Giving thanks becomes a powerful act of shared unity

Two stories anchor our oldest holiday. Both took place in times of division and deprivation. And both offer a hopeful note about who we can be when we try. The first, of course, unfolds in Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1621. After a devastating first winter that wiped out nearly half the pilgrims, the Wampanoag people taught the survivors to cultivate corn, tap maple trees and fish local waters. The generosity of the first Americans was the settlers’ salvation. And while that three-day harvest celebration was part of a too-brief alliance, the tale we tell ourselves about that first Thanksgiving teaches us the lifesaving grace of welcoming the stranger, of sharing gifts across profound cultural differences and the possibility of peaceful coexistence.

The second story, almost 250 years later, offers a brief bright spot in the darkest hour of our still-young nation. In 1863, halfway through the Civil War, as brother fought brother on American battlefields, President Abraham Lincoln proclaimed a National Day of Thanksgiving. Notably, he did not frame this observance as a chest-thumping declaration of military victory or as a decree of national greatness. Instead, he called upon Americans to find unity in gratitude itself. He invited us to recognise, even as we tore ourselves apart, that we remained a people blessed by “fruitful fields and healthful skies.” One can practically hear today’s political media racing each other to call such a message “out of touch.” But what Lincoln understood was that the practice of giving thanks could bridge chasms that politics and war had torn open. He offered hope that acknowledging our common blessings might preserve the union when little else could.

The peaks and valleys of American history are commonly defined by our wealth and our power. But as these stories remind us, the true character of America is found in our capacity as a pilgrim people to find reasons for hope and gratitude and share those blessings with others. So, what might those moments suggest for today’s era of disunity and discord?

As we gather this Thanksgiving, we find ourselves once again in a season of polarisation. Political disagreements over immigration and the role of government fracture families, ideologies separate neighbors and the public square often feels less like a commons than a battlefield with violence both threatened and tragically real. And while those debates rage, real human suffering unfolds as indiscriminate immigration crackdowns separate families without explanation, refuse sanctuary to those fleeing violence and deport the strangers at our doorstep to countries they’ve never visited with languages they don’t speak. At the same time, many of our neighbours have lost jobs to corporate layoffs, government cutbacks and simple chance, and suddenly feel the pangs of hunger in this land of plenty.

In the face of all this, the overwhelming temptation can be to retreat to our separate corners, to give thanks only with those who think as we do, to harden our hearts against those on the other side of whatever divide the algorithms tell us is most urgent that day. But Plymouth and Lincoln offer us a different path. They remind us that giving thanks itself can be an act of unity — not by papering over our differences or pretending they don’t exist, but by recognising that our blessings are real and shared regardless of those differences. The pilgrims and the Wampanoag came from vastly different worlds but found common cause in gratitude for the harvest. Lincoln’s divided nation could not agree on the fundamental questions of union and freedom, yet he invited us to agree that we had received blessings worth acknowledging.

Perhaps this Thanksgiving, we might make a simple choice. Whether our table holds abundance or meager fare, what if we set aside, if only for this meal, the conversations about the things that divide us. The policy debates can wait. The political arguments can reemerge with Friday’s leftovers. Instead, ask each person at the table to share what they are genuinely thankful for. Let the loudest and the quietest speak, the youngest and the oldest, too. Make space for gratitude, whether it is small and specific, large and abstract, or my favourite: the at-first adorable but, upon second thought, staggeringly profound wisdom of a child.

You may discover something remarkable: that we have all received blessings, we all have reasons for hope, and we all can find light and laughter even in difficult times. We are all inheritors of the pilgrim spirit, not in the sense of conquest or superiority, but in the humility of recognising our dependence on time and chance and one another.