MEETING ON THE COMMON GROUND OF GRATITUDE

James C. Leach

November 25, 2008 Interfaith Thanksgiving Service

Joseph Chamberlain was an influential 19^th century British politician and renowned orator.

He was once invited to be the guest speaker at an important civic dinner.

As the splendid meal was concluding, the local mayor turned to Chamberlain and asked:

“Shall we let the people enjoy themselves a bit longer, or had we better have our speech now?”

It does seem a little regrettable to interrupt the wonderful time we’re having with a sermon.

You can take some solace in knowing that, in the careful organization and timing of this service,

the planning committee allotted me only 45 minutes. At least, that’s what I remember them saying.

What an honor it is to be here in this grand congregation on this grand evening.

What an honor it is for all of us to come here to Friendship at a momentous time in your history,

during this month when you have celebrated Pastor Jones’ twenty-five years of ministry.

When you called him as your minister, you also offered a great and wise gift to our larger community,

and for that we join in celebrating with you and thanking you.

Friendship knows about looking at life from both sides. Moving from uptown Charlotte, you located first on one side of this street and now find yourselves on the other. I’ve noticed that, between there and here, there is a nicely landscaped median serving to divide Beatties Ford Road. If you’ve ever been to New Orleans, or if, like me, you’ve actually had the good fortune to live in New Orleans,

you may know that what we refer to as “the median” is, in that odd, eccentric city, called “the neutral ground.” “The neutral ground.” As legend has it, there’s a reason for that unusual designation.

The French city of New Orleans got its start on land settled long before by Native Americans.

When President Jefferson negotiated the Louisiana Purchase, New Orleans became a part of the United States. Soon, U.S. citizens were streaming down the Mississippi River and building their homes just outside the French Quarter. However, these upstart Americans were not welcomed by the well-heeled and well-settled French who continued to reside in New Orleans. There was open animosity, even physical altercations.

In time, a very wide street—Canal Street— became the dividing line between the French and the Americans. But it was also there, in the spacious grassy area dividing one side of Canal Street from the other, that all residents could meet to conduct the business they had in common. It was considered “the neutral ground.” As legend has it, this is the origination of that term in New Orleans.

So, what in other cities is referred to as “the median,” to this day, all over New Orleans is called, “the neutral ground.”

“The neutral ground”: a place open to all.

“The neutral ground”: a place where strangers can meet. A place where even those with differences can come together in peace and common purpose. “The neutral ground.”

As I think about this Thanksgiving Service— an annual occasion bringing us together across lines of

religion and race, belief and background, class and custom, that too often seem to separate us— this image of “the neutral ground” comes to mind. Here, in the embrace of this sanctuary, and through the leadership of Mecklenburg Ministries, we’ve established our own “neutral ground” for a night.

All are welcomed. No one of our traditions proves preeminent. We’ve come together for the shared purpose of giving thanks.

How many of you were there when we gathered, one year ago, at the St. Gabriel’s Catholic Church?

On that night too we came together, transcending our differences and intoning our gratitude.

But, consider briefly some of what has transpired since this enthusiastic evening last year.

Just as the rousing notes of that “beautiful symphony of brotherhood” were waning, the “jangling discord” of a rancorous rift was beginning to sound. We waded out into the tumultuous procedure of replacing our sheriff. And, in that troubled process, simmering misgivings and misunderstandings boiled over into open mistrust.

In the year that has passed, we’ve confronted concerns about our United Way. Fingers have been pointed, accusations lodged, questions raised about who decides and how they decide.

We’ve struggled, again this year, in becoming a truly multicultural, multinational, multi-religious city.

Like those French, hunkered down in their homes in New Orleans, some have looked askance at others among us, those who are “not from here,” who “aren’t like us,” who don’t speak our language, who don’t know our ways.

We’ve felt the unnerving reverberations of economic crisis. The deep foundations of our financial towers have shaken, and the vulnerability felt every day by those on the streets trickled up to those more accustomed to gazing out in comfort from the higher floors. While many of us continue to have way more than enough too many of us now face life with not nearly enough.

Then, (who of us could forget?) since last we were together, we endured an often-bitter election.

Across our country, state, county and city, there have been those who would divide us, into the right and the wrong, the righteous and the unrighteousness, the red and the blue.

And we’ve had more questions locally about representation: who gets a seat at the table of power,who gets left off or left out?

We come together again tonight to celebrate. But we cannot do so without also being aware that the differences we bridged on this night a year ago have resurfaced again in the intervening year.

It was in a far more divided, divisive, difficult time than this that President Abraham Lincoln offered his national proclamation. The year was 1863.The country was embroiled in a most uncivil war between the states. So, to what did Lincoln call this nation? Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving. “I do therefore invite my fellow citizens . . .” he said, “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.” Imagine: in those most tumultuous days, in the face of the deepest divide we have known, here was our President calling us . . . to give thanks.

Might there be a lesson in that for us? We gather on this evening in a place, appropriately enough, called Friendship. But here too that which divides us or at least distinguishes us is evident.

Look around this room. We’re from many different races and national origins. We like such different things and we love in so many different ways. The spectrum of religious belief represented here tonight is very great indeed.

And, it’s not only what we believe but how we express it that distinguishes us. Some assemble in communal ritual and others engage in personal meditation. Some read from one holy book and others chant from another. Some listen to robed choirs in lifted lofts and others to guitars or cantors or to the silence. Some—and these are the truly wise ones among us—hang on their preachers’ every word, while others of us have no preacher at all. Some join their hands in exuberant joy, and others—those of us from what gospel singer Andre Crouch calls “the first church of the Frigidaire”— well, we couldn’t clap on the off beat if our very lives depended on it.

There’s so much that distinguishes us, and too much that too often divides us.We need some neutral ground, We need some common ground. We need some place, some time, some way to stand . . . together. We find it . . . in giving thanks. For all that sets us apart, life’s goodness brings us into a shared sense of profound gratitude. So, we say, in unison, on this night: thank you, thank you, thank you.

But what happens when we leave here at the end of this evening? Do the notes of this night simply fade back into the silence, soon to be overtaken by the cacophony that marks our often-frenetic lives?

Do we relinquish this common ground that we have claimed here together, and re-segregate ourselves all over again? Does the harmony we feel together become discordant disharmony, the regrettable divide again into us and them?

It need not be so. It should not be so. What if we tried, for a year—between now and when we next meet—to start our discussions of difference with acknowledgments of appreciation.

Might we try saying first what we appreciate about the other, any other?

Could we try to begin by meeting on this common ground of gratitude?

In a poem he called “Election Day, November, 1884,” poet Walt Whitman acclaimed “the still/ small voice vibrating—America’s choosing day.” Like Whitman, I’m sentimental about election day.

I usually find myself a bit choked up when I leave my polling place, grateful to be a part of participatory democracy.

Four years ago, I went to vote and fell into a fairly long line. As we snaked our way toward the voting machines, I struck up a conversation with the man in front of me. We talked—cordially—about sports, family, work. Shuffling along, the discussion turned to politics. It didn’t take long before we realized, we were at opposite ends of the political spectrum. Virtually everyone and every thing I favored, he opposed. Almost all of what he preferred, I was against. But, we talked respectfully and listened respectfully.

When we were almost to the head of the line, I made a suggestion. “Look, it’s fairly clear that you and I are getting ready to cancel out one another’s vote. Why don’t we save ourselves some time, and help all those behind us, by simply stepping out of line?”

He laughed, admitting that, indeed, our respective votes were likely to cancel out one another.

But then, our conversation took another turn. We both thanked one another. He expressed appreciation for a respectful exchange. “Thank you,” I said. “I read all the time about how divided we are,how completely different the left is from the right. I don’t believe that’s true. Thank you, for a really heartening reminder.” After voting, I left a bit more choked up than usual, grateful both for the right to vote and for the opportunity to meet a neighbor on the common ground of gratitude.

In a few moments we’ll sing together, as we do each year: “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.” Maybe, as we sing, we can each make our own personal commitments to try, just as often as possible, to embody that prayer.

To paraphrase those compassionate words of Jesus: let the one without gratitude, with no cause to give thanks, cast the first stone. Let the rest of us meet, just as often as possible, on the common ground, the common ground of gratitude. Amen.