. So, one of the things I really wish for, given the current state of the world, is peace; I wish for peace everywhere in the world. But that’s a really big wish, and honestly it’s pretty unrealistic. Probably everyone here has similar big wishes that you’re really passionate about: slowing global climate change; ending poverty and homelessness; finally establishing equality for all genders and all racial groups; and solutions for other major worldwide problems. These kinds of New Year’s wishes are so huge that I prefer to call them dreams. It is helpful to distinguish between what I’m calling dreams and wishes. A wish is more modest, something that can be achieved by one person, something that pertains mostly to a single person or family. A dream is much grander in scope, and might pertain to all of humankind, or even to all living beings on Earth. So it is that I might wish for enough money that my spouse and I can retire someday; but I dream of a world where no one has to worry about poverty.

I would add that a dream is something worth pursuing no matter how unrealistic it might sound at first. Thus, Martin Luther King, Jr., famously had a dream that there would be full racial equality in the United States. Although we have made progress towards racial equality in this country since King’s death, we still have a long way to go. Yet even though it remains difficult to achieve the dream of full racial equality, it continues to be a dream well worth pursuing.

King’s example brings up an important point. Dreams are usually so vast that one single individual can’t make them come true. But this doesn’t imply that one individual can’t help turn the dream into reality. Martin Luther King, though he was just one individual, was able to do something to make his dream of racial equality come true. King had the talents and the abilities of leadership; he was able to motivate and to mobilize other people. But he did not work on his own. He used his talents and abilities to work with many other people; he was merely one person in a mass movement working for racial justice.

Admittedly, we have to think honestly about the talents we each have. We have to be honest with ourselves about how we each can best use our talents to make some big dream come true. I dream of a world where ecological collapse isn’t going to be as dire as some say. Stated like that, this dream doesn’t sound especially realistic. It just sounds huge and amorphous. But huge and amorphous dreams aren’t very helpful; I want to be able to do something to make dreams come true.

Henry Thoreau gave some good advice on this subject: “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.” When we have big dreams, we have to figure out how to put foundations under them. Consider case of impending ecological disaster. How might we put foundations under this castle in the air? First, we can begin by breaking down the problem of ecological disaster into some component parts: there’s global climate change, there’s deforestation and land use change, there’s toxication and pollution, there are invasive species, there’s human overpopulation, and so on. Knowing that there are many people who share our dream of mitigating ecological disaster, we know that we don’t have to do everything; we can pick one of these component parts to focus our efforts on. Then we can further focus our efforts by choosing tasks where we have the talents and abilities to make a difference. To help identify those tasks where we can make a difference, we have to be honest about what talents and abilities we actually have. I’ll give you an example relating to the dream of stopping ecological disaster.

I have friends who are very committed to stopping global climate change, and who are also good at engaging in civil disobedience. These are people who focus their efforts on developing and participating in innovative protest efforts to catch the attention of policy makers, and to convince those policy makers to come up with strategies to end global climate change. These friends of mine tell me about the protest efforts they have participated in; they compare notes about the times they got arrested; and they tally up the slow but steady progress they’ve made towards influencing key policy makers. But if I’m honest with myself, the things they are doing are not in my skill set. I would have no idea how to judge which protest efforts were going to be effective. I have no talent, and little ability, to participate in this kind of effort.

If I look at myself honestly, I have a quarter of a century of experience as an educator — not a classroom educator, but a non-traditional educator. While I have no skill at planning demonstrations that influence policy makers, I do have a reasonably large skillset for doing education with small groups. My modest talents and abilities aren’t as interesting and charismatic as those of my friends who demonstrate against global climate change. But if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that if I’m going to work towards the dream of stopping ecological disaster, it should be in the realm of education, not demonstration. So rather than demonstrating against climate change, I focus my efforts on addressing human overpopulation by providing high quality comprehensive sexuality education classes to early and middle adolescents.

That kind of low-profile effort does not have the cachet of going to demonstrations, but it is nonetheless effective and worthwhile. I know many of you in this congregation are engaged in those kinds of low-profile (yet critically important) efforts. People in this congregation support the local food pantry; raise money to purchase medical supplies for Ukraine’s defense efforts; sponsor a Guatemalan child’s education; and so on. Our efforts may not be news-worthy, but they are important and effective.

I also have to say that there are times in everyone’s life when we don’t have the the energy to do much of anything to make those big dreams come true. This happened to me seven or eight years ago, when I had one of those health crises in which I could just about get through a day at work, but I had no energy for doing anything else except sleep. I simply wasn’t able to do anything to make any of the big dreams come true. Nevertheless, I could still do something. I didn’t have any energy to do anything myself, but I could be supportive and encouraging to people who were working on those big dreams. Providing encouragement and support helps keep dreams alive in others. It may not seem like much, but it is actually quite important.

So as we think about New Year’s dreams, let’s go ahead and build castles in the air. If we’re going to dream, let’s dream big. And then we can put foundations under those castles in the air — by being honest with ourselves, being honest with what we can actually do, honest about our individual skills and abilities; that is, by being honest about both our strengths, and our limitations. No matter what our limitations, though, we can still dream the big dreams. We can all dream together about ending poverty, instituting full racial or gender justice, stopping ecological disaster.

We just need to remember that dreams of truth and goodness are never out of reach. Emily Dickinson wrote:

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

All it takes is one clover, one bee, and a dream of a prairie. In the absence of bees, dreaming alone will do. It may take less than we think to make dreams come true. It is a semi-magical process. Sometimes revery alone will do, though mostly it requires others who share our dream. But share your dreams for a better world, and they may come true.

Giving Thanks

Sermon copyright (c) 2024 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. The sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation. The text below may have typographical errors, missing words, etc., because I didn’t have time to make corrections.

Readings

The first reading was from an interview: poet Ross Gay was interviewed by Barnes and Noble on the publication of his recent collection of essays titled “The Book of More Delights.”

[Interviewer:] How do you maintain an appreciative mindset even in the harder moments of life?

[Ross Gay:] I’m glad you used the world optimistic because I’m not. Nor am I pessimistic. I am cultivating the practice, and the ability, to describe things that I see. So when I see a guy in terrible shape stopped mid-stride and folded over on Market Street in Philadelphia in what I imagine was some kind of opioid stupor, and see a woman standing next to him for five minutes — five actual minutes — holding a five dollar bill out to him, waiting from him to emerge from wherever he went, I’m just describing what I’m seeing: profound suffering and profound care right next to each other. It’s not a proclivity or a bent, it’s just a description.

The second reading was from the poem “Play” by William Carlos Williams

Subtle, clever brain, wiser than I am,
By what devious means do you contrive
To remain idle? Teach me, O Master.

Sermon: “Giving Thanks”

We Unitarian Universalists are notorious for our use of reason in religion. We like to think about things. We like to doubt things. When someone talks about a religious belief, we ask ourselves: Does this religious belief sound reasonable? Does it conform to the rules of logic and reason? When someone talks about a religious narrative or myth, we ask the same questions: Does this myth sound reasonable? Does this myth conform to the rules of logic and reason?

This attitude can get us into trouble. We get used to arguing among ourselves, questioning each other about religious beliefs and religious myths. Then when we talk to others who are not Unitarian Universalists, we may find ourselves arguing with someone’s deeply held and very personal religious belief or myth, and unintentionally causing offense. Sometimes our use of reason can get in the way of our commitment to religious tolerance.

So with that in mind, I’d like to take a quick look at the myth of Thanksgiving, one of the core myths of the United States of America. Since we’re Unitarian Universalists, of course we’re going to doubt some key aspects of this myth. But instead of just doubting some of the details of the old story of the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag, I’m going to suggest a different interpretation of Thanksgiving, one which might serve to unite us rather than divide us.

And the sad truth is that our current founding myth of Thanksgiving — that old story of the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag sharing a harvest feast together — has become increasingly divisive. Since the 1970s, many of our Wampanoag neighbors here in southeastern Massachusetts have renamed Thanksgiving as the “Day of Mourning.” As a result, some people from other ethnic groups (that is, people who aren’t Native Americans) have come to feel uncomfortable about celebrating Thanksgiving. Not surprisingly, given how polarized our society has become, people on all sides of this debate have both given and taken offense.

My feeling is that if you like the traditional myth of Thanksgiving, that old story of Thanksgiving that we heard during the Moment for All Ages, go ahead and use that myth as you celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday; continue to tell the old story of the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag Indians. At the same time, if you’re the typical doubting Unitarian Universalist, you’ll continue to ask questions about that myth, just as we did in the Moment for All Ages.

For example, we Unitarian Universalists will want to ask, “Where were all the women in that first Thanksgiving?” Sixty years ago, when I was very young, the women mostly got left out of the Thanksgiving story. But we like to include the women. For example, we look at Thanksgiving from the women’s point of view and point out that there were only four Pilgrim women old enough to help with the cooking. And no Wampanoag women whatsoever attended that first Thanksgiving.

In another example, we like to remember that not all the Europeans were actually Pilgrims. The Pilgrims were part of a specific religious community, perhaps more accurately called “Separatists.” Not all the English settlers were part of that religious group. Of the 102 passengers on the Mayflower, about half were Separatists. About thirty of them were other people who had been recruited by the “London Merchant Adventurers” company. Myles Standish is the most famous member of this group; he was not a Separatist, though he was an integral part of the colony. About twenty of the people on the Mayflower were indentured servants, many of them under the age of twenty. On top of that, a few of the crewmembers of the Mayflower decided to stay on with the colony. So we like to increase the accuracy of the old story of Thanksgiving by saying that both Separatists and other English settlers ate dinner with the Wampanoag Indians.

We also like to point out that descendants of both the English and the Wampanoags still live in the area. In other words, this old story lives on in actual flesh-and-blood people whom we might meet in our daily lives. I know a couple of people who are of Wampanoag descent, whose ancestors were part of the old story of Thanksgiving. And I know a few people who trace their ancestry back to the Mayflower passengers; I may even be one of them — Uncle Bob, our family genealogist, was pretty sure my mother was a Mayflower descendant. And not everyone who claims descent from those original participants feels the same way about that old myth: some embrace the myth; some disdain the myth; and some just aren’t all that interested.

I’m one of the ones who have become less and less interested in the old myth of Thanksgiving. I’d like to tell you why, and that will led me into talking about that other, even older, story about Thanksgiving which might serve to unite us rather than divide us.

I feel that by spending so much time talking about Pilgrims and Indians, we tend to obscure deeper truths about the holiday of Thanksgiving. The holiday of Thanksgiving is really all about giving thanks. We can trace its origins back to the age-old human tradition of communities gathering together to give thanks. We can also trace its origins back to the age-old tradition of humans holding harvest festivals. Indeed, the English settlers in 1621 would have called their celebration a harvest festival. The Wampanoag had their own harvest festivals, and when they chanced upon that English harvest festival in 1621 would have understood what was going on.

Contemporary Wampanoag continue to celebrate harvest festivals. In fact, they celebrate frequent harvest celebrations, from the first harvest of strawberries in the spring, to late harvests such as cranberries. Interviewed by the National Museum of the American Indian, Gertrude Hendricks, a Mashpee Wampanaog, pointed out: “A lot of our [Wampanoag] festivals are called ‘thanksgivings,’ because we’re giving thanks for the best of the season. It’s really important to do that … to keep the tradition going, [because] a lot of people just think of thanksgiving as the one day all year when we give thanks for the bounties from the earth. But we do it daily.”

The Pilgrims of 1621 would have understood Gertrude Hendricks’ point that thanks should be given daily. For the Pilgrims did give thanks daily: they would have said grace before meals, a religious ritual of offering thanks to their god for the food that they were about to eat. And in addition to giving thanks daily, they also gave thanks in special celebrations, like harvest festivals. So when we think about that autumn day in 1621, the most important thing to remember is that the English settlers and the Wampanoag Indians people were giving thanks.

Today, we live in a world that’s dominated by bad news: political division, social unrest, ecological disaster, and so on. Many of us get obsessed by the bad news. We can get so obsessed with the bad news that we can neglect to give thanks for all that is good in our lives. This is where we supposedly advanced modern people could learn from the example of both the English settlers in Plymouth, and from the Wampanoag Indians. Both those peoples had far more bad news than good news in their lives, yet they remembered to give thanks.

Remember that more than half the English settlers died in that first year. Remember that the Pilgrims among the English had been hounded out of England, and then felt they had to leave Holland. Their lives had been filled with uncertainty and fear and grief for years. Yet they took the time to stop and give thanks for what they did have.

As for the Wampanoag, their lives were even more uncertain. From 1616 to 1619, an unknown disease killed as many as 90 percent of the people in many of their villages; yet that epidemic did not affect their traditional enemies, the Narragansett Indians, who lived just to the west. Not only were the Wampanoag grieving the loss of family members and friends — a grief so profound and overwhelming I don’t think we can even even imagine it — but they lived in fear of being invaded at any moment by the Narragansett. Yet they took the time to stop and give thanks for what they did have.

These were both peoples who gave thanks even in the face of overwhelming adversity. They gave thanks despite all had gone wrong. They did not ignore the troubled side of life, but they gave thanks anyway.

We could do the same. Ross Gay’s long poem “Catalogue of Unabashed Gratitude” shows us how we might learn to give thanks more often. Ross Gay does not shy away from the difficult side of life, and yet he still gives thanks. So, for example, he writes:

…and thank you
for not taking my pal when the engine
of his mind dragged him
to swig fistfuls of Xanax and a bottle or two of booze,
and thank you for taking my father
a few years after his own father went down thank you
mercy, mercy, thank you
for not smoking meth with your mother…

And Ross Gay also gives thanks for little trivial moments in life, that may not seem at first to be worthy of thanks — but which are worthy of thanks. So, for example, he writes:

thank you the cockeyed [basketball] court
on which in a half-court 3 vs. 3 we oldheads
made of some runny-nosed kids
a shambles, and the 61-year-old
after flipping a reverse layup off a back door cut
from my no-look pass to seal the game
ripped off his shirt and threw punches at the gods
and hollered at the kids to admire the pacemaker’s scar
grinning across his chest…

As a Black man living in America, Ross Gay has also written poems about injustice and his rage at injustice. Yet he knows that giving thanks is essential to our beings. In spite of all the bad things in the world, he does not forget to give thanks.

May we too remember to give thanks. Yes, there is the sadness and injustice and trouble in this world. But there is also much to be thankful for. Yes, we must try to make the world a better place. But we can also give thanks for all that is good.

May we remember to give thanks, not just on one day of the year, but every day. Giving thanks for all that is good should be one of our central spiritual practices. When we arise in the morning, we can offer thanks for all that is given to us. When we eat, we can give thanks for whatever it is that brings forth bread from the earth. We can give thanks when we see and hear and smell the wonders of the natural world.

This is the deeper message of the Thanksgiving holiday: that we should give thanks, not just on one day, but every day.