Giving Thanks for the Sacred Supply Chain

AT THANKSGIVING, MILLIONS of us across the country gather around tables. Gratitude will be expressed for blessings both great and small, which indeed is an opportunity to trace the goodness that enfolds our daily lives. Gratitude is one of the more ancient practices of our human society. It has long been observed across different religions, researched in the field of psychology, and mused over by philosophers. Orator and philosopher Marcus Tullius Cicero wrote, “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.”

One of my most formative perspectives on gratitude comes from Indigenous practice. Indigenous cultures in the Americas have observed collective practices of gratitude that have long preceded our legislated day of thanks. The Haudenosaunee Confederacy, also known as the Iroquois or the Six Nations, have a daily Thanksgiving Address recited by school children just before classes begins. This is a practice author Robin Wall Kimmerer calls “an allegiance to gratitude.” The address uses gratitude to trace life-sustaining provision to the Creator, to the community, and to every food and water source, through every plant, every creature, and even the land itself. Gratitude is essentially ecological this way.

When we think about it, many of us might feel far removed from this sacred supply chain. Our lives tend to be mediated by markets where our food arrives processed and pre-packaged. We don’t typically thank God when a Fine Fare Supermarket shelves a fine assortment of canned beans. We don’t respond with wonder around the color varieties of bottled water, essenced with minerals and electrolytes. But there are ways we can become more connected.

Gratitude is a practice in minding one’s situatedness in a place while tracing the supply channels. When I’m at home in my apartment, a dripping faucet can alert me to trace our filtered water back to the NYC reservoir with thanks. Basil and oregano growing on my east-facing window become artifacts for morning prayer, reminding me of the earth’s provision. A weekly five-block walk gets me a “fresh food box” at Uptown Grand Central. The box is lovingly prepared with in-season produce grown at local farms in New York. The experience is also connectional, not just transactional, since I’m able to have a conversation about the new offerings. I was grateful to have learned how to prepare some sautéed Swiss chard.

While the distance to the sacred supply chain might be greater for some of us, gratitude can be far-reaching. Learning from Native wisdom can cultivate a mindset of humility, a reminder of how “we human beings are not in charge of the world, but are subject to the same forces as all of the rest of life,” as Freida Jacques puts it in Kimmerer’s book.

We might even consider adding more dimension to our practices of gratitude. Often in our country, gratitude can focus on individual benefit. But an Indigenous approach to gratitude focuses on the relationality of all things — the collective benefit; how the Creator’s gift economy flows through many parts of the ecosystem. Gratitude is how this generosity can be traced.