This past summer, when my wife Judy, our two girls and I went back to the Mid-West for a visit, Judy and I were invited to the new home of some good friends. We have quite a close circle there who are part of our old home congregation at the Unitarian Universalist Church in Davenport, Iowa. For us, they're like extended family. When we go back, there are always lots of get-togethers and outings. It's always good to see everybody and we all have a great time.

On the day Judy and I stopped by to visit Kate and Lenny's new home, we were on our way to a potluck dinner that preceded a men's softball game. (I would just mention in passing that I played first base in three games while we were there; caused no errors, had a batting average of 500, and sustained no major injuries. For those of you who have seen me play, you know what a great occasion for thanksgiving these statistics provided.)

Anyway, Kate could hardly wait to show us around. Their old house had been a very nice place, too. In fact its spacious recreational area, back yard pool and spa had provided the setting for many wonderful community parties.

"Wait until you see the new house though," she'd said. She was right. It was incredible. We have lots of nice houses here in Montclair, and I know many of our folks here in the congregation have very nice homes. I'm sure you'll understand when I say, this house was right up there among the really nice ones.

It has a gorgeous and exotically landscaped yard. It has thousands of square feet, with one beautiful room flowing into the next. Its design is exquisite, its woodwork handsome and it holds a museum's fill of tasteful artwork and artifacts. Kate was so incredibly proud, and Judy and I were genuinely happy for her and Lenny. Lenny was still at work; he would join up with us later at the potluck.

Kate and Lenny Robbins would fit well into our congregation. You'd like them. Lenny is a dedicated medical doctor and a decent amateur musician. Kate is a nurse by profession. She's published a number of books on nursing, and was the driving force behind creating the first on-site hospice in the area. She's a good singer, and is now staying at home to give fuller attention to the development of their somewhat challenging teenage daughter.

We had a lovely visit that afternoon and, after a glass of wine to celebrate the new home, we took off, in two different cars, for the potluck dinner. Judy and I arrived ahead of Kate. The potluck hostess, Joyce, greeted us at the door. She asked how we'd liked the Robbins' new home.

"What's not to like," we said. "The place is incredible." The three of us ooo'd and ahhh'd over it for a while, citing its various charming characteristics. It definitely had our seal of approval. And then Joyce ended the conversation with a comment that totally altered the experience for me. "You know," she said. "I'm truly happy for her. Kate really deserves to have such a nice place. She really deserves it"

I have to admit that part of my experience prior to that comment had included an element of struggle in allowing myself to feel comfortable with the extent of my friends' luxury. I didn't feel the need to have, or even the need to want, such an incredible home for myself. I wouldn't be so happy to own such a place. I could though, I could be happy for my friends.

But now, Joyce was asking me to agree to something that I couldn't accept. How could Kate have deserved to find herself in such a situation? I couldn't understand what it meant to deserve such a thing. What does it mean to deserve affluence that is beyond the reach of most members of our society, let alone those who are impoverished? What does it mean to deserve the safety of even the middle class when there are so many excluded from that safety?

In their defense, I'd have to say that neither Kate nor Lenny would have ever claimed that they deserve such a comfortable and beautiful home. I know they feel very fortunate and blest by their lives and that they are very grateful for their good fortune. Still though, Joyce had said, "Kate really deserves to have such a nice place."

It was the flip side of the premise that I had so much trouble with. What does it mean for people who have so much less than Kate and Lenny? Does it mean that they deserve to have less? Does it mean that we all get our just deserts?

It was in that moment last summer that I recognized the theme for this Thanksgiving sermon. The religious doctrine of Calvinism, the theology upon which, to a very considerable extent, this nation was founded is still alive and a bit too well in our culture.

For those of you who may not be so familiar with Calvinism by name, it's the theological doctrine that holds that there are persons who are among the preordained elect, and there are those who are among the preordained reprobate. It holds that from the beginning of time, God has chosen the ones who will enjoy everlasting salvation in heaven, and those who will drown in the everlasting fires of hell. And by the way, we can tell who's who now because God favors his riches-even in this life-upon those for whom he waits.

I'm not suggesting that Calvinism is something out there that we have to go out and fight. I'm suggesting that it's a part of our American culture and spirit. It's something that's a part of us, and something we might do well to recognize. We can know that's true when we find ourselves being thankful that at least we have ours. The rest of that thought, if we allow ourselves to finish it is, thank goodness we have ours-let them get theirs.

As long as Calvinism survives, it will provide the underpinnings for the continuation of poverty. As long as Calvinism survives, it will provide the underpinnings for the continuation of racism. After all, God rewards those who are deserving and punishes those who, from the beginning of time, have been assigned to wastefulness and recklessness.

Calvinism is the theological doctrine that supports the premise that God rewards people for what they deserve. The sociopolitical doctrine that has incorporated this belief is known as meritocracy. Perhaps you're familiar with the concept.

It has been given some serious attention by Thandeka, associate professor of theology and culture at my alma mater, Meadville/Lombard Theological School at the University of Chicago. She is the author of the book, Race and Class-Passing Within White America, and her article "Middle-Class Poverty" was recently published in the UU World Magazine. Thandeka is known and respected within and beyond our movement as a black, feminist theologian.

Meritocracy is a theory that assumes that persons who have worked hard enough will make it. The elitism of meritocracy is based on academic achievement, particularly in prestigious institutions. The more celebrated the institution, the higher the personal value accumulated.

The construct implies that if you're really smart and you pay your dues, you will be placed in a position of power and authority. It fails to recognize though, that statistically, those who have already walked through them, control access to the hallowed halls of those venerable institutions.

One of the fallacies of meritocracy is the contention that those in power really are smarter. Thandeka talks about the spiritual and psychological burden people live under trying to masquerade in an effort to pretend that this lie is the reality.

Another fallacy of meritocracy lies in the fact that not just anyone can rise to the top. One must be among the chosen. And we need to ask our selves, who's doing the choosing? We can be fairly confident that it's not some God the Father who has made these choices.

What does it mean to be deserving? What do we have the right to be thankful for?

There's another Unitarian Universalist theological scholar, who has spoken to these issues. He too, was a professor of theology at my seminary at the University of Chicago. I would point out that the elite reputation of the University of Chicago does not escape my attention.

John Hayward was also a widely known and respected professor there through the 1950's and 60's. In a landmark sermon preached in the spring of 1960, close to a decade before the first commemoration of Earth Day, Jack warned of the impending perils of unchecked pollution. He said:

"Even the earth mother herself must surrender into our keeping her life giving soils, her most clean and clear and beautiful canopy of air. And like Orestes and Electra of old, we can now sense the possibility of slaying our own mother. Also of slaying our own children."

"The failure to seek solutions is the triumph of despair," he said and from the Biblical beatitudes he added, "Blessed are the poor in spirit." He acknowledged this nations poverty of spirit, but went on to say that we, "have a right to ask the essentially religious question, can we be blessed, can we dare to live in hope, in the midst of all our fears?"

He raised his voice prophetically in response and I add mine to his, "I come to affirm that we can be blessed, even today. For I conceive of blessing as a gift, a present and available reality. I have no magic for showing you how to earn the gift. Anyway if you were to earn it, it would not be a gift...And so I conceive of blessedness as having...the energy of thanksgiving..."

Jack establishes a connection between thanksgiving and indebtedness-not the kind of debt that impoverishes or makes us financially dependent. He lifted up the kind of debt that increases our store as human beings.

We are in debt to the planet and to its many systems that sustain our lives. We are in debt to social institutions, that we did not create, but which provide for our security. We are in debt to our own children, whose lives provide us reason for living. And above all he said, "...we are in debt to all who suffer for righteousness' sake while we live under the blessings of liberty.

What Jack Hayward was saying forty years ago-which is still true today-is that we do indeed live in a fearful world. And that even amid our apprehensions, the promise of blessedness is ours. Not because we deserve it, but because it is our birthright as human beings. And the road to blessedness is thanksgiving; the key to thanksgiving is the acknowledgement of indebtedness. And, he warns, "By denying indebtedness or seeking to escape it, we cut the very conduit of blessedness and the heart becomes dry and empty."

While we've not moved beyond the dangers of pollution in this world, the perils I would hold up before us today include the perils of racism, the perils of classism, and the perils of any other ism that makes us feel justified, that makes us feel deserving of a life or a lifestyle that is categorically denied to others.

Jack Hayward spoke of the possibility of slaying our own children. We live in a nation where 14 million children live in poverty, 5 million of whom are under the age of six. We live in a country that has 500,000 homeless children. These aren't just numbers, they're human beings, young human beings, and they have names just like all our children.

Children living in poverty were not preordained by God to be poor. They certainly did nothing to deserve their poverty, but if nothing is done about it, the cycle of that poverty will continue to the next generations.

What can we do, we who are so very indebted for our wellbeing, what can we do to bring an end to this Calvinistic system that is so wasteful of human life? The failure to seek solutions is the triumph of despair. We have a right to ask the essentially religious question, can we be blessed, can we dare to live in hope, in the midst of all our fears?

We might begin by trying to affirm that we can be blessed even today, because blessedness is a gift. We might begin by trying to let go of the masquerade of just deserts. We might begin by trying to recognize that we are no more deserving of the bounties of this earth than any other man, woman or child. If this sounds radical, that's because it is radical, and it is going to require some very radical solutions if we are going to create a world in which the inherent worth and dignity of every person is honored and promoted.

We are going to have to work to undo a great deal of damage that has been done. The wellbeing of our souls depends upon that work; we don't have a right to be thankful for that, which is ours but is denied to others. And if we are going to find our way into blessedness, it will be, as Jack Hayward says, upon the path of thanksgiving that we find our way.

The holiday of Thanksgiving should never be a day for celebrating our advantage over others.

It ought to be a day of commitment on which we vow to be worthy stewards of the gifts we have been provided.

It ought to be a day on which we vow to change the order of things, so that those who have been denied access to the bounties of the world might be better welcomed at the table of humanity.

It ought to be a day of commitment on which we vow to earn the right to the salvific experience of thanksgiving.

And it ought to be a day on which we celebrate that we have done all that is in our power so that others might share in the blessings we enjoy.