The Gratitude Ladder (Gratitude VI)

Gratitude can become a habit that shapes our soul and forms our character. By giving us spiritual eyes to see, it can change our lives. But it’s like climbing a ladder where the first rung is the easiest. The training gets harder the higher we climb. 

The Good

The first step is giving thanks for the good.

What can you give thanks for that is easy to give thanks for? Friends and family, a beautiful world, good food. Let your heart savor your thanksgiving. Giving thanks is satisfying, like a good meal. Getting our focus off of ourselves calms our souls, because thanksgiving is always a movement away from ourselves and into a reality bigger than ourselves. We are made to feel peace and even joy when our focus is on something other than our own selves. 

It helps if we embody our gratitude through the practice of delight.[1] Delight is the act of intentional enjoying and savoring a good thing. Rik Watts says that every time we enjoy good chocolate or coffee, we should give thanks to the passionate God of Life, whose gifts remind us how good, passionate, and loving He is.[2] It’s like the wonderful (if misattributed) quote from Ben Franklin: “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.”[3] We are often, unfortunately, a people suspicious of delight because a fear of pleasure (or a fear of its abuse) has been instilled in us. Greek philosophy—or, more accurately, radicalized Greek philosophy—has influenced Western culture towards the belief that the material world is evil and that, therefore, we should be suspect of the body and its pleasures. This worldview, sadly, has infected Western history like a virus. As H.L. Mencken says, “Puritanism [is] the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy.”[4] But the rabbis said that man will give an account before God for every pleasure that he refused to enjoy as an act of worship.[5] Imagine embracing delight with thanksgiving, an act of worship before the Living God of Love. How would that change your life? 

Jesus was certainly more like a grateful rabbi and less like a stodgy Puritan; he didn’t fear pleasure. When you are grounded in the love of God, you are free to rejoice and enjoy. In the words of Augustine, “Love God and do what you like.”[6] In thanksgiving—both with our words and also in the enjoyment of God’s good world—we enter into a posture of gratitude that connects us to the Divine and frees us from anxious moralism or legalistic fear.

Let us be a people of delight, and let us give thanks at all times, demonstrating to the world what it means to be a satisfied and grateful people. Let us be a people who give thanks for all the good things around us. This is the first rung of the ladder. 

The Bad

The ladder gets steeper; the next rung is higher and more difficult to climb. This rung is giving thanks for the things that are bad—or, rather, for the things that seem bad to us. We may discover, however, that though these things try our souls, there’s also a gift within them. They present opportunities to transform our souls as we anchor ourselves in trust, even if it feels like death. As Paul says, “Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day.”[7]

Giving thanks for the bad doesn’t mean faking it or “keeping a stiff upper lip.” We are often sent—by life and by Scripture—into mourning and lament. We will not always and immediately jump into gratitude without a journey through sorrow. But Scripture also makes clear that sorrow leads to joy, and the more quickly we can embrace, with gratitude, even those things which most challenge our souls, the more it will fuel our transformation.[8] If the Israelites in the desert had chosen trust and gratitude, it would have sped them to the Promised Land much more quickly. 

Paul once again provides us with an anchor. In Philippians 1, he begins by giving thanks for what God has done in the past and up until the present. This is the first rung of the ladder, something easy to give thanks for. But in verse 29, he pulls a stunning turn. He calls his present suffering a privilege. He will go on to say elsewhere, “Give thanks in all circumstances.”[9]

Paul sees that our lives are held by a God who knows and loves us such that whatever may happen, we’re going to be perfectly fine as we cling to Him. Whatever may happen, of course, includes a lot of hellish stuff that you and I will not enjoy or like. Heck, Jesus prophesied that Peter would be crucified. But in the same breath, he pointed to the reality that, even then, Peter would be alright.[10] Can you imagine that? It’s exactly this trust—this seeing beyond—that allowed Jesus himself to face his crucifixion with such courage and hope, in spite of his hating it all the while. 

This is the path of maturity: giving thanks that we are going to be perfectly okay because of who God is, even in the midst of the storm. It sounds like craziness, and without a revelation of the God who suffers with us, it is. But if you know that God, it all makes sense. James says it like this: 

Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.[11]

The principle is: When you can give thanks not just for the good, but also for the things you would naturally hate and resist, you’re firmly planting yourself in the grace and mercy of God. You’re off to the races. When you give thanks rather than complaining, it’s like nitrous to the engine of your character. It will keep you from drifting like Israel in the desert. It will keep your heart soft. 

And yet, is there anything as unnatural as giving thanks for the challenges in life? This is certainly not a habit we waltz into. It’s something we learn as we embody trust through the practice of gratitude.

When my friend John was waiting for a final diagnosis to find out if he had a brain tumor—before he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (which, thank God, is much more treatable)—I remember his wife, Barbara, saying to me, “Whatever this is, we are praying for grace to walk it out well.” I was stunned. I was caught up in sorrow and worry and fear. So were they, and much more. Yet they were also centered in God. They were not rejoicing over a brain tumor, but with inner eyes they were seeing that there’s a reality bigger than death, and they wanted to walk in faith well, trusting their God, even if it was terrifying beyond words. 

I knew this response was not some fly-by-night reaction mustered up for the first time, like a pilot on his inaugural flight immediately looping crazy eights. To respond with such grace in such a crisis was the result of thousands of smaller choices all along the way, of giving thanks through suffering, of learning the pattern of resurrection life so that, when a tidal wave came, they were still able to live in that pattern of trust and hope. They already know the pattern of resurrection, even though they still live on the near side of death.

This is the kind of gratitude and trust that we can live into now, embodying our trust in a daily practice of gratitude that places our souls firmly in the hands of God.

The Ugly 

There remains yet another rung on the ladder, and it’s often the hardest of all to reach. It’s giving thanks for the ugly within us. 

The opposite of gratitude may be lack of gratitude, but such ingratitude always has a deeper source, such as shame or self-hatred. Often, we have trouble giving thanks to God because we don’t actually believe there could be a place of acceptance for us in God, as ugly and displeasing as our hearts and thoughts can be. Butrefusing to judge and hate the parts of us we don’t like and instead giving thanks for them is one of the highest signals of spiritual maturity. By this, we confess that only God can transform us and, thereby, become more aware of our adoption in God. When we can focus on God and His lavish goodness rather than our own selves, we are living into the life of Christ. 

This is, in part, why Paul says, “I don’t even judge myself” and why he boasts in his weakness.[12] He knows that it’s a waste of time to flagellate ourselves. It’s much better to turn that energy to God, shaking our head and saying, “Wow, how can you be so good to adopt me when I’m so incomplete!”

It’s not that we’re giving thanks for our weakness because we like it; it’s that we are rejoicing because we can’t be whole apart from God and because He proclaims adoption over us and brings us near while we’re still unsorted. This is good news, indeed. It’s not our own efforts that transform us; it’s seeing the God of Love. A daily, weekly, monthly, yearly practice full of unhurried contemplation allows us to see God and be transformed by Him. It empowers us to love others as He does. And this contemplation will always be anchored in gratitude and a refusal to hate or judge ourselves as we instead stand in awe of our Good and Kind Father. 

Again, this doesn’t come naturally. Far from it. But resistance to our weakness only strengthens darkness. When we can give thanks not only for the good, but also for the unsorted and incomplete about us, we will find an immense reserve of spiritual power available to us. By refusing to judge our weakness, we empower the Holy Spirit to deal with it. And when we can rejoice in our weakness, darkness can have very little grasp on us. Our rejoicing and gratitude removes any foothold. You can trust this spiritual law as you trust a law of physics, like gravity. Giving thanks reorients and, when consistently practiced, literally rewires our brain.

For all of these readings in one place, order my book 'Learning to Live and Love Like Jesus.'

[1] See “The Heart of Sabbath” in ‘Chapter 9, The Slow Life: Sabbath.’

[2] I’m paraphrasing thoughts I’ve heard Dr. Watts use twice in conferences I’ve attended.

[3] The actual quote, apparently, is: "Behold the rain which descends from heaven upon our vineyards, and which incorporates itself with the grapes to be changed into wine; a constant proof that God loves us, and loves to see us happy." See Bryce Eddings in https://www.thespruce.com/beer-is-proof-that-god-loves-us-and-wants-us-to-be-happy-353267 [July 21, 2017]

[4] Henry Lewis Menken as qtd. in Puritanism in Tudor England. Porter, H.C., ed. Macmilland and Co, Ltd. London, England. 1970. Page 7.

[5] This account is not present in the Talmud itself and its provenance is suspect, but I heard it first-hand from one of my professors, who was also a rabbi, at Jerusalem University College.

[6] A modern rendering of Augustine’s quote from his “Seventh Homily on The Epistle of First John” and reminiscent of Paul’s quote in Romans 13:10 that “love is the fulfillment of the law.” The full quote: “Once for all, then, a short precept is given thee: Love, and do what thou wilt: whether thou hold thy peace, through love hold thy peace; whether thou cry out, through love cry out; whether thou correct, through love correct; whether thou spare, through love do thou spare: let the root of love be within, of this root can nothing spring but what is good.” Qtd. in Justification: A Guide for the Perplexed by Alan J. Spence. T&T Clark International, London, England, 2012. Page 153.

[7] 2 Corinthians 4:16.

[8] Psalm 30:5.

[9] I Thessalonians 5:18.

[10] John 21:18.

[11] James 1:2-4.

[12] I Corinthians 4:3 and 2 Corinthians 12:9. Again, refraining from judging ourselves has nothing to do with excusing or giving into bad behavior.

Consoled by God (Gratitude V)

The reason that suffering leads us to communion with God is because God, too, suffers. We can connect because God is already in the conversation and the experience. Jesus reveals this. The central revelation of God is Jesus, and at the center of that revelation is God suffering—for us, for love, for a path of communion with us that destroys darkness and death.[1]

This is because God the Father, like Jesus, is not only the All-Powerful, but also the All-Vulnerable.[2] We are taught to see him as the All-Powerful, and He is. And we stand in awe of him. But in our awe we may easily miss God the All-Vulnerable, who suffers with a suffering creation and suffers, in fact, to be near us.[3]“Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame.”[4] This is what God has always done, long before Jesus walked the dusty path of the Via Dolorosa. This is exactly what our souls need to discover if we are to continue patiently and courageously in faith. This is what we need to see if we are not only to stand in awe of God, but also to deeply love Him. 

My prayer during the last few weeks (and now months) has become Psalm 131:

Lord, my heart is not proud;
my eyes are not haughty.
 I don’t concern myself with matters too great
 or too awesome for me to grasp.
 Instead, I have calmed and quieted myself,
 like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother’s milk.
 Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me.
O Israel [O Brandon, O Reader], put your hope in the Lord—
now and always.

This Psalm, like Psalm 95, is grounded in worship. “Put your hope in the Lord” is an act of worship, trust, and thanksgiving. It’s not my natural bent to give thanks when life has ceased to make sense to me. But the posture of the Psalmist demonstrates trust right in the midst of a world he can’t fully understand. 

I tend to resist and hate and judge my weakness and my inability to make sense of life. I loathe the weaknesses I see in myself, and how I can’t seem to get them straightened out. But we must come to a place where we embrace and even give thanks for our weakness and limitations. Only then do we begin to understand that it is God who maintains our relationship with Him and that He is the one reaching out to us, always, right in the midst of our unsortedness. It’s not our ability to figure everything out that keeps us grounded in God, it’s our willingness to admit we can’t figure everything out and our trusting that, still, God is reaching for us. Only when you see this reality will God make sense to your soul, even if that understanding cannot be fully held by your mind. 

Gratitude anchors us in this seeing, because in gratitude we are actually expressing trust. Indeed, we are called to give thanks not just for the things we love (although we are called to give thanks for those) but also for the things that strip our souls. Therein is maturity and all spiritual sight. 

For all of these readings in one place, order my book 'Learning to Live and Love Like Jesus.'

[1] Cf. John 14:9: “Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father!”

[2] See “The Forgiveness Ladder” in ‘Chapter 15, The Generous Life: Forgiveness.’

[3] See Romans 8, especially 20-25. Paul says that God submitted creation to suffering, in hope of redemption. God Himself is in a state of hope, of longing, which is its own type of suffering, and God is vulnerable to face this suffering along with His creation. Cf. Isaiah 63:9.

[4] Hebrews 12:2.

Gratitude Stronger than Suffering (Gratitude IV)

Victor Frankl, whose quote opened this chapter, experienced a living nightmare far beyond our worst dreams: he was a prisoner in Auschwitz and two other Nazi concentration camps. He watched as some of his fellow prisoners made it through, some had their lives stolen away, and others gave up hope and died. His conclusion at the end of his ordeal was that freedom of choice—and specifically, the ability to choose an orientation to meaningfulness in the midst of the most dire situations—was man’s ultimate freedom: “to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”[1]

As humans made in God’s image, we have freedom to choose. Pastor and author Chuck Swindoll says, “The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life… I am convinced that is life is 10 percent what happens to me and 90 percent how I react to it. And so it is with you… We are in charge of our attitudes.”[2]

Gratitude is precisely an attitude of hope. It’s even an acceptance and embrace of the inconveniences and suffering that try our souls. In it is the recognition that what tries us transforms us, if we don’t allow it to swallow us. This type of transformative gratitude is not wishful thinking or even “the power of positive thinking.” It’s not some Polyanna-pie-in-the-sky-optimism (though I guess there’s nothing wrong with that, if you can pull it off). The gratitude that Scripture talks about entails fully entering into both the joy and the sorrow of life. When we are willing to suffer, we can actually experience tremendous joy as we discover that our soul is meant for more than mere comfort. 

A few weeks ago, I was “not doing well.” Those are the very words I used to share with our church staff at our weekly meeting, as everyone graciously gave me their attention and let me stumble through some disjointed thoughts about how I was doing. I think I was exhausted. And I was realizing that I had never adjusted to having two kids while overseeing a largely-new staff, while pastoring a church, while both my wife and I work. I kept waiting for my energy and verve to rebound, but it wasn’t happening. I started to wonder if this was it: was I “burning out,” as I had heard so many warn about? After five days of prayerful retreat—which were insisted on by my kind and generous wife—I started to find my center again. I completely overhauled my schedule and once again accepted my limitations as a human being. But most importantly, in the midst of it all, even in the midst of the exhaustion, I started to feel joy again. I found consolation—the knowledge that God is with me in my weakness and that he comforts me, if I am willing to bring it to Him and to others, rather than judging, hating, and resisting it. In the midst of my sorrow, I started to feel a palpable sense of hope. I realized I didn’t just want things to “get better” so that I could return to a life full of activity. I actually wanted to fully mine the experience of joy that was happening as I was honest about my weakness. I wanted to stay in that place where, in my weakness, I felt such connection with God and others. 

As Americans, or maybe just as humans, we tend to think of joy and sorrow as different ends of a spectrum.

We want to maximize our happiness and pleasure (which we often, mistakenly, call joy) and minimize our sadness and discomfort. But the Scripture paints a different narrative of joy. It’s less like a line and more like a circle, and the place where true joy begins is connected to an experience of suffering.[3]

 Joy is magnified in the place where it touches sorrow, if we will allow the suffering to open us and not to harden us. In that place, joy becomes something far greater than the absence of adversity. This is because we can only be truly consoled by God—as opposed to just comforted by temporary relief—when our soul is stripped away. Once you come to know the life of God in the midst of suffering, you begin to experience the pattern of resurrection as God’s light fills you, even in the midst of sorrow. Experience this and you’ll begin to lose your fear of much of anything, even death itself. 

This is no doubt why the Scripture gives us such broad permission—and even commands us—to lament! Lament is a practice rooted in sorrow and suffering, and it is entirely different than grumbling and complaining. The Scripture encourages both thanksgiving and lament because both practices are anchored in trust and hope. We lament God’s seeming absence because we trust that reality is strong enough to take our honest response, and because we recognize that it is that only when we are authentic that we can be open to God. Thus, lament, like gratitude, is actually a sign that we are trusting a bigger story than mere survival or comfort, and that we are keeping our souls open before God. In this posture, we come to know that God is with us. 

For all of these readings in one place, order my book 'Learning to Live and Love Like Jesus.'

[1] See Foonote 1, above.

[2] Attributed everywhere to Charles R. Swindoll and listed in Swindoll’s The Grace Awakening, (Thomas Nelson. Nashville TN. 2005.)

[3] Perhaps Paul says it most clearly: “And since we are his children, we are his heirs. In fact, together with Christ we are heirs of God’s glory. But if we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering.” (Romans 8:17)