Today We Say Grace

Thanksgiving, 2023. On witnessing a miracle. The etymology of grace. The poetry of Hopkins, Hardy and Harjo.

The Charles River as it looks now beside our home. The neighborhood children get to see the beauty of the changing seasons as they play together.

I say móre: the just man justices; 
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces; 

From Gerard Manley Hopkins’s “As Kingfishes Catch Fire”

First I would like to extend a word of gratitude for all of you who are reading this during such a busy time. For some reason I have a lot of new free subscribers, and for that I am extremely thankful.

Since so many of you are new I thought I would just briefly re-introduce myself. I am a 49-year-old Catholic wife to my college beau and a mother of our five children. I greatly appreciate the perspectives of those who think differently than I do. I love challenging comments and charitable discussions—which have turned out to be some of the greatest gifts of being on Substack.

I work outside the home in paid and unpaid capacities. In my spare time I study ancient Classics in translation, philosophy, all the poetry and literature I can get my hands on, and a little bit of foreign and ancient languages (I am fluent in nothing!). As the daughter of two Filipino parents I am a first-generation American who is active in Boston’s pinoy community. However, my passion lies mostly in my work as a special education advocate and protecting the rights and dignity of those who are so often marginalized.

I am currently a remote part-time graduate student at the University of St. Thomas in Houston, and I am getting my MFA in Poetry in the hopes that by refining my language to its most beautiful elements I will help advocate more effectively for those I care about. (Please note: Paid subscriptions to this Substack go directly to the costs of my graduate studies. I would love your help if you feel inclined. Thank you to those who are already supporting me!)

I care about a lot of people. And oftentimes I care through my use of words. One may say my love language is actually language.

Like many writers, I get fixated on words. Etymology fascinates me to no end, and I love seeing the family trees of words—how languages have lived and died off or how they continue to live on and create new words, to adapt to the new concepts we need them to convey.

What a miracle language is!

I used to think of miracles as virtually impossible events that God reserved for only the rarest occasions. However, the word miracle comes from the Latin miraculum "object of wonder" (in Church Latin, "marvelous event caused by God"), from mirari "to wonder at, marvel, be astonished," figuratively "to regard, esteem," from mirus "wonderful, astonishing, amazing," earlier *smeiros, from PIE *smei- "to smile, laugh" (source also of Sanskrit smerah"smiling," Greek meidan "to smile," Old Church Slavonic smejo "to laugh"…¹

So smiling is related to miracles? Miracles are related to laughter?

Miracles are objects of wonder.

Well… in that case. I see miracles every day.

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Wednesday, as I was baking for Thanksgiving, the children from the townhomes next door came over to ask my youngest to come out. I sent her off to run outside, but then I stepped out and followed the sound of their playing.

Our children come from three different households. One is a Paskistani Muslim family. The father is a first-generation American like me but the mother immigrated from Pakistan. The second is a Jewish family who just moved here last year from Israel. And then there is our family, and my children are Catholic half Filipinos who are also a quarter Polish-Jewish.

Despite being of different races, ethnicities, faiths, and cultures, our children think nothing about playing with each other. How many places in this world would this look impossible? What confluence of events created this moment of laughter echoing down to the river?

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How does chance circumstance make enemies of us?

This question reminds me of a poem by Thomas Hardy,

The Man He Killed

"Had he and I but met
            By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
            Right many a nipperkin!
            "But ranged as infantry,
            And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
            And killed him in his place.
            "I shot him dead because —
            Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
            That's clear enough; although
            "He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
            Off-hand like — just as I —
Was out of work — had sold his traps —
            No other reason why.
            "Yes; quaint and curious war is!
            You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat if met where any bar is,
            Or help to half-a-crown."

Yes, how quaint and curious war is…

And yes, I know that so much systemic injustice and pain often brings violence to the forefront. I know there is evil in the world—that powerful leaders are capable of instigating actions that lead to horrible dehumanizing acts.

War is complicated.

But killing is surprisingly easy.

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Yesterday my daughter told me, Thanksgiving is a lie!

The pilgrims were not good people. They took land away from Indigenous people who were here first. And they killed them!

Oh, how different this is from the equally simple narrative I was given as a third-grader in Boston, 1983.

Simple narratives are the easiest way to make enemies of another people.

Our historical narratives need to expand to include true stories of good will and grace.

Grace is a participation in the life of God.

(Catechism of the Catholic Church, #1996-1997.)

The words grace and gratitude are both derived from the Latin word, gratia which means "favor, esteem, regard; pleasing quality, good will.”²

The Catechism of the Catholic Church defines grace as “favor, the free and undeserved help that God gives us to respond to his call to become children of God, adoptive sons, partakers of the divine nature and eternal life. Grace is a participation in the life of God.” (CCC #1996-1997.)

Around the Thanksgiving table my family will be saying a prayer which we call Grace,

Bless us, Oh Lord,
and these thy gifts 
which we are about to receive 
from thy bounty,
through Christ, Our Lord.
Amen.

According to Fr. Mike Schmitz from the Catechism in a Year podcast this is also a prayer that is suitable to say upon waking up because each day will be full of the gifts. Some days are more bountiful than others. But we must find grace in every day.

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One of my favorite poems about grace is by the Jesuit priest, Gerard Manley Hopkins:

As Kingfishers Catch Fire

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame; 
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells 
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's 
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name; 
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: 
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells; 
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells, 
Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came. 

I say móre: the just man justices; 
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces; 
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is — 
Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places, 
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his 
To the Father through the features of men's faces.

Every soul wants to be seen and heard. The just man keeps grace, and all his works of the day perpetuates the work of God. Our goings about the day multiply the graces given to us. We magnify the goodness we are given, should we choose to do so.

What a blessing. This is why we give thanks.

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One of my favorite poems to read during Thanksgiving is Joy Harjo ‘s Perhaps The World Ends Here. And it ends like this:

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

There will always be someone out there who feels like the world is ending.

Let us pray for the miraculous souls that cling to each day.

Let us pray that the grace of God gives us the wisdom to do the next right thing.

Let us give thanks for the love we share, the hope that drives us to the next morning, and the faith that goodness, truth ,and beauty will win.

Amen, amen, I say to you: All it takes is a miracle.

1. https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=miracle

2. https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=grace