A Smashing Welcome

FACE TO FACE

A Smashing Welcome

Virginia Hughes

The table was set, the glasses of water poured, and our family of ten hungry people in place as Mother set the last dish on the table. Just then the doorbell rang and nine-year-old me sprang from my chair, “I’ll get it!”

I clearly had called it; yet a sibling had just as quickly ducked under the table darting out, tripping both of us in the race to answer the door. Our combined explosive energy, so unwanted in the house, bent the table legs on one of end of the table. The table, now a kneeling camel, slid its dinner plates, silverware, glassware and delicious supper contents down the table. Down, down, down; everything was delivered toward the floor.

It was a multi-bowled, favorite dinner of ours as well as a group project to prepare. Under Mom’s supervision, one of us chopped lettuce, peppers, onions, garlic, cilantro and tomatoes. Another shredded a tall pile of cheese. Older siblings warmed tortilla shells and browned the seasoned beef. Mom prepared rice and beans while another mashed avocados into fresh guacamole. Spicy salsa was poured into the center of the chip and dip bowl surrounded by crunchy tortilla chips. Each carefully prepared bowl now tipped to its limit dripping into the bowl alongside as they sat precariously shoved against each other; but not emptied out, not completely ruined.

“Don’t anyone move,” Mom commanded in a calm voice, while grabbing bowls and setting them upright. The emptied water glasses had created a small river flowing between the bowls onto the laps of damp siblings struggling to remain in their chairs. As soon as Mom grabbed the last item, Dad shifted the legs back into place and straightened out the table while siblings squirmed free to survey the damages.

Mom looked at me as I shrank from the blame I had earned and asked, “Well, who was at the door then?” We all turned toward the front door which framed an elderly gentleman from the church whom I thought of as Charles Dickens, because he said things a certain way; and was ever dramatically garbed in a long black waistcoat topped off by a black hat. “Brother Crabel, you are here!” Dad called out cheerfully moving toward the door to quickly shake the hand of our unexpected guest and lead him to a dry seat in the living room while the kitchen crew salvaged dinner.

As Mother handed out both dish towels and jobs to help reorganize the meal, Dad assured Brother Crabel that right now was the best time to join us for dinner. Brother Crabel, widowed member of our church, now in his nineties, had been often invited to dinner. Dad relished conversation and keen insight shared by Brother Crabel, who spent time studying and walking in the Word.

We had heard Dad extend open invitations to many in the church. “Just show up!” was Dad’s policy and Mom’s patience did not break even though she never knew exactly how many open dinner invitations Dad had sent out into the world. This was the night Brother Crabel chose to join us and Dad extended the welcome, “Come right in; you are welcome; we’re just getting a few things straightened out.”

Brother Crabel chuckled, “That was really something to see. A smashing welcome indeed, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Then Dad laughed and we repeated, “A smashing welcome, a smashing welcome indeed,” and giggled as the meal was being righted. Silverware, glasses and plates were quickly washed and dried, glasses refilled, and scattered contents spooned back into their appropriate bowls. No one had to tell us we were hungry. We had twice prepared this meal. No one had to tell Brother Crabel he was lonely. He lived alone and felt it keenly before walking into an open invitation to fill up on good food, laughter and enough family shenanigans to lighten his heart.

Thinking of this table scene as Thanksgiving approaches brings a desire for that fullness that comes when gathering times are here. Another leaf is added to the table, folding tables stretch out to make more room. The aroma of an herb-filled turkey that roasts in the oven, the traditional meal of sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, green bean casserole, fresh rolls, pumpkin pie, pecan, French silk, cherry, four berry; oh, the pies!

Thanksgiving pulls us to the table, and we list our gratitude to Jesus who came and told the truth of his love through his death and resurrection. Jesus pulled us in and set us free when he literally turned over the tables in the temple, brought the communion feast and increased the table in size to include all. All who recognize their needs, that is. When someone’s need is known, it is time for the knocking on the doors. We knock that the door may be opened to us. But wait, before we realize to knock on the door, a knocking is heard on our door from the other side. Someone is at the door and the path to the door becomes the most important thing. “I’ll get it!” The door must be opened to Jesus.

What is inside the very best door? A smashing welcome in the form of tables filled with grace, mercy, salvation and us sitting there gratefully pouring out our thanks. All obstacles are removed. We can see, jump up, walk, run, bow down, anoint with perfume, praise the Lord, be loving and be ready. Let’s eat.