Gravy is a Beverage

The lovely Madelyn Simone and I had a conversation this week that proves she is directly descended from my gene pool. “What should we have to eat on Thanksgiving, Madelyn?” “We need turkey, and mashed potatoes, and noodles – and gravy – lots of gravy.” Yep, that’s my girl. We love our carbs. I’m guessing we’re related to Erma Bombeck, who said, “I come from a family where gravy was a beverage.”

The Thanksgiving table is a blessed place, and not just for the gravy and mashed potatoes. There’s the rolls, the sweet potato casserole, the green bean casserole with crunchy onions on top, even the sweet pickle mix. Top it all off with pie, accompanied by whipped cream or ice cream, or both, and I’m a happy camper.

Getting beyond the groans of a heavily-laden table, I’m grateful as well for the welcome found at that same table of thanks. To quote Shakespeare, “small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.” Our thanksgiving tables will host the in-laws, the out-laws, the grandbabies, the neighbors, and perhaps even the stranger in our midst, drawn together in our desire to make that merry feast. There may also be an empty chair, kept in place for the one who serves our country thousands of miles from home, the one fighting the demons of addiction or being kept behind bars, or the one whose death has left our heart bereft. Like life itself, Thanksgiving holds both the bitter and the sweet.

While we may not count calories on Thursday, Thanksgiving does lend itself to the practice of counting our blessings. We do this with the little ones, reminding them of the houses we live in, the clothes we wear, the food we eat, and the people we love – and who love us in return.

As we count those blessings, we also pause to remember those who are struggling. Like the image of the children in Africa from our childhood, threatened with starvation if we didn’t eat our peas, it’s difficult for children to grasp what that means, what it might look like – and we as adults can struggle with that as well if we’ve never had to worry about where our next meal is coming from.

While I’m not suggesting we do this as a table game between the turkey and the pumpkin pie, an exercise from a staff training many years ago brought this lesson home to me. We were asked to fill in a grid with eight supports that help us be successful in our lives. Examples might be a car that runs, a praying grandmother, a Section VIII voucher (so we don’t pay more than 30% of our income in rent), a college degree, good eyesight, etc. We were instructed to cross two of those supports off our own list. Next, we handed our paper to the person next to us, who was to eliminate a third item, and then the facilitator walked from table to table, drawing a heavy line through a fourth. “Now what?” was the question.

Indeed, now what? When we – our brothers and sisters and ourselves – are faced with poverty or tragedy, now what? When we’re afraid, now what? When we feel unwelcome, now what? In these post-election days, the same question resonates in our homes, in our community, and in our nation. Last week, I shared the image of the delightful Elizabeth Holiday, repeatedly getting stuck and hollering for rescue, unable to stop hollering long enough to recognize her ability to escape. Like my granddaughter, when we quiet our own hollering, we can stand and turn our bodies toward each other. On the Ashland University quad on Monday, November 18^th, 8 p.m., the Ashland Center for Nonviolence is creating a space for us to stand and do just that. In the glow of candlelight, our bodies next to other bodies in our community, we can stand to say, “You’re here and I’m here too. I welcome you. I value you.” We can start—or maybe start over—with that. Perhaps we’ll hear an echo of Wilbur Nesbit’s words as well: “Forever on Thanksgiving Day the heart will find the pathway home.” A blessed Thanksgiving to you.

Listen Well

As I lament from time to time, the agony of defeat as a Buffalo Bills and Cleveland Browns fan has far overshadowed the thrill of victory in my sports-viewing life. That’s why, in the early hours of November 3, 2016, I sat inches from the television screen, willing the Tribe of Cleveland to capture one more win, putting a smack-down on the Cleveland curse the Cavs had so miraculously broken only six months before. But alas, it wasn’t to be.

That World Series loss was more palatable than some, because the Cubs had experienced a longer drought than the Indians. I knew our guys gave it all they had, especially with the injuries to starters. And, in the end, it is a game.

I feel almost like a dejected sports fan on steroids this week, as the team I was pulling the lever for suffered an excruciating loss at the ballot box. I’ve made no secret of my support for the Democratic platform or for the Democratic candidate for president. Relieved of the restrictions I’d had as an active clergywoman, I attended my first political rally, donated money, and wore the pantsuit. Needless to say, I was dismayed as the results came in across the various network broadcasts. I’ll admit to channel-surfing, hoping to see better news somewhere. But it was the bottom of the ninth inning, and it just wasn’t our year. Once again, the pendulum had swung.

I know that many of my neighbors don’t agree with my choice, but I’m grateful for the privilege and responsibility given to all American citizens to study the issues, determine which candidate is more in line with their values, consider who might lead most effectively, and vote accordingly. However, I’m sorry the distastefulness of the campaign often kept us from hearing each other through the process.

One of the driving forces for the election of Mr. Trump is said to be the voices of those who felt forgotten by Wall Street and the White House. We’ve always known that the squeaky wheel gets the grease, and now it’s our turn, says much of mid-America. But my hope for the days ahead is that we will find a way for all voices to be heard, not just those shouting out from the crowd. We’ve got some tough conversations ahead of us, both in congress and at the coffee machine, and we must find ways to muffle the distractions and actually have respectful conversations about race, gender, affordable medical care, living wages, and the future of our planet.

Some of the rhetoric being spewed across Facebook and Twitter has been gloating and vindictive, and we can get beyond that. I’ve uttered a few demeaning words myself in the midst of exuberant victory, about Steph Curry throwing his mouthpiece or that school of the blue and gold across the border in Michigan. But the stakes are much higher in the governance of our country, for this is no game. Some of our neighbors, co-workers and fellow church members are legitimately grieving and perhaps even fearful, and gloating over our own victory or belittling another’s deeply held convictions don’t move us forward.

I’m finishing up this column while watching the delightful Elizabeth Holiday, now sixteen months old. She likes the space between the dresser and bed. She thinks she’s stuck, so she hollers for help to get out. Then she goes right back to the same space. In actuality, she’s not stuck; she just has to stand up and turn her body.

That’s a good place to start in this post-election time. If we can quiet our own hollering, we can stand up and turn our bodies toward each other. We may be surprised to find that we’re not nearly as stuck as we think we are, we’re not as divided as the pundits proclaim. At our core, we are more alike than different. We want what’s best for our children, and if the long-time success of our local United Way campaign is any measure, we truly have a concern for our neighbor. That’s where we begin the conversations, as Ashland pastor Nate Bebout points the way forward: “Listen well, love well, and live well.”