An American Friar Explains Thanksgiving in Italy| National Catholic Register
COMMENTARY: When celebrating the quintessential American holiday abroad, one can’t help but reflect on why traditions, which feel both fragile and precious, matter.
I arrived in Milan shortly after beginning my new assignment in Italy. I’m a Dominican friar from Indiana, and I needed to learn Italian! I enrolled in an Italian language school so I could sound a little less like a broken tourist phrasebook. The school has one of those cheerful, slightly chaotic classes with students from around the world — Thailand, Lebanon, China, Cameroon, the Philippines — each of us wrestling with pronunciation, conjugations and the cultural mysteries of Italian small talk.
One day, our teacher announced that we were going to practice describing le feste (holidays) in our own countries. I began frantically scribbling notes so that I’d sound less like an idiot when I was called on: Father’s Day, Mother’s Day and the Fourth of July. Easy enough. Gifts, fireworks, family dinners — that sort of thing. Straightforward.
So when she called on me and said, “Padre Patrick, parli del … Thanksgiving,” I froze.
Thanksgiving? In Italian? That hadn’t even crossed my mind.
But there I was, on the spot, so I launched into it. Football (“American soccer”) and turkey (“like chicken but better”). I tried to describe stuffing, which was a miserable failure. (I had better luck talking about pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving.) I talked about the Macy’s parade with its giant cartoon characters. I described the menu, the family gathering, the inevitable political debates that bubble up around the table.
Then it dawned on me: Many other countries simply don’t have a Thanksgiving. And those that do, don’t celebrate it like we do. It’s a distinctly American feast, a holiday marked by our history and culture. No wonder Tiziana wanted me to talk about it.
Not long ago at Holy Mass, we heard the Gospel about the 10 lepers whom Jesus healed. Ten men lifted from misery, restored to dignity, given back their lives:
“And one of them, realizing he had been healed, returned, glorifying God in a loud voice; and he fell at the feet of Jesus and thanked him” (Luke 17:15–16).
Only one returned.
It’s a haunting scene. Ten were healed, but only one came back to give thanks. Jesus asks the obvious question: “Where are the other nine?” How can people receive so much and remember so little?
When I’m honest, I know the nine live in me. I rush past graces. I take mercies for granted. I move on without acknowledging the generosity that sustains every breath of my life. Gratitude is not the default posture of the human heart — it is a discipline. A choice. A habit of remembering.
That’s why Thanksgiving, especially as an expat, has taken on new meaning for me. When you’re far from home, traditions feel both fragile and precious. They force you to examine why they matter.
In Scripture, thanksgiving isn’t a suggestion. It’s a command. “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his mercy endures forever” (Psalm 118:1). Gratitude is the antidote to anger, the cure for pride, the opening of the heart to hope.
We don’t need Thanksgiving for the menu, but for the conversion it offers. Being grateful sharpens the soul; it aligns us with reality. Everything we have is gift. Everything.
So this year, whether you’re in America or many time zones away, take a moment to be the one who returns. Fall at the feet of Jesus. Tell him thank you. It’s the most American — and the most Christian — thing you can do.
Father Patrick Mary Briscoe, OP, is a Dominican friar. Along with his Dominican brothers, he is host of the podcast Godsplaining and a co-author of Saint Dominic’s Way of Life: A Path to Knowing and Loving God. His new book, Witness: A Guided Lent Journal for Prayer and Meditation, is coming from Ave Maria Press in December.
