Grandma's kitchen table

Is there a history of food in your family? There are a lot of stories about food in mine: rituals for what food is to be eaten at which holiday, carefully researched histories of which aunt it was who originated a favorite family recipe, tales about how certain individuals cooked or learned to cook, and legends about the culinary artistry of certain family members. Many of these stories in the Bruner family have as their main character my paternal grandmother. These stories remain fresh in my memory even though the last time I ate at my grandmother’s table was in 1964, just months before she died.

When Grandma came home from church in Bowie, Texas, the screen door would scree open, and this six foot tall, broad-shouldered woman would enter. Without bending to touch them, she would kick off her low-heeled shoes under the end of the sofa, and quietly cross the hardwood floors in stocking feet. Moving to the kitchen, she would cross in front of Granddad, who had been firmly ensconced in his chair with his newspaper and Winstons all morning long. She would take off her pillbox hat en route, Bible still firmly pinned beneath one elbow; Grandma never went to worship without a hat on her head – it was not to be done. Putting away the hat and Bible in the kitchen, she would begin work on lunch.

There was something spiritual about Grandma’s cooking. It seemed that she imitated the divine in her ability to make a feast for a large family out of practically nothing. And surely what she cooked was so heavenly that even the angels must have been tempted to find some excuse to drop in without notice. Although she had a very cautious view of manifestations of the Holy Spirit, surely some of her recipes must have been inspired: she very rarely resorted to any written notes. Usually she just quietly worked: chopping, sifting, mixing, kneading, folding, straining, stirring, crimping, seasoning, tasting. She would measure when she baked or canned, but the rest was done by sight, smell, texture, and taste. Meanwhile, as she continued her work, this amazing symphony of smells would emerge from her kitchen, making the very idea of a dinner bell absurdly redundant. People would just intuitively migrate to the kitchen, like the hopeful chosen divinely called to the land of promise and plenty. There was this now, and not yet, about the whole experience; you could smell it, and you could see some of it, you just hoped that the world wouldn’t end before you got a chance to eat it.

Finally, we were allowed to sit at the table. Grandma brought coffee to the table for Granddad, coffee so hot that Granddad always had to pour some into a saucer to sip before he could drink from the cup. Baked ham, potato salad, fresh-snapped black-eyed peas, fresh vegetables, peach preserves on hot biscuits, and banana pudding. Heaven at the kitchen table.

I’ve had parts of this meal since: Ann has figured out the black-eyed peas and the potato salad. But no one can quite get the banana pudding, or the peach preserves, or the chow-chow to match up with my memories. I can relish recalling past pleasures of the table, and tastes of heaven in the present, but the experience of sitting at my grandmother’s table is not possible any more. Still, I live in hope. Hope that one day I will once again sit at a heavenly table with her and enjoy the quiet and faithful comfort of her presence. And perhaps she won’t even have to cook. God can cook after all. The family of faith has its cooking stories, too. It’s true. Read this:

When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, "Bring some of the fish that you have just caught." So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, "Come and have breakfast." Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, "Who are you?" because they knew it was the Lord. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. This was now the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.
John 21:9-14 - NRSV

I can just imagine how good this meal tasted to this hungry crew: hot, tasty, filling. Since everything Jesus did was well done, I have to believe that this meal was refreshing, delicious, and satisfying.

But one of these days God will bring us to a table
where we can all be satisfied in a way that is, unbelievable as it is,
beyond even the masterful cooking skills of my dear grandmother.
We can have deservedly fond memories of the table of the past,
and we really need to celebrate our time together at the table today,
but, oh, what a day is coming! What a banquet is being prepared!
I think that I can smell dinner cooking already . . .

Say grace, and enjoy peace at his table,
In hopes of the table to come,

Ron

Receiving hospitality

Some years ago I traveled in Panama on a mission trip with a group of teenage youth. We walked through a neighborhood (not the poorest, and not the richest, but nonetheless, people of very humble means) inviting the children and their parents to come to a gospel meeting that the local church was having every evening. These families were very, very poor in comparison to United States families. In the middle of one particularly steamy afternoon, one of the families we were visiting showed their hospitality to my two young companions and myself by inviting us to share some refreshment with them. I politely declined, but the head of the household would not hear of it. One of the children was dispatched to get a Coca-Cola, and the mother went into the corner that was a kitchen to prepare something. Perhaps this family remembered the words of the Hebrew writer:

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.
- Hebrews 13:2 - NRSV

We certainly knew that we were no angels. If God had given us wings, we might have been too tempted to fly away. Out of embarrassment. I looked over into the eyes my partners to see if they understood just what was about to happen. Both gave me a quick nod of comprehension. We had been clearly warned, more than once, to be careful about what we ate and drank. The local water supply was such that food or drink prepared from it could easily inflict a fairly severe physical revenge upon us. But these young people understood clearly the issues. Whatever we were about to eat, however carefully prepared, however tasty, it held the potential to make us all really ill. On top of that, the cost of this afternoon's refreshment was easily equivalent to several hours' worth of labor for the father. And because of the brevity of our stay, we knew that it was highly unlikely that we would ever be able to repay them. Yet we all understood that to decline would be to inflict the worst possible insult upon this humble family.

We smiled. They smiled. We ate. It was delicious. We drank. It was cold. We smiled bigger. We gave them our sincere thanks, and continued on with our afternoon's work. God, in his traveling mercies, protected us from any unintended negative consequences. Instead he filled our hearts with fond memories of warm conversation and cool refreshment in the midst of a hot day. All of this with a beautiful family who clearly understood the biblical notion of hospitality.

Hear the words of Jesus:

"When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."
- Luke 14:12-14 - NRSV

Now, it wasn't Sunday when we had our Panamanian banquet, and the elements of the meal were not those we use for the Lord's Supper, but I hope that we all realize that there was something holy about that meal. The sacred and the mundane are not separated, not encased, but connected permeably, so that each of these flows from one to the other in our lives. Partaking of the bread at the Lord's Table can never be completely removed from whether or not we share hunger-preventing bread with the poor whom we encounter. When things are right, the richer will share with the poorer. The girls and I would certainly have been much more comfortable if we could have treated this humble family to the banquet of their lives, but God chose to use their generosity to teach us a lesson about what real hospitality really means.

One of these days I hope that God repays this family for their kindness. Something bigger than a Coca-Cola and a snack. Perhaps it will please God at the end of time (or the beginning of eternity?) when we are all in heaven to allow the girls and I to bring a meal to the heavenly table of this beautiful family. Not that we could or would be the host; no, that will be God's place. The girls and I will merely be the servants of God, showing respect, showing hospitality, bringing providence, where both hospitality and providence are due.

Who will want to be at the table with us?

Grace and peace,

Ron