The first Thanksgiving proclamation, issued in 1789 by the United States’ first president, called on Americans to give gratitude for a new Constitution that established “the civil and religious liberty with which we are blessed.” George Washington also called for “prayer and supplications” that other nations be similarly blessed, with “good government, peace, and concord.”
Decades later, Abraham Lincoln issued his first Thanksgiving proclamation at the height of the Civil War. Amid the conflict, President Lincoln called attention to blessings “of so extraordinary a nature that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften” all hearts. These included peace with other nations, if not at home, as well as the daily efforts and persistence of hundreds of thousands of his fellow citizens.
As Americans mark Thanksgiving this year, every sign of compassion and courage, of “peace, and concord,” calls for similar acknowledgment of what it affirms about humanity’s innate goodness and largeness of spirit.
Some proofs have emerged – with fanfare – in the political sphere: the end of a long-running Kurdish insurgency in Turkey, and a flurry of peace deals between Armenia and Azerbaijan; Thailand and Cambodia; and, of course, Israel and Hamas.
But the vast majority occur in less visible spaces, in the daily kindnesses and interactions among individuals in both ordinary and extraordinary circumstances.
Take, for instance, Japan’s more than 10,000 community cafeterias, where volunteers and participants bond over shared meals. In these ibasho – “places where one feels accepted” – individuals overcome social isolation and bridge intergenerational gaps. As one volunteer says, it’s a commitment to “do something for others.”
That universal ethic is shared a world away in a country such as Sudan, torn by civil war and famine. There, collective action through civilian-supported “emergency response rooms” provides food, shelter, and even basic schooling for displaced families and children. In besieged Ukraine, musicians and other performers have sought to soothe pain and fear with the universal balm of art.
Taken together, these examples point to the possibilities for dissolving intractability with hope and reversing cycles of hatred and revenge – often strengthened by one’s faith.
Striking proof came this fall, when a young widow stunned listeners as she publicly forgave the man suspected of assassinating her husband, Charlie Kirk, a few days earlier.
“A lot of people in this world think that forgiveness is a weakness, or that when you forgive, you forget,” Erika Kirk told The Washington Stand this month. “It’s the exact opposite,” she said. “It’s freeing.”
Each Thanksgiving offers the opportunity to gratefully recognize such freedom for those gathered at our tables – or scattered around the world – and to support “good government, peace, and concord.”
