Thanksgiving
A noble ritual of giving through us
Thanksgiving has always felt to me like one of the nobler rituals we carry. Not because it celebrates perfection, or plentitude, but because it asks us to remember how we were helped when we could not help ourselves… and to choose, in turn, to help others.
As a boy, I was taught two things that still shape me. My Grandmother - a Teacher - wrote in a book she gave me about Albert Schweitzer, that it was ‘… a story of a man that searched & found an answer…’ that any gifts or privileges he was given, were not given ‘to’ him, but to the world ‘through’ him. And this idea has long lodged in my chest. Gifts come through us to the common good. That truth makes up part of the compass for the path of insights. And it requires you to find your ‘grit’ to use it. I wrote on this, and on the book my Grandmother gave me, in an earlier post (Finding one’s grit).
Think about the first Americans who arrived on unfamiliar shores. We romanticise them as rugged and self-sufficient. The harder, wiser Truth is they were often frightened, ill-equipped, and dependent on people who already knew the lay of the land. Those who gave them Grace, and had every reason not to… scarcity, fear, their own families to guard… and yet chose to help. Those small acts of courage and generosity and faith helped an entire nation take root.
A nation that would later be blessed by the insights of a true American hero, Cesar Chavez, a civil rights, Latino, and farm labour leaders. A community organiser and champion of non-violent social change. A first generation American, born outside of Yuma, Arizona. A man who knew about struggle and those things that make any society Great.
A man who said,
“If you really want to make a friend, go to someone’s house and eat within... the people who give you their food, give you their heart.”
Sharing food is not merely sharing calories; it is sharing humanity. The ceremony of a shared meal is a connecting act: it creates a space where we recognise one another’s faces, names, and needs. It changes strangers into neighbours.
Art and film remind us of that human truth… that belonging is created, not inherited.
‘Waiting to be celebrated’
The Artists’ WoodShed Studio
And this year, while carving a wooden bowl from a piece of firewood, that truth settled into me. Using my grandfather’s tools, I shaped something meant to be burned into something meant to be shared. I kept imaging all the hands that have held bowls like this… something meant to be shared.
I keep imagining all the hands that have held bowls like this. Newcomers, neighbours, strangers offering one another a place at the table.
‘Humble vessel: Useful, imperfect, ready to share’
The Artists’ Woodshed Studio
And I realised that this is what Thanksgiving is supposed to be. A ritual of taking the raw materials of our lives… our luck, our labour, our priviledge. And shaping them into something that can nourish someone else. That is the real inheritance of those early acts of welcome. That is what make a nation noble.
This is where the personal meets the political.
We have the technical capacity, now, to reduce suffering in ways earlier generations could only dream of. The barriers are not lack of food, medicine, or knowledge… they are political will and the way power is used to hoard or to share.
If we treat privilege as a gift that arrived through us, then our obligation is to do what Schweitzer realised: distribute it for the common good. To be, in practical sense, someone’s bridge, ship, lamp, or sanctuary - the Bodhisattva aspiration given a secular name.
‘A small offering’
The Artists’ Woodshed Studio
If you imagine someone reading this who worries about borders, jobs, or safety… I don’t want to shame them. I want to invite them to see their best self reflected in the action I’m asking for. The courage to welcome isn’t weakness; it’s strength. It’s the muscle of nationhood and of neighbourliness. Saying yes to a place at the table for another person is not losing what is ours; it is living into the kind of society that sustains everyone, including our families.
So here’s the simple, practical invitation this Thanksgiving:
Remember who helped you. Name the people who gave you a place when you needed it… family, friends, teachers, strangers.
Notice the privileges you carry - safety, health, access, voice… and consider one small, concrete way to share one of them this season. It may be a meal. A job lead. A bit of time. A mentoring conversation.
Ask yourself: who could use a place at my table? (literally or metaphorically)
We are not asking for ideology. We are asking for practice. Sharing a meal is practice. Listening is practice. Giving a chance is practice. These are small actions that, collected, change the culture.
‘a fellow traveller on the path to insight’
The Artist, in the Artist’s Woodshed Studio
And if you’re stepping into new territory in your life (a new role, a new responsibility, a season where you’re unsure), I know how small the margin feels. I also know the relief of someone steadying your footing. Helping people find their feet is the work I love. If you want someone walking beside you as you learn the grain of a new landscape, my door is open.
This Thanksgiving, let us remember: our success, our privilege, our safety are not only for us to enjoy. They are gifts given through us to others. If we accept that, then we accept the task: to become, your choices, the hands that help.
