"The Big People's Table"

Exodus 20:17

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays! Less commercial, somewhat less hectic and much more focused on gratitude than on greed, Thanksgiving really is a holiday to be thankful for.

Some of my fondest memories are of Thanksgivings in my native New England where the sometimes fresh-fallen snow provides a vivid reminder of the difficult circumstances under which the Pilgrims experienced the first Thanksgiving. And still today, Thanksgiving dinner in the homes of many Pilgrim descendants begins with empty plates holding just five kernels of corn. During the harsh winter of 1620-21, the food supply at Plimouth Plantation became so critical that the daily ration of corn was reduced to just five kernels per person per day. Today, the five kernels of corn in an otherwise empty plate help New Englanders remember who they are, and from whence they come.

In our family, Thanksgiving Day always began with a football game between two rival high schools. Then, the several branches of the family would converge on my grandparents' house where the aroma of roasted turkey, fresh-baked pies, and other delicacies would make all us kids drool like so many of Pavlov's dogs. We always had a special grace just before dinner, numbering our blessings and remembering those no longer with us.

And then we'd sit down to eat.

Usually, there'd be so many of us that we couldn't all fit around the dining room table - even with the leaf stretching it to the limits.

So we kids would sit in another room...at the Kid's Table.

And the adults would sit in the dining room around the Big People's Table.

And right there formed a sort of living parable about one of the important meanings of Thanksgiving.

You see, the Kid's Table at which we sat was a fun place indeed! For once we had gotten our food and escaped the attention of our parents, we were free to do as we pleased! And we did! I don't know how many years in a row my younger brother Steve fell for it, but one of my favorite Kid's Table tricks was to pick up a cup of pudding with whipped cream on it, and carefully sniff it several times.

"Yuck!" I'd exclaim. "There's something wrong with this pudding! My gosh, just smell it!"

And Steve, like a lamb being led to the slaughter, would pick up his little bowl of pudding and whipped cream and innocently bring it right up to his little nose. And my cousin Eddie, who had a real good sense of timing, would wait until just the right moment, when the bowl was just an inch or two away from Steve's face, and ...WHAP!

And Steve would go crying into the other room, to the Big People's Table, his face covered in pudding and cream. And the adults would come and yell at us, and mutter various threats of the sort that adults do but never carry through on. And Steve would get to stay there and sit at the Big People's Table, soaking up the sympathy of the people there. And we at the Kid's Table would wait until we were alone again and then break into hilarious laughter. My sister Karen by that time would have celery sticks hanging from her nose, and my cousin Jimmy would be cramming his mouth with a combination of mashed potatoes, winter squash, stuffing and brown gravy as he played his annual role as The Human Blender. And the laughter would erupt again!

Oh, there was always something going on at the Kid's Table!

And yet, for all the joyous frivolity of that adolescent location, there was burning deep within my heart a compelling desire for something else. I guess it started the year my older cousin Buddy left behind those of us who sat at the Kid's Table to go and sit in the other room with the adults. I don't know how to explain it, and it probably doesn't make an awful lot of sense. But as much as I loved the Kid's Table, I wanted from that time on to be able to sit at the Big People's Table.

There was an aire of mystery about it. I suspected they had better food there, and got the first crack at dessert. And frankly, I couldn't stand it when I heard laughter coming from the dining room. It was as if I was really missing something there at the Big People's Table. Gosh, I wish I could be there, instead of here...at the Kid's Table.

And that brings us to today's Scripture Lesson.

It may seem to you that the Ten Commandments of Exodus 20 are an unlikely text for Thanksgiving Sunday. And surely, we are not directly concerned this morning with Commandments one through nine. But the last Commandment, the tenth Commandment, is the one I want us to explore today.

This commandment speaks, I believe, to every one of us who has ever sat at the Kid's Table and longed to be seated instead at the Big People's Table. Or...in more practical terms...it speaks to those of us who wish we could be someone else than who we are; to those of us who wish we could be somewhere else than where we are; and to those of us who wish we could experience something else than what we're experiencing right now.

You shall not covet.

Why would God insist on such a thing? Why would God place such a great emphasis on covetousness that He would place it on the Top Ten List of life's most important attitudes to avoid?

Perhaps we could gain a greater understanding of this commandment by rephrasing it in the positive. Rather than covet what we don't have, I believe God is challenging us here to learn to treasure what we DO have!

You see, the attitude that is directly opposite coveting is...thanksgiving!

God wants us to value who we are, where we are, and what we're experiencing. For within them all, await miracles of His love and His presence and His strength. And within them all, awaits miraculous potential for doing good. And within them all, await treasures we would otherwise never know.

In just a few moments, we're going to conclude our worship service by singing "Now Thank We All Our God". The lyrics of this beautiful hymn were written in the 1600's during the Thirty Years War. A minister by the name of Martin Rinkart wrote them. He was a pastor in Eilenberg where large numbers of refugees flocked because of the war. With the influx of so many people, the lack of food, and the unsanitary conditions a great plague hit the city in 1637. Eight thousand people died. At one point, Rinkart was the only pastor left alive and was performing forty or fifty funerals a day. Out of this time of demonic horror, Rinkart penned the words which take on new meaning when you understand the circumstances and listen carefully:

Can you picture these ordinary Christian people being thankful for life in that moment? And out of their thanksgiving, opening their hearts to those who suffered, reaching out their hands to heal and to help, and speaking words of comfort and courage and faith to those with whom they shared the darkness of the time?

Because they valued the moment and treasured the day, they found God's grace not only to face their circumstances, but to triumph over them in loving service to others.

You see, when you live with a spirit of thanksgiving for who you are, where you are, and what you're experiencing, you come to that remarkable place of faith in which you discover that what you have in Christ is so much more than what the world can ever give you!

As this new week begins, dear friends, treasure every moment. Value every breath. Prize every relationship. Squeeze every bit of potential for doing good out of every day. Speak to others as though each word you share is a priceless gift you are giving. Drink in the beauty of nature, and feel the fresh breeze against your cheek. Call upon God, and follow His Word as if on a mission of utmost importance.

Be thankful for the table at which you are seated!

Just the other day, I received a mailing from my previous parish. There was a flyer enclosed advertising their annual Turkey Shoot, which is a congregation-wide effort to buy turkeys to share with needy families at Thanksgiving time. For ten dollars, you can buy a "hunting license" that guarantees your being able to bag a bird. Usually, about one hundred turkeys are taken in this good-natured and kind-hearted annual event.

The Thanksgiving Turkey Shoot was started by a friend of mine by the name of Don Langille. I think Don was a living example of what it means to be thankful for where you're seated in life. We were all shocked and saddened when he was diagnosed with a very advanced case of cancer. Like anyone confronted by such a diagnosis, Don and his family were devastated by the news. We circled the wagons, and kept Don and the family in constant prayer.

One day, after worship, Don said he had to talk with me. I was afraid that things were going worse than expected and braced myself for bad news. But Don fooled me. He actually had a smile on his face.

"I know why I have cancer!" Don declared.

"You WHAT?" I asked.

Don explained that he knew God hadn't given him cancer, but that God was showing him how he could live within his cancer.

"They NEED me!" Don exclaimed.

"WHO needs you?" I asked.

I wasn't about to argue with Don. And indeed, he did bring the woman to church, and in that very service,by some wonderful act of grace, she was overwhelmed by the love of God and the warm understanding of the congregation. She gave her life to Christ.

"See, I TOLD you!" Don gleefully exuded. "I'm SUPPOSED to be there!"

Some months later, Joyce - the woman Don befriended - was found to have experienced a miraculous cure. She was cancer-free.

Don, who I suspect had been working on something like that in his prayers, just smiled.

I wish I could understand such unexplained healings. But I don't. Neither do I understand why there was no such miracle for Don. A few months later, as he neared the end, we had a private conversation. One of the things Don expressed to me was a thought to the effect that, in some strange way, the last year of his life had been the best year of his life.

And over several days, as family members and friends came to say goodbye, Don just quietly smiled and simply said things like, "Thank you. Thank you for what you mean to me."

Oh, how Don valued the days he had and the people he loved!

Dear friends, we are all seated at different tables in life. Sometimes the smells and sounds and sights from the other tables make us feel like we'd rather be there than where we are.

Amen.