As we gather in the U.S. this week (in what are likely to be abnormally smaller groups) to celebrate Thanksgiving, we are grappling with significant questions and concerns about public health, the economy, the strength of our democratic institutions, and the effects of long-term uncertainty. During this period it may be hard to think about gratitude, but think of it we must. It may be more of a micro-practice this go-around, but it remains important. That said, what is top of mind as I write this is the imperative to gather; to commune; to break bread; and to engage in some form of ritual for our individual and collective health.

I just finished the gorgeous and compelling book, The Power of Ritual, by Casper Ter Kuile. I want everyone I know to read it, so I won’t spoil too much here, but suffice it to say he offers accessible yet profound practices to infuse our lives with meaning. We are, after all, meaning-making machines, and one of the ways we do this is through rituals, observing traditions, and in community.

When a community says that something is sacred, it becomes so. We develop rituals, or routines, that send powerful signals to each other about our values, beliefs, and identity. I find this incredibly compelling during a period marked by lock-downs, physical remoteness, and distancing. As Ter Kuile notes:

“When we’re in the rhythm of the collective, we can be freed of our isolationist perspective. For a brief period of time, the lie of our separateness is exposed, and we remember that we are wholly connected to one another.”

So, how do we do this around a table of one, two, or just a few more? One way is to make traditional foods, albeit in much smaller quantities. Another is to tell stories or to create something entirely new – a new ritual around games, readings, or acts of contemplation.

My family, whose table is typically between 11-16 people this time of year, will not be having our ritual multicourse meal followed by a trip to the cinema. Instead, we’ll have some of our favorite foods, some new ones, at least two Zoom connects, and perhaps a new way to express thanks for the offerings on the plate. We’ll also incorporate a way to engage in much-needed exercise and laughter. All of this will be in an effort to - as Ter Kuile advises - remember that we are indeed interconnected.

Our need to gather is deep, it is basic, and it is challenged right now. That said, we saw an outpouring of what author Barbara Ehrenreich calls “collective joy” when the media announced that Joe Biden and Kamala Harris had achieved the number of electoral college votes to be deemed President and Vice President-Elect. The spontaneous move into the street and into movement was unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. As she notes in her book, aptly named for this example Dancing in the Streets;

“The capacity for collective joy is encoded into us... We can live without it, as most of us do, but only at the risk of succumbing to the solitary nightmare of depression. Why not reclaim our distinctively human heritage as creatures who can generate their own ecstatic pleasures out of music, color, feasting, and dance?”

I invite all of us to find or create connection and meaning where and when we can. To allow time in our busy lives for spontaneous acts of joy and delight. To give thanks, but acknowledge where and what we grieve. And, as we gather, may we infuse these very acts with a sense of the sacred.