By Nancy Virden c2011 brought to you by Shout It Out Loud for band and concert information visit
Cheerless jokes abound about dysfunctional families, drunken uncles, and children having to kiss great-aunts who smell like Ben-Gay. In the midst of all the hullabaloo, the most indispensable story of our Thanksgiving feasts is often neglected.
Is Thanksgiving Just for Turkeys?
Seated around the sprawling oak dining table were thirteen different tales, more than thirteen conflicting beliefs, and thirteen diverse ideas of what Thanksgiving is all about.
At one end sat a grown daughter who had spent the last thirty minutes arguing vehemently with her mother over who was in charge of the kitchen. She looked serene, but anyone who knew her well understood the forced little smile and straight back. She was angry. To her, Thanksgiving was supposed to be a perfectly orchestrated experience.
A quick glance at this woman’s defeated contender revealed a face lined with exhaustion. Now her arms hung at her sides, her apron still tied loosely about her neck. Her Thanksgivings included weeks of preparation, and great relief at its end.
Two male teenagers sat at the table’s divide. Both stared hungrily as the measured holiday prayer droned on. Spiritual words went unheeded as their thoughts turned to the afternoon. Thanksgiving for these two meant hearty servings of favorite dishes followed by street football.
Pious words continued as a younger girl peeked through squeezed eyelids at the expressions of those who offered thanks. Her brother was staring at the pie. Their Dad was wearing a religious face while the lips of uncles and aunts moved silently in supposed earnest. While childish cousins were playfully kicking each other under the table and suppressing giggles, her early training that nothing is as it seems colored her perceptions.
You see, behind the roast turkey and succulent dishes was a reality in harsh contrast to any superficial joy. Her parents were divorcing. Young faith contorted to fit around this belief of uncertainty, and her stomach knotted in dread. Wanting so much to believe in a permanent love, in her mind this Thanksgiving was a chance to deny the fear, to grab at the retreating familial fantasy for a short while longer.
One suppressed tale was not actually seated at the table. A painted plaque on the wall read, “In this house, Christ is the unseen guest at every meal, the silent listener to every conversation.” It was ominous for the fact that despite its profound message no one paid any attention. It was a simple story with the potential to change every family in the room, yet much stayed the same. The Redeemer of parents, children, marriages, attitudes, and broken hearts was given cursory attention; the grand truth that God is the difference-maker went unheeded as the Thanksgiving prayer continued.
WHAT IS YOUR TALE? IF CHRIST WERE SEATED AT YOUR TABLE, HOW WOULD YOU OR YOUR FAMILY LOOK DIFFERENT?
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