For some, the season is filled with warmth and connection. For others, it brings dread, strained family ties, loneliness, or even the inability to gather with family for various reasons.

Add to that the weight of our world — the state of the country, personal challenges, and everything in between — and being in a “thanking spirit” feels anything but easy.

Then we hear verses like “give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thessalonians 5:18 NRSVue).

These words can ring hollow in the face of trauma and tragedy. They’re often misused, turning gratitude into a command to “be thankful or else.” This transforms thanksgiving into a mechanical act — an obligation rather than an invitation to experience God’s grace in the messiness of life.

Yes, gratitude is something we’re called to engage in. But too often, we fail to communicate its deeper meaning in ways that are real, accessible, and transformative. When we hear Paul’s words, “give thanks in all circumstances,” it’s natural to have questions.

“All circumstances, Paul? Really? Do you know what life is like here in the real world?”

For many, this sounds like toxic positivity — like being asked to plaster a smile on our faces and pretend our struggles aren’t real because “someone else has it worse.”

It feels like an expectation to bury our grief, disappointment, anger, and frustration. It feels inauthentic — like our faith isn’t genuine if we’re honest about our pain.

But what if Paul’s imperative isn’t about pretending? What if “giving thanks in all circumstances” isn’t toxic positivity but a pathway to finding something real and life-giving in every situation?

To understand this, let’s dive into the Greek word Paul uses for “give thanks” — εὐχαριστέω (eucharisteō: yoo-khah-rees-TEH-oh). If it sounds familiar, it’s because it shares roots with “Eucharist,” the term used in Christian traditions for communion or the Lord’s Supper — all names for a practice rooted in remembrance and gratitude.

In the Greco-Roman world, εὐχαριστέω reflected cultural norms of gratitude as a virtue, a relational duty, and often a transactional practice.

Citizens expressed thanks publicly to leaders, benefactors, or sponsors in exchange for favor, protection, or resources. Gratitude was expected, and failing to show it properly could be seen as dishonorable.

While this well-meaning practice could foster social cohesion, it often became a tool for reinforcing power structures, making gratitude performative rather than transformative. It became a social currency to maintain status rather than a genuine expression of connection.

Sound familiar? In many religious contexts today, we often treat God like a cosmic benefactor to whom we owe obligatory thanks, regardless of how life feels. “Thank God, no matter what” can feel disconnected from our real struggles and dismissive of our pain. It turns gratitude into lip service — a mechanical practice divorced from authentic faith.

But Paul wasn’t advocating for empty words. He was inviting us to find and hold onto God’s grace in every circumstance. Understanding how eucharisteō was used in his day, I believe Paul meant the following, using the literal translation of the word:

“In all of your circumstances, find, acknowledge, and hold on to the good grace of God.”

It’s not about faking it. It’s about seeking and recognizing the grace that sustains us even in hardship.

Gratitude isn’t about ignoring darkness; it’s about finding light. It’s about resisting the lie that there’s only despair in the world.

Howard Thurman beautifully captured this idea during one of his meditative walks through a forest. He described climbing to a higher elevation where the trees stopped growing. There, he found himself in a barren landscape, surrounded by jagged rocks, patches of snow, and a harsh wind that cut through the air.

The only visible vegetation was what appeared to be clusters of evergreen bushes resiliently thriving in this inhospitable environment.

As Thurman looked closer, he made a startling realization: these weren’t bushes at all. They were branches of the same trees he had seen below, the ones that had grown tall and reached for the skies.

Here, above the timberline where conditions were too harsh for trees to grow upright, these trees had adapted, spreading themselves along the ground like vines. Rather than withering in adversity, they found a way to survive and even flourish, clinging to life with a quiet but unbreakable resolve.

Reflecting on this resilient adaptation, Thurman mused that it was as if the tree had spoken:

“I am destined to reach for the skies and embrace in my arms the wind, the rain, the snow, and the sun, singing my song of joy to all the heavens. But this I cannot do. I have taken root beyond the timberline, and yet I do not want to die; I must not die. I shall make a careful survey of the situation and work out a method, a way of life, that will yield growth and development for me despite the contradictions under which I must eke out my days.

In the end, I may not look like the other trees; I may not be what within me cries out to be. But I will not give up. I will use to the full every resource in me and about me to answer life with life. In so doing, I shall affirm that this is the kind of universe that sustains, upon demand, the life that is in it.”

This powerful image of adaptation and resilience carries a profound lesson for us all. Gratitude, as Thurman suggests, is not about denying the harshness of life’s circumstances. It’s about finding ways to answer life with life — to take root even when conditions seem impossible, to find and hold onto the good grace that God offers in every season.

The trees, though transformed by their environment, chose to live differently but fully, adapting to the harsh realities they faced while remaining connected to their essence and purpose.

As we navigate our own struggles and challenges, Thurman’s meditation invites us to reflect:

How can we adapt and find grace, even beyond our own timberlines?

How can we hold onto hope and respond to life’s contradictions with resilience and determination?

Gratitude, in this light, becomes a transformative force — one that sustains us through adversity and reveals glimpses of light in even the darkest places.

So, as we enter this season, let’s ask ourselves: “How can I find the good grace of God and be strengthened to navigate what lies ahead?”

Life isn’t all darkness. There is light to find. Let’s keep moving forward together.