A World View from the Children’s Table
Matthew 6:25-33
Had we lived in New England, we might very well have been the subject of a Norman Rockwell painting. We were part of the new middle class that followed the Korean War. Families that were reconstituted as men made their way home yet again from war and began building the American Dream for themselves and their families. My earliest memories of this time come from the perspective of the children’s table on Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving may have been the single biggest holiday for my family. Both sets of grand-parents were still living and living nearby and they came and shared at the feast. My mother’s sister and my father’s brothers came and brought their children. My Aunt and Uncle, the Aunt and Uncle to which no one was related, came and brought their children and my mother always seemed to find a couple of orphans from the Air Base where she and dad worked.
The dining room table had every extension added and every chair in the house, plus the piano bench, were set in place. And there was a separate table set up in the living room for the children. One adult each year had the honor, such as it was, to sit with the children. It was this person who answered the never ending questions as to why a turkey had only two legs and were deviled eggs really from the devil?
Before any of us sat, we stood. Because most of my family were Baptist we were always blessed to have at least one person who had recovered from their backsliding ways, had been re-baptized that year and who wanted to offer the Thanksgiving prayer.
There was something special about the Thanksgiving prayer because it was not just grace but a prayer of joy and rejoicing.
This was the fifties and my concept of the world, my understanding of Thanksgiving, was like the gospel lesson of this evening. I did not worry about anything. I did not worry about when or what clothes I wore. A pair of jeans and a white tee shirt seemed to work for me at every social setting. The view from the children’s table saw no racism, bigotry, or misogyny. Anything that cost more than a dollar was outside the concept of economy. While the world view from the children’s table may have been unsophisticated it was charming in it lack of cynicism.
But the day came that I graduated to the table in the dinning room. By the time I was in the sixth grade, I had developed too much savoir faire to be eating with the children. I know I didn’t think of it at the time but not only did I leave behind the best part of childhood, I also lost the childlike innocence that all of us must experience.
Paul told the Church at Corinth, and he tells the church of today, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.” There is that time, isn’t there, when we put an end to our childish ways. There is a time that we move from a protected, provincial view to a more urbane understanding and when we do, we start to worry.
I know tonight there are other communities meeting for a Thanksgiving Service and I am certain at those churches the folks are looking at one another to see how they’re dressed. I’m certain none of us did that but other folks . . . well, you know how they can be. I know that some of the ladies here tonight have already done their shopping for Thanksgiving Day and now since I said that, other ladies are worried that they need to get to the store soon before all the good stuff is sold out. There are those here tonight who are worried about who is coming on Thursday and who won’t show up. Some are concerned that Uncle Frank has fallen off the wagon and might be drunk again this year. A few might be concerned about putting a lock on the bedroom door because your sister’s boy is doing drugs and while you don’t know for sure, there was stuff missing after he was at your house last year.
Jesus was as clear as He could be about our worry. He was as clear as Paul was about growing up. Both want us to become mature adults but Jesus wants us to be mature Christians as well. He wants us to trust in him. Not just in church on Sunday, not just when you see the pastor at the post office, not just when you think of your own mortality but to trust in him in all things at all times.
Every Sunday, I stand in the middle of the congregation and ask them about the joys and concerns they would like for us to pray about. Now every Sunday there are those who have concerns about the well being of others and name them so we can hold them up in prayer. But, the joys are few and far between and I think I understand why. We are so grown up, so sophisticated, so self-reliant that we have lost the joy in thanking God for the things he has done. We forget the joy of God’s love that came in the form of a hug by one of the greeters when we came through the door. We forgot the joy of sunshine that manifested itself in a little girl’s smile as we made our way to the pew. We are so independent that we forgot how dependent we are for even our next breath. And friends it makes thanksgiving complicated. If we are to take credit for all the things we have done, what shall we thank God for? Is it only because he helped us as we got through the thorny week by our own wits and wiles? Are we left to thanking God for being a consultant?
I think that the human side of Jesus understood our independent ways and he knew that because we relied so much on ourselves instead of relying on God, we would worry. We would have to because, left on our own, we will fail. Left with just our own abilities, we might get through for a while but eventually we would discover all our efforts built only a house of cards. And Jesus knew. And, I think, that deep down inside we do too. I think that one of the reasons for holiday blues is that we are confronted by our own limitations and for those who are not centered in Christ Jesus, it is a time of depression.
But hear the good news. If God provides for the birds who can’t drive a tractor or store up food for the winter, God will provide for you. If God will outfit the lilies of the field in the splendor that make even angels envy, blue jeans and a white tee shirts still work. As a matter of fact the really good news is if you want to be the best-dressed person in the room, put on his righteousness. Now this isn’t the advice from some country preacher who has serendipitously found his way to the city but by that country preacher who was the Son of God.
It is in his righteousness that we come to understand that everyday is Thanksgiving. It is in his righteousness that we can grasp that every gift is a good gift and he is worthy of our thanks. It is in his righteousness that we can finally gather as family, hold hands and know exactly what to give thanks for.
I have sat at many tables of thanksgiving through the years and beneath these ecclesiastical robes is a pot belly that will testify that I am still carrying way too many pieces of pumpkin pie and way too many helpings of cornbread dressing. I am thankful for them. But this week I am most thankful that even if there were no pumpkin pie, no turkey or duck, no homemade cranberry sauce, no gathering of the clan, I can be thankful for a God who has and will continue to provide until I make my way home to that heavenly feast where God himself will sit at the head of the table.
Just a few years ago, Nancy and I made our way to the Dallas – Ft. Worth Metroplex for Thanksgiving with my sister. There were in-laws and out-laws from the family all crowded into her home with more than one televised football game going. There was a long table in the dining room with chairs all around and the same piano beach of my youth was pressed into work yet again. There was another table set up in the living room. Certainly more simply set without stemware or fine china. I passed by my sister and told her, “I going to sit with the children.”
“Why,” she asked?
“I need to.”
No prayer was said that day in the dining room but the children and I found time. And I was amazed. One child wanted to know why a turkey only had two legs. “You would think Uncle Mike, that with all the genetic engineering that by now someone would have managed to give turkeys four or even six legs.”
I told my young great nephew, “Yea, I know there has been talk about it for at least 50 years.” And yes, one of my great neices did have to ask, “Uncle Mike, are deviled eggs evil?”
“I don’t think so. The last discussion I had about them there was pretty definitive proof they were made by your grandmother and not the devil.”
As I watched the children I was filled with thanks for being in their presence. How nice it was to view the world again from the children’s table.
Oh, the food that day . . . well, it tasted like communion.
