Deep in the shadow of night, down near the crossroads and cemetery gates, with bitter liquor and cigar smoke wafting, I greet you. Clad in white, upon the floor before shrines, following the names of the Ancestors being uttered, I greet you. You are the sacred and righteous rage of my people.

We gather at Thanksgiving, in some sense, to retell the creation myth of our country. In this myth is our very best and our very worst: a boldness; a care for the common good; a wish to say we before I. Yet from even before the first Thanksgiving feast, it’s a story of theft and violence, and a...

For five thousand years, or more, more than fifteen thousand generations, human beings have been invoking spiritual power. My predecessors, and yours, have gathered together to make sense of their lives and their place in the cosmos. And they have spoken aloud, and invited what they conceived as...