This week I went for coffee at Starbucks with a clergy colleague. 

They don’t have Coffee For Good at their church in Westport, so…you know, any port in a storm. 

It was super busy when we got there, and truth be told, we got to talking and sort of forgot to get our order for awhile. 

Anyway, suddenly my colleague remembered and hopped up to grab our coffees.  

And apparently, something had gotten lost in translation at some point, because what we received were two pumpkin spice lattes. 

Which was not what we’d ordered.  

I’m not a pumpkin spice guy.  Neither is my colleague.  

But you know: there’s that first sip where you’re like “Wait, what? This is wrong…”, but then it seemed like too much of a hassle to get up and go fix it…and so, with a little bit of eye roll, we both sort of settled into the experience. 

Whatever.

But then, a few minutes later, my colleague was in mid-sentence about something else when he sort of looked down at his cup and he said, “You know….” 

And I was right there with him. 

I looked at my own cup said, “This is kind of good, right?”

Surprise, surprise.   

So…I don’t know how it was that someone decided to liven things up by giving us each a shot of pumpkin spice and some whipped cream, but I’m glad they did.  

Now admittedly, it’s probably more of a one and done moment for me, but so what? 

We need to take our joys where we find them. 

It also seems to me that these weeks just after Halloween may be a little bit like that too – they’re kind of a shot of pumpkin spice into our lives. 

That shot may not be exactly what we ordered, but so what? 

As we settle into the experience, it might turn out to be just what we wanted all along, though maybe without quite knowing it.  A true joy.  

Because that’s what Thanksgiving as a season ought to be: a source of deep joy.  

Most of us are not close to the season’s agricultural roots at this point.  

In Europe, the tradition of harvest festivals goes back, in some cases, to the time before Christianity arrived. 

Ironically, part of the early logic of Halloween as a church holiday may have been about trying to bring the pagan celebration of nature into a more explicitly Christian framework.  

A thousand years later, some churches started to get uncomfortable with what had come to seem like a pagan celebration of witches, darkness, and mischief, so they began to look at harvest festivals as a more wholesome alternative.  

Go figure.   

But the underlying call to joy and gratitude remain unmistakable and worth holding on to.  

There’s also a power in speaking of abundance in a world that is so carefully organized around keeping us hungry in any number of ways.

So many of the voices we hear seem determined to convince us that what we have is not enough…that what we do is not enough…that who we are is not enough…but not to worry, because when it comes to what we need, they have just the very thing.  

In the face of all that, Thanksgiving tries to offer us a shot of gratitude for what we have. 

It dares to say that, if you think about it, so much is actually pretty good…that if we need to take our joys where we find them, we need to look neither as far nor as widely as some might have us believe. 

II.

This morning’s reading from the Book of Deuteronomy is also grounded in the logic of thanksgiving. 

It is taken from one of Moses’ final speeches before the Hebrew people as they are finally preparing to enter the Promised Land – this place described elsewhere as “flowing with milk and honey,” that is, a place of both sustenance and sweetness – after their long years of wandering in the wilderness.  

Moses also knows that his own journey is also about to end, and that he will not be crossing the river with them. 

He will no longer be there to offer them the definitive guidance or provide the source of connection to God that has shaped the people for a generation, slowly forming them for this long-awaited new chapter.

And so, both because he loves them as he does and also because he knows them as he does, he worries. 

He worries like a parent dropping off a kid at college for first time…and this speech is like a moment in the station wagon when instead of just worrying like most parents do, this parent turns to you and asks, “Are you honestly ready for this freedom?” 

Because it is amazing how quickly a blessing can start to seem ho-hum. 

Moses has already seen that happen with this same people too many times to count. 

Most notably, there was the blessing of manna, which had saved them from starvation in the wilderness – literally, their daily bread falling from heaven, thanks to the provision of God – only to have them start complaining about it.  

Scripture tells us that they kvetched even to the point of remembering fondly how wonderful the food had been back in Egypt, when they were slaves under Pharoah – as if that part was just some minor detail next to all that food, glorious food.  

I mean, you can just see them lining up for the manna. 

“Hey Moses, do these come in whole wheat? Could you at least ask?” 

Remembering that so clearly, Moses is wondering just what is poised to happen now on the other side of freedom, in this place where every dream they’ve ever had or ever could now seems poised to come true.  

And what he warns them about is how quickly they may well forget. 

“Take care those you do not forget the Lord your God,”
 he says. 

“When you have eaten your fill and have built fine houses and live in them…” 

“When your herds and flocks have multiplied, and your silver and gold is multiplied, and all that you have is multiplied…” (v. 11-13). 

How quickly this “good land,” with its flowing streams and lush hills and fertile fields, where they will eat their fill and lack nothing, will no longer seem like the wonder it is. 

What begins as a blessing turns into the new normal, and then in time, starts to seem insufficient, somehow. 

It will no longer feel like it’s “enough,” and what began as liberation will quickly shrivel – and all the more quickly if they seek to respond by pursuing selfishness.

III.

His solution is to remember the giver in order to remember the gift.  

Moses says, “Do not say to yourself, ‘my power and the might of my own hand have gotten me this wealth.’ But remember the Lord your God, for it is he who gives you power to get wealth, so that he may confirm the covenant that he swore to your ancestors, as he is doing today.” (v. 19)

That might seem backwards.  

Shouldn’t it be that keeping sight of the gifts reminds them of the giver? 

Well, maybe it should be that way. 

The problem, as we’ve said, is that it won’t be that way.  

The people will stop noticing.  They will stop remembering. 

What was once a gift beyond all imagining will soon fade into the new normal, and then into the not-nearly-enough.  

Except.  

Except as they learn to look back to God. 

Except as they learn to remember and so come to see the blessings that surround them with fresh eyes.  

Except as they learn to practice thanksgiving and find joy in all that God has done and is doing and will yet do.  

IV.

What does that mean for us? 

I think it calls us to practice thanksgiving, too.  

It tells us that we also need to see the blessings that surround us with fresh eyes, and to push back against the forces that are so keen to distract us from the many forms of abundance that surround and sustain us.  

We need a shot of pumpkin spice in our lives to help us remember—to offer us a clue that points us finally back to God, whom we are called to know as the ultimate giver and source of all true blessings. 

That’s why we need this season.  

May it teach see our hearts made thankful, our thoughts hopeful, and our souls tranquil—just as we wanted all along, if maybe without quite knowing it.  

Amen.