By Marcellino D’Ambrosio

(OSV News) — For Americans, the term “Thanksgiving” conjures up images of turkey and cranberry sauce, parades and football games. These are “traditions” that have come to mark an event made a perpetual institution of American life by President Abraham Lincoln.

But why did Lincoln proclaim the last Thursday in November as a national holiday? Because it was clear to him that the blessings of food, land, family and freedom enjoyed by Americans are all gifts from the Creator. But Americans, he realized, had forgotten this. A special day was needed for us to forget our differences and remember our blessings. And from remembering naturally follows giving thanks to the source of those blessings.

The Israelites had an annual thanksgiving feast, as well. It was really a combination of two feasts, Passover and Unleavened Bread, and occurred in early spring. This is when the first crop, barley, began to be harvested and when the ewes gave birth to their lambs. The pagan Canaanites had already celebrated the feast of unleavened bread at this time to thank the gods for the harvest and offer them the first fruits as a sacrifice of gratitude. The pagan bedouins — wandering from place to place with their flocks — celebrated the spring gift of lambs by sacrificing some of them to the gods in gratitude for the gift of fertility.

The ancients did not need divine revelation to know that divine forces brought about the world and all its creatures. That’s just plain common sense. That we owe these divinities a debt of gratitude is justice, pure and simple.

But for the Jews, Passover was not just giving thanks for the blessings of creation. For them, God was not just the author of nature, with its seasons and life cycles. No, God was also the master of history. Among all ancient peoples, only the Jews believed that God entered into human history, manifested his love and power, and acted decisively to save his chosen people.

So while the pagans thanked their gods for the blessings each spring for food and fertility, the Israelites thanked the Lord for food, but even more, for freedom. They remembered not only that creation comes from him, but that salvation from slavery comes from him as well. This remembering happens each year in a solemn way at a special Passover meal that is the climax of the Jewish year.

On the night before he died, Jesus celebrated this solemn memorial by deepening its meaning yet further. Liberation from Pharaoh’s oppression was certainly something to celebrate. But there was a crueler slavery that a change of geography and regime could not alter. This slavery to Satan was kept in force through the shackles of sin. Just as he acted through Moses to free his people from Pharaoh, God was now about to act decisively to liberate his people from the ancient curse. He would act personally, not through proxies.

But this liberation would be costly. The only way that it could be won would be if God were to give not only his blessings, but his very self. To do this, God had become man, capable of offering the supreme sacrifice. And before he did it in actual fact, he did it in sacrament by offering himself under the unassuming forms of bread and wine. Before delivering himself into the hands of the Romans to be their victim, he delivered himself into our hands to be our nourishment.

For his aim was not just to open the way to future bliss in heaven. His aim was to pour into our wounds the balm of Gilead that would begin the healing process here and now. The bite of the serpent had injected venom. His body and blood would be the antidote, the “medicine of immortality,” in the words of St. Ignatius of Antioch.

Blood brings nourishment and life to every cell of our bodies. It also carries away impurities that poison our system. The Eucharist offers us a transfusion — we put aside our old life and receive his ever-new life, his divine vitality for our tired, toxic blood.

The life of a thing was in its blood. It was poured out at the foot of the altar and could never be consumed, for it belonged to God alone. But here God pours out his own blood at the altar of the cross and gives it to us as our drink, for the transformation of our lives.

“Do this in memory of me.” We are commanded to remember the supreme love of Christ for us that holds nothing back, that gives everything for our freedom. So naturally the sacrificial banquet of remembrance is called the Eucharist, or “thanksgiving.” The priest introduces the great central prayer of the celebration with these words: “Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.” And we respond, “It is right and just.”

During the Eucharistic Prayer, I always silently add in thanks for my personal blessings. I think of the natural blessings of home and work, of food on the table and the health of my family. I also thank God for my own salvation history, especially for plucking me out of danger as a teenager, running with a wild crowd. I thank God for bringing me together with a woman who loves him and loves me, and for having kept us faithful to him and each other for many years. I thank him for our own family’s salvation history.

If you haven’t already established the habit of adding your personalized thank-yous to the priest’s Eucharistic Prayer, try it next time you’re at Mass. It’s a very appropriate mode of participating in that part of the Eucharist.

But true thanksgiving is not just a matter of words and warm sentiments. Gratitude for a gift means offering a gift in return. He gave his whole, entire self to us — his body, blood, soul and divinity. The only adequate response would be to offer ourselves.

Note what Paul says in his letter to the Romans: “I appeal to you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship” (Rom 12:1).

So thanksgiving cannot be separated from sacrifice. The Mass is a celebration of his love and the freedom it won for us through his sacrifice. Through it, the love of God is poured into our hearts and enables us to love with his love. In the power of that love, we offer ourselves back to him and enter into that sacrifice which we celebrate. True thanksgiving means self-giving. This is the meaning of Eucharist.

(Marcellino D’Ambrosio is a speaker, author, pilgrimage director and theologian who directs the Crossroads Initiative.)

FAITH ALIVE
By Cecilia A. Moore
From the 1920s through the 1960s more than 300,000 African-Americans across the country chose to enter into communion with the Roman Catholic Church. Their choices to become Catholic set them apart from most African-American Christians who were members of Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal and Holiness traditions.

However, in choosing Catholicism, African-Americans were returning to the earliest Christian traditions of their ancestors. African Christians figured prominently in shaping the Catholic tradition, making their imprint on Catholic theology, doctrine and religious practices.

St. Augustine’s teachings on grace and sin, monasticism and traditions related to intercessory prayer are just three examples of African influence on Catholicism. Christian kingdoms flourished for more than four centuries in Egypt, Ethiopia and the Sudan before Christianity had durable roots in Western Europe.

And, although Muslims were successful in establishing their faith throughout North Africa and in parts of sub-Saharan Africa by the ninth century, Christianity did preserve in parts of Africa and by the beginning of the 16th century, Catholicism was reintroduced to Africa by way of the trans-Atlantic slave trade.

Twentieth-century African-Americans who chose to become Catholic were rich, poor, middle-class, famous, infamous, ordinary, eccentric, well-educated, poorly educated, Southern, Northern, Midwestern, Western, raised as Christian, religiously unaffiliated, politically engaged, apolitical and so much more.

No matter their individual characteristics, they had their own reasons for choosing Catholicism. Some did so to answer a call to religious life. Some felt an internal spiritual call to Catholicism. Some joined the Catholic Church because they were married to Catholics, and others were attracted to the faith because they had Catholic friends.

There were women and men who found Catholicism to be the truest expression of Christian faith, finding themselves deeply attracted to the rituals and theology of Catholicism. Many were children who learned about Catholicism while attending Catholic schools. It was not uncommon for these children to bring their entire families into the church with them.

Some became Catholic because the church reached out to them when they were in need. The Catholic stance on political and social issues drew others in. There were also 20th-century African-Americans who converted who said they experienced a sense of equality in the church that they didn’t experience in other aspects of their lives.

Whatever their reasons for were for choosing Catholicism, African-Americans changed the look and the experience of American Catholicism in the 20th century.

November is Black Catholic History Month. Use this month to learn about some of these 20th-century African-Americans who chose Catholicism and made great contributions to the American Catholic experience. Here are three that you might consider.

African-American children’s book author, Ellen Tarry, became a Catholic when she attended St. Francis de Sales, a Catholic boarding school for African-American girls run by the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament in the early 20th century. As a young woman she got involved in the Harlem Renaissance and in Catholic interracial justice work.

Tarry’s books for children featured aspects of Catholicism and African-American life. She also published frequently in Catholic publications on issues that pertained to African-Americans. Her autobiography “The Third Door: The Autobiography of an American Negro Woman” is a fine way to begin learning about her and her contributions to American Catholicism.

Several of the more famous African-Americans who joined the Catholic Church in the 20th century were in the performing arts. Mary Lou Williams is one of the most famous and interesting. Williams was a renowned jazz pianist and composer. Becoming a Catholic in 1957, Williams came to regard jazz as a gift that God gave her to give the church. Jazz inspired her composition of dozens of hymns.

Finally, an especially fitting way to celebrate Black Catholic History Month would be to read “The History of Black Catholics in the United States” by the late Benedictine Father Cyprian Davis. Father Davis’ work was integral to bringing attention nationally and internationally to the ways that people of African descent helped to develop Catholicism from the earliest days up through the middle of the 20th century.

Though trained in monastic history, Father Davis is most well-known for developing black Catholic history as a distinctive field study and scholarship around the country, but especially at the Institute for Black Catholic Studies at Xavier University of Louisiana.

(Cecilia A. Moore is associate professor of religious studies at the University of Dayton.)