Thanksgiving Greetings: The Official Beginning

The First Thanksgiving by Jennie Brownscombe

So we Thy people and the sheep of Thy pasture

Will give thanks to Thee forever;

To all generations we will tell of Thy praise. (Psalm 79:13)

Although the idea of our Thanksgiving Day is attributed to the early Pilgrims, the actual beginnings of the official celebration on the last Thursday of November dates back to a proclamation by President Abraham Lincoln on October 3, 1863. To be honest, I don't think I ever read it until recently when I came across the text while looking for something else. It amazes me, first of all, that during the horrors of the Civil War a day was set aside to thank God and give Him praise. Today we're more likely to go into emergency pleading than praising when we face adversity. Here's the text of that great proclamation (from http://www.classicallibrary.org/lincoln/thanksgiving.htm):

Proclamation Establishing Thanksgiving Day
October 3, 1863

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle, or the ship; the axe had enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years, with large increase of freedom.

No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.

It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and voice by the whole American people. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.

In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the city of Washington, this third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the independence of the United States the eighty-eighth.

A. Lincoln

ANGEL OF WRATH Rates High on the Creepy Scale

CFRB is touring Bill Myers' latest novel, Angel of Wrath, in June. Let me say right off the bat that this one is high on the creepy scale, so for all of you who like spiritual thrillers, you will probably like this book.

The adventure involves three characters who had appeared earlier in the novel The Voice, but that doesn't mean you can't follow this story if you haven't read The Voice. Bill Myers drops in pieces from that story to let us understand more about the three main characters. His writing skills are such that this doesn't end up as an information dump, but scattered nicely throughout the tale. These three are very imperfect (read normal) people with emotional scars that color their perception of the world, yet three who God cares about and who are in the process of healing even as their story unwinds. Charlie Madison is a former Special Ops guy haunted by some of his past, wanting to serve the Lord now in all he does. Charlie is partnered with Lisa Harmon, a former FBI agent who apparently bent a few too many rules when she was in the agency. Charlie asks Lisa to marry him at the beginning of the book, but Lisa isn't ready for that right now. This daughter of a preacher suffered some abuse as a child that has kept her enchained in many ways, unable to deal with men or God very well. Finally, there's Jazmin, or Jaz, Charlie's teenage niece who became his charge when her parents were killed by terrorists. Not only was she orphaned in a rough way, she's deaf! Jaz has the unfortunate attitudes of many teenagers, which include a good bit of rebelliousness and rash actions. Yet she has a gift of "hearing" that doesn't involve her ears: she gets sensations of warmth, evil, coldness, and God, especially in music. So even though she can't hear the music in a physical sense, there is a supernatural sense that ends up being very important to the story.

It seems that Lisa's brother Thomas is the pastor of a thriving megachurch, and his members are being murdered in really freaky ways. The book opens with a doctor putting his daughter to bed. This doctor performs abortions, and earlier in the day he had received a cryptic note on a church bulletin: THOU SHALT NOT KILL. He apparently dies from a heart attack brought on by fright, but the words THOU SHALT NOT KILL also appear on the daughter's wall. The next victim is a businessman whose car stereo suddenly plays the song "Money" on every station, and whose car stalls out on the railroad tracks. The doors lock and he can't get out. When the train comes rolling towards him, he can not escape. On the seat beside him is a note on church stationary: THOU SHALT NOT STEAL.

So Rev. Thomas Harmon calls on his sister and Charlie to help find whoever is killing his church members. Meanwhile, there is also a cult going on in the woods: teenagers in the town are gathering, sacrificing cats, and calling on some forces that they don't understand. The guy who is behind the cult teaches that Jesus and Satan are acting together to bring revenge. These rituals in the woods call up something no one expected.

The book is teaming with supernatural occurrences, and the hair on the back of my neck bristled more than once. It definitely held my interest all the way through. There are so many stories going on at the same time and lots of baggage that needs to be unloaded, lots of problems that only God can handle. I can't say I am in complete agreement with some of the theology, but it gives a reader plenty to think about. Hopefully it will not only entertain the readers, but bring them closer to God in the process. It certainly made me think a bit more about certain areas I need to pray about more. It also should make us think about the power of worship and praise, and the need to really mean it when we sing those powerful songs to the Lord. I feel like the power of prayer is downplayed a bit too much in order to emphasize what true praise and worship are, but , nevertheless, some good points are made.

With an emphasis on teenagers, this book certainly qualifies as Young Adult, but it is most assuredly a good one for adults, too.

Bill Myers is a prolific writer with many books for adults, teens, and even kids. You can find out more about him and his work at his cool website here.

You can buy Angel of Wrath at many Christian and regular bookstores, or online at Christianbook.com , Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, and Booksamillion.

Check out these other member blogs this week for more info.

When Answers Aren't Enough: a non -FIRST book

It's the 15th, time for the Non~FIRST blog tour!(Join our alliance! Click the button!) Every 15th, we will featuring an author and his/her latest non~fiction book's FIRST chapter!

The feature author is:

Matt Rogers

and his/her book:

When Answers Aren't Enough Experiencing God as Good When Life Isn't

Zondervan (April 1, 2008)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Matt Rogers is copastor of New Life Christian Fellowship at Virginia Tech. Eight hundred students call it home.

FROM THE BACK COVER:

On April 16, 2007, the campus of Virginia Tech experienced a collective nightmare when thirty-three students were killed in the worst massacre in modern U.S. history. Following that horrendous event, Virginia Tech campus pastor Matt Rogers found himself asking and being asked, “Where is God in all of this?” The cliché-ridden, pat answers rang hollow.
In this book, Matt approaches the pain of the world with personal perspective—dealing with his hurting community as well as standing over the hospital bed of his own father—and goes beyond answers, beyond theodicy, beyond the mere intellectual. When Answers Aren’t Enough drives deeper, to the heart of our longing, in search of a God we can experience as good when life isn’t.


Product Details

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (April 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310286816
ISBN-13: 978-0310286813

My thoughts: These are the hard times, when we need to remember that God is still all-powrful and in control, even though circumstances don't make sense and our hearts are broken. The title immediately reminded me of a song written by Scott Wesley Brown and Greg Nelson and recorded by Scott back in 1985:

You have faced the mountains of desperation
You have climbed, you have fought, you have won
But this valley that lies coldly before you
Casts a shadow you cannot overcome

And just when you thought you had it all together
You knew every verse to get you through
But this time all the sorrow broke more than just your heart
And reciting all those verses just won't do

When answers aren't enough, there is Jesus
He is more than just an answer to your prayer
And your heart will find a safe and peaceful refuge
When answers aren't enough, He is there.

No, this book doesn't really give you the answers, at least not in the way that we want them, all tidy and neatly packaged. But it is a journey into trusting God and holding on in the midst of all the pain. A very thoughtful and though-provoking book that I hope will serve to bring some confort to other readers.

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

A Heavy,
Sinking Sadness

Embracing the World That Is

One

Lately I’ve been walking in the evenings. I tend to do that when stuck on a question. Maybe I’m trying to walk it off. On days when I have time, I drive out to Pandapas Pond in Jefferson National Forest to be in nature. Once there, I set off through the woods or slowly stroll along the water’s edge, deep in thought or prayer.

Most days, because of time, I have to settle for the streets around my home. I can quickly climb to the top of Lee Street, turn around, and look out over Blacksburg, the Blue Ridge backlit by the setting sun. From there, I can see much of Virginia Tech. The stately bell tower of Burruss Hall rises proudly above the rest.

On nights like tonight, when I get a late start and the sun is already down, I head for campus. At its center, separating the academic and residential sides of the school, sits the Drill Field, a wide-open grassy space named for the exercises that the Corps of Cadets practices to perfection there. After dark, old iron lampposts, painted black, blanket the ground in overlapping circles of light.

It was here on the Drill Field, the day after the shootings, that students placed thirty-two slabs of gray limestone rock — Hokie stones, as they’re called — in a semicircle in front of Burruss Hall, to commemorate the lives of loved ones lost. Thousands of mourners descended on the place, bearing with them a flood of condolences, a mix of bouquets, balloons, and poster-board sympathies. They came sniffling, clinging to tissues and to one another, and lifting their sunglasses to wipe tears from their tired, red eyes. The world came as well, vicariously through television, watching us, kneeling with us in grief.

I also came, revisiting the stones day after day, and sometimes at night, drawn to them by a need to connect with the dead whom I never knew. Always there was something new here, some trinket that had been added. At times the items seemed odd: a baseball for every victim, an American flag by every stone, though some of the dead were international students.

People took their time passing by this spot. There was no need to rush; there were no classes to attend. It would be days, dark and long, before there would be any distractions from the pain. For a time, there was no world beyond this place.

By day, soft chatter could be heard around the memorial. After sunset, no one spoke a word. During daylight, masses huddled near the stones, peering over shoulders to read the notes left there. At night, however, mourners passed by in a single-file line, waiting their turn, patient with the people in front who wished to pause at every name.

The masses have since receded. The Drill Field now is vacant (except for these stones) and silent. The semester has ended, most of the students are gone, and only the sounds of insects disturb the stillness of the summer evening air. If I close my eyes and take in the quiet, I can almost imagine nothing happened here.

Almost. Except for the stone reminders that lie at my feet. On one is written a simple, anguished note.

Jeremy,

We love you.

Mom and Dad

These stones are more than rocks. Each is all that remains of a son, a daughter, a husband who will never come home again. I picture my mom and dad, heartbroken, kneeling by a stone for me, had I been among the dead. Moreover, I imagine myself by a stone for my dad, had he not survived his fall.

This is a summer of mourning. I am grieving the world as it is. And I am asking, “If I embrace the world as it is, in all its sadness — if I refuse to bury my head in the sand, pretending all is well, but rather think and speak of the world as it actually is — can I, then, still know God as good? Can my experience of him be more consistent than my circumstances, which alternate between good and bad?”

Is this too much to expect?

Before I can know, I must face the world at its worst.