As I gaze at our hundred-year-old solid oak table, with the scrolled legs and six leaves to accommodate up to twelve loved ones, I see ghosts of Christmas dinners past.
There I am, about eight, with my new baby doll Santa brought. We’re all at Grandma and Grandpa White’s house in Mallard, Iowa: Mom and Dad, Mom’s three sisters and husbands, and a total of twelve of us cousins. Kids are all relegated to the card tables in the living room, within eyeshot of the adults at the big dining room table. I’m supposed to assist my little brothers when they need help.
From the moment we entered the cozy home, we were enticed by mouth-watering scents. Grandma’s braided Christmas bread and cinnamon rolls were still warm from the oven. The giant golden turkey, green bean casserole, potatoes, and scalloped corn (some with oysters, yukky!) were right on schedule. The pineapple salad (from a secret family recipe) was in the fridge. And yes! Aunt Leona brought both apple and pumpkin pies. Grandpa smoked his pipe contentedly in the living room. Grandma must have been exhausted, but all I saw was her Mona Lisa smile of serene contentment as she took a break and rocked in the corner.
Through the years, the White “clan” dwindled. Grandpa died when I was ten. Cousin Curt died in a car wreck at just seventeen. Time marched on. When Grandma died at age 101, the table was bequeathed to her daughter, my mom. Then, a decade ago, Mom and Dad went to an assisted living center, and I inherited the coveted family table. Seems impossible, but now I’m Grandma (sans the cinnamon rolls and homemade pie crust, but proud Grandma to precious Ben, nonetheless!)
In a talk he gave at a 2016 conference, John Ortberg stated that feelings of acceptance and rejection are at stake when we consider whether we are welcome at the family table. We build intimacy when we pair nourishing our bodies with nourishing our souls. Jesus and his followers got it. They ate together often, whether on the beach or in upper rooms. And everyone was welcome at their table, from rich young rulers to tax collectors and prostitutes.
Especially at Christmas feasts, we long to know there is a place set at the table with our name on it. We each have a unique presence and function in our family body that no one else can fill. It is at the family holiday table that loved ones of various ages– from disparate worlds geographically, politically, and spiritually– join hands to ask God’s blessing. Our only agenda is to remind each other, “You are special.” “You are loved.”
May you partake of a feast with family and loved ones this season. But, if circumstances make that impossible, I pray you know how very much you will be missed.
Amen!