Godless vs. Godward Gratitude

This fall, I wrote a short response to an essay by Laura Hillenbrand, which she wrote on the topic of gratitude called “Two-Minute Ode to Chocolate.” Actually, it’s probably the other way around; it was Hillenbrand who wrote the short essay, and I who wrote a long response.

Regardless, my central critique was that real gratitude must terminate somewhere (or better, not somewhere but on Someone). Hillenbrand’s gratitude, however, while abundant in her essay, doesn't terminate anywhere or on anyone. Instead, her thanksgiving just wafts away, as though it will be reabsorbed back into the impersonal universe that gave her such marvelous gifts in the first place.

This, however, is not how gratitude should work. This is god-less gratitude. It’s not godless because it is the sum of all evil; it’s godless because it is gratitude devoid God.

At one place in my response I wrote,

I love Hillenbrand’s prose, but she simply stops short; she traces [the source of her many blessings] around the globe to farmers and seeds and donkeys and red soil and even to the heavens for rain. But while she traces them “in every direction,” her gratitude arrives nowhere, like a perpetual road trip without a destination. Hillenbrand explores the rivers but never to their source.

True gratitude traces blessings back to their source, their ultimate source. True gratitude is Godward.

We see this kind of Godward gratitude very clearly in Psalm 136, which serves as a stark contrast to Hillenbrand’s essay. Psalm 136 has 26 verses, each with a unique statement that expresses thanksgiving to God followed by the repetition of, “for his steadfast love endures forever.”

The psalm starts with God,

1 Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,
    for his steadfast love endures forever.
2 Give thanks to the God of gods,
    for his steadfast love endures forever.
3 Give thanks to the Lord of lords,
    for his steadfast love endures forever;

And it ends with God,

26 Give thanks to the God of heaven,
    for his steadfast love endures forever.

And in the middle, the psalm thanks God for general things, such as

25 [It is] he who gives food to all flesh,
    for his steadfast love endures forever.

As well, the psalm thanks God for specifics things, such as

15 [he] overthrew Pharaoh and his host in the Red Sea,
    for his steadfast love endures forever;

This is Godward gratitude.

It’s gratitude that starts with God and ends with God. It’s gratitude that sees every blessing, the specific and the general, as gifts from a personal God—not an impersonal universe.

In two days, millions of people will celebrate Thanksgiving. We’ll sit around a table, we’ll eat a hearty meal, and we’ll (hopefully) express our gratitude. This is a good thing. It’s healthy to remind ourselves of the many blessings that we have received.

But this Thanksgiving, don’t make Hillenbrand’s mistake. Don’t make the mistake of failing to direct your gratitude towards God. Instead, trace your thanksgiving to it’s source.

As you go around the table to express your thanks, rather than simply saying, “This year, I’m so thankful for ___________,” instead say, “This year, I’m so thankful to God for ___________.”

It’s a subtle but huge difference. If you say this from your heart, not as a Christian cliché, it’s the difference between godless and Godward gratitude.

Chipotle’s Super Short Book Report Sweepstakes

Ode to Chipotle

Just over 13 years ago (4,869 days to be exact), I fell in love—with Chipotle burritos. Their size, their shape, their spice: all of it.

Our first date was on May 25, 2002 in Fort Collins, CO, and I think every month since then, on average, I have enjoyed a chicken fajita burrito with corn salsa and some other garnishes. That’s around 160 burritos or $1,100 worth. If you prefer to measure in calories, that’s around 175,000 … but who’s counting?

The Competition

If you’ve been to Chipotle in the last week, you might have noticed that they are holding a competition. It’s related to the “cultivating thoughts” series which is displayed on the side of soda cups and to-go bags. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, imagine a short story or thoughtful reflection, say 300 words or so, by a popular author. These words stare at you while you eat just begging to be discussed.

Now, back to this competition. It’s called the “Super Short Book Report Sweepstakes.” To enter, you must write—you guessed it—a super short book report for one of the entries in the series. And when they say “super short,” they mean it: just 103 characters. Maybe you’d like to contribute your own report. You can do so here, but you’ll have to hurry. The competition ends tomorrow (9/23/2015).

Laura Hillenbrand’s Ode to Chocolate

I chose to respond to Laura Hillenbrand’s entry. She’s the author of Unbroken (which I reviewed here) and Seabiscuit … and now, as well, the short essay “Two-Minute Ode to Chocolate.”

In her Ode, Hillenbrand traces the global web of activity that must take place for her to enjoy a single square of chocolate. The Ode, in its entirety, goes like this:

It is the simplest ritual of my noondays: A square of dark chocolate, little larger than a postage stamp. For its minuteness, I savor it all the more, closing my eyes as it melts gently, generously, in my mouth, as softly exquisite as a kiss.

Always, I think, I am grateful. In my mind, I follow my chocolate to its beginnings. I see a drop of rain touching red soil, and beneath, a seed waking. Leaves reaching for sifted sunlight. Careful, sure hands unclasping fruit from limbs. A kind donkey pulling a laden wagon. Wise faces bent over an ocean of seeds, summoning sweet from bitter. Roads and rivers and cunning machines that bear the chocolate to me. Someone built that wagon; someone cut that road; someone labored under a beaded brow; someone heeded an inspiration; someone offered love. How wondrous is a world that brings such gifts.

In my little ritual I am connected to that sunshine, those hands, that river, the beautiful alchemy that unites so much in a square of chocolate. A drop of rain that falls on the other side of the world, in a place whose language I may never hear, becomes sweetness on my tongue, thankfulness in my heart, words spilling from my pen, and perhaps a thought, however fleeting, in the mind of whoever reads them.

We are none of us bereft, ever. We slumber in seas of gifts. To wake up to them, to follow their tributaries, is to traverse in every direction, yet always arrive at the same place: Gratitude. Awakening from my chocolate, I look about and wonder: Whose hands made this? To whom do I owe thanks for the song of a wren? For the warmth of a sweater, cool grass under bare feet, the joy of dogs playing, laughter, a whispered I love you, the scent of bread?

I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.

What I Love about It

There is a lot that I love about these 319 words.

I love the concreteness: a square (not a piece) of dark chocolate (not just chocolate); a drop of rain (singular) touching red soil (not the earth or ground); leaves reaching (they are not passive, they reach) for sifted sunlight (sifted implies a forest above); and so on.

And I love the idea of ritual, a word she uses twice. The ancients would climb high mountains to worship, and some of us still do; Hillenbrand eats a postage stamp of dark chocolate.

And I love the way she invites us to view this universe of beneficent activity that is required for mass produced chocolate: seeds, rain, sun, a kind donkey pulling a laden wagon, and oh, speaking of the wagon, “someone built that wagon; someone cut that road; someone labored under a beaded brow.” Indeed they did.

And I love the frequent, but not overdone, alliterations (e.g. melts gently, generously… sifted sunlight… seeds, summoning sweet... Roads and rivers…).

So What’s Missing?

There are other things I love, but the essay is missing something, something important. Did you notice it? I tried to bring this out in the “super short book report” which I submitted to Chipotle for the competition.

Here’s what I wrote: 

LH’s ODE TO CHOC explores the many tributaries that bring us gifts but misses Who is at the headwaters.

I capitalized the “w” intentionally. I love Hillenbrand’s prose, but she simply stops short; she traces these tributaries eloquently around the globe to farmers and seeds and donkeys and red soil and even to the heavens for rain. But while she traces them “in every direction,” her gratitude arrives nowhere, like a perpetual road trip without a destination. Hillenbrand explores the rivers but never to their source—even while asking all the right questions:

I look about and wonder: Whose hands made this? To whom do I owe thanks for the song of a wren? For the warmth of a sweater, cool grass under bare feet, the joy of dogs playing, laughter, a whispered I love you, the scent of bread?

Yes, she concludes with the right response, a tri-fold statement of gratitude: “I am grateful. I am grateful. I am grateful.” But are we so wrong to ask, “Grateful to whom?”

Hillenbrand doesn’t answer her rhetorical questions, but the Bible does. James writes, “Do not be deceived, my beloved brothers. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:16-17).

Perhaps her statement, “How wondrous is a world that brings such gifts,” would be better written, “How wondrous is the God who gives such gifts.”

The Gospel Heals our Misplaced Gratitude

Look, I love Chipotle, I love chocolate, and I love authors who use words well. I’m thankful for these gifts, and a billion others, but what happens when we don’t locate our gratitude where we ought to? What happens if, like Hillenbrand, we don’t thank the right person?

Consider a student who received a full scholarship to college from a generous donor. Sure, this student should be thankful towards the school and the professors, the authors of his textbooks, the factory workers that produced them, and the trees that became paper. Of course, the student should be grateful for these. But at some point, you ought to thank the person who paid for your scholarship, the one who made the whole experience possible.

But my analogy is not strong enough; what if the person who gave the scholarship was also responsible for the knowledge of the professors and the production of the textbooks and the forests of trees and the rain that waters them and the workers and machines that cultivate them?

Now we are back at the central issue: ultimate gratitude to the One ultimately responsible.

Hillenbrand speaks of how “we slumber in seas of gifts,” but we might press the metaphor further: we are dead, and need more than the smelling salts of gratitude to awake us; we need resurrection.

That’s why I also love the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I love the gospel because God provides a way for sinners who misplace their gratitude to be forgiven, and for forgiven sinners to know Who is at the headwaters drenching us in delight.

#ssbrsweepstakes, [Photo]

UNBROKEN by Laura Hillenbrand (FAN AND FLAME Book Reviews)

A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand (Random House, original 2010, paperback reprint July 29, 2014, 528 pages)

Have you ever wanted to know how to run a four-minute mile? Or what it would be like to cross the Atlantic on a cruise ship full of Olympic athletes? Or how to drop bombs from an aircraft? Or how to fend off ravenous sharks?

Or perhaps you want to know how to survive on a teeny yellow raft, drifting over 2,000 miles on the Pacific Ocean? Or maybe you want to know how deep underwater you must swim to avoid the lethal impact of bullets from an airplane? Or how to survive as a Japanese Prisoner of War when all you know is 500 calories a day from moldy seaweed broth, cold nights, beatings, more beatings, and hard labor?

Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption

By Laura Hillenbrand

Buy on Amazon

But maybe you don’t want to know any of these things.

Perhaps you want to know how someone steeped in addiction, on the edge of divorce, and controlled by murderous rage—or in short, someone whose life is in a nosedive with double engine failure—could survive, and then go on to forgive his enemies.

If that’s you, then know this: Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand will not teach you any of these things.

Well, that’s not exactly true; it might teach you a few of them. (When fending off sharks: open eyes wide, bear your teeth, and pound them in the nose.)

But Unbroken does tell the story of a man who experienced all of these things and more. Did I mention that Adolf Hitler wanted to shake Louie’s hand after his 5,000m race in the 1936 Berlin Olympics, but because of where Hitler was sitting, he and Louie could not fully reach each other and only touched fingers?

Yes, Unbroken is – in that overused word – unbelievable.

If you have never heard of Louis Zamperini or the story of Unbroken, I suspect that will change this winter when the movie version, directed by Angelina Jolie, is released on Christmas Day (see trailer below).

Laura Hillenbrand (author of Seabiscuit) spent seven years researching the Zamperini story, and it shows. Starting with the rebellious young Louie, the book runs us through his life with remarkable precision. Her writing style is sparse and understated, and yet at the same time profound, getting extraordinary mileage through the occasional key word with double and deeper meanings. As well, Hillenbrand is a master of juxtaposition.

But it’s not only Louie’s life that is on display. As Hillenbrand tells Louie’s story, she invites readers into the story of every WWII airman and every Pacific POW – not unlike the way Tom Joad (The Grapes of Wrath) tells the story of every suffering, migrating Okie. And like the Joads, some WWII warriors fared better than Louie, and others, though it’s hard to fathom, fared worse.

In my copy of the book, there a transcript of an interview with the author. When asked what it was that specifically captivated her about Louie’s story, she writes this:

So many elements of Louie’s saga were enthralling, but one in particular hooked me… How can you tell of being victimized by such monstrous men, yet not express rage? His response was simple: Because I forgave them.

It was this, more than anything, that hooked me. How could this man forgive the unforgiveable? In setting out to write Louie’s story biography, I set out to find the answer.” (487-8, emphasis original)

In other words, Unbroken is the story of how the forgiveness of one’s enemies becomes believable.

Yet it is at this very point, the very epicenter of the story that shook her, that I am unsure whether Hillenbrand ever found her answer.

Louie Zamperini, however, found the answer. He found it at a Billy Graham Crusade in 1949. He was tricked into going by his wife; but after that night, everything about everything changed.

If Hillenbrand saw this – that is, if she found that the answer to ‘how radical forgiveness can happen’ is only found in the supernatural power of Christian conversion – then she doesn’t tip her hand; she lets readers connect the dots for themselves.

A few weeks ago, a friend remarked to me that she heard that the upcoming movie version “takes God out of the story.” I don’t know whether that’s true or not; we will all have to wait and see. But, based on the book, I’m not sure how much God really is in Hillenbrand’s story. And if God is in there, then he is there the way he is “there” in the book of Esther – the unnamed, mysterious hand of Providence: guiding, protecting, and saving his people. Louis Zamperini knew this ‘hand of Providence,’ and after reading his story, I know it better.

From the Preface

“All he could see, in every direction, was water.

“It was late June 1943. Somewhere on the endless expanse of the Pacific Ocean, Army Air Forces bombardier and Olympic runner Louie Zamperini lay across a small raft, drifting westward. Slumped alongside him was a sergeant, one of his plane’s gunners. On a separate raft, tethered to the first, lay another crewman, a gash zigzagging across his forehead. Their bodies, burned by the sun and stained yellow from the raft dye, had winnowed down to skeletons. Sharks glided in lazy loops around them, dragging their backs along the rafts, waiting.

“The men had been adrift for twenty-seven days. Borne by an equatorial current, they had floated at least one thousand miles, deep into Japanese-controlled waters. The rafts were beginning to deteriorate into jelly, and gave off a sour, burning odor. The men’s bodies were pocked with salt sores, and their lips were so swollen that they pressed into their nostrils and chins. They spent their days with their eyes fixed on the sky, singing “White Christmas,” muttering about food. No one was even looking for them anymore. They were alone on sixty-four million square miles of ocean.” (Hillenbrand, Unbroken, xvii-xviii)

Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption Buy on Amazon