In Gratitude to our Ancestors

Recently I walked through the Highland (Scotland) Folk Museum.  This is an outdoor museum with a recreation of an 18^th century “crofters” village, as well as another section with a farm, home, post office, general store, tailor shop, wood shop, school and bus from 1890-1930 era all with original items inside each.  The crofter village has holmes with three foot high stone walls and tree branch and sod roofs.  We were soberly told that in the night, even in the winter they could not keep the fire going.  People worked hard during the day to tend sheep, weave fabric, grow, gather and prepare food.  Quarters were tight and simple.  It looked like a hard life.

There is a song that Libby Roderick sings where she talks about how we are all descends of dead people: “I come from a long line of dead people.  I come from a tall pile of bones. My people lie sleeping all under the world….”  I always thought this a somewhat strange song…in fact a bit morbid.  But I now have a whole new appreciation of the song.   I suddenly realized that every one of us living on this planet is here because our ancestors worked hard to survive.  Some made it only far enough to reproduce before dying in childbirth or marched off to war, but they worked hard to survive. Because they did survive long enough to have children, and those children then also struggled forward to the next generation….here, centuries later, stand you and I.  Even many of those who did not reproduce made significant contributions to ensuring the survival of the species.

It is not a remarkable thing that we all have the capacity to reproduce.  What is remarkable are the things our ancestors have done to survive.  From early people who lived nomadically: working to find enough food and to avoid wild animals, dehydration and vicious weather in order to survive.  To tribal cultures who struggled to survive squirmishes with the neighbors, and illness born of a lack of understanding of basic hygiene.  To the countless men who were marched off to wars that they may or may not have believed in to fight for land or a way of life.  The untold generations of women who were treated as second class citizens all their lives with abuse, poverty, and hardship raised their children.  To those who were born into and lived desperate and pleasureless lives as slaves or servants and simply dreamed their children could have better lives.  To those who endured months of seasickness and storms to come to a new land: fleeing famine, war or political oppression and again hoping things could be better.  I suddenly see this long line of dead people that Libby was singing about.

When you bring it down to the generations of your grandparents, or great grandparents or those who first immigrated to this country on both sides of your family, you may know some of the specifics of the sacrifices and struggles that occurred.  Somehow we take this for granted.  We assume, I think, that of course they struggled to survive because that is the instinct that we are all programmed with deep in our DNA.  But what kept them going?  What role did hope, love, and Spirit play in their endurance and determination?   Slowly we have made generation by generation, a more comfortable life, a more humane life.  Our work is not done by any means, we have far to go….and our descendents count on that.

First I think we must acknowledge the debt of gratitude we owe to our ancestors for our very existence, and second of all we must ask how we are doing on assuring the survival of the species so that someone several hundred years can be grateful that we struggled forward?  I have written before about the River of God….this endless procession of humanity, human’s struggles and innovations; of passion, sorrow and going forth…that is the River of God.  It is the march of the eternal.   And for me when I see this march I also feel the Creator’s steady presence woven through it all.