Blessed Are They . . .

I don’t know how it is in other places, but in the South, whether you’re birthing or burying, we’re going to feed you. If you have a baby, we bring food. If someone dies, we bring food. If you move two blocks away, we bring food. Even if you are only an acquaintance of someone in one of those circumstances, we make sure you eat too. Never is the food machine better-oiled than when word spreads that someone has “passed.” We know we can’t undo a difficult circumstance, but we can surround it with love, wrap it in hospitality, and attempt to smother pain with calories. 

You can almost hear the thunder of feminine footsteps rushing to freezers to retrieve delicacies swaddled in plastic wrap and aluminum foil, marked as off limits to family members, and reserved for such occasions. It is not unusual for someone to appear at the home of the bereaved, casserole in hand, within minutes, if not seconds, of the event occurring. Food is more than sustenance. It says, “Gee, I hate it for ya.  Here, have somethin’ to eat.”

If, by chance. the freezer stash has been depleted due to a rash of food-giving occasions, plan B involves boiling.  Deviled eggs are always an appropriate offering, especially when delivered upon an heirloom plate designed specifically for that purpose.

While freezers are raided and eggs are boiled, someone rushes to the local grocery to buy three gallons of tea—two jugs of sweet tea and one of unsweetened.  Unsweetened tea is offered in deference to the calorie conscious, but is somewhat akin to focusing on diet soda to accompany a triple-decker cheeseburger and a large order of chili-cheese fries with a chocolate shake on the side. It’s a nice gesture, but pointless considering the remaining fare.

Working women, or cooks less confident in their culinary skills, can still participate by performing tea duty and by purchasing platters of cold cuts, cheese and bread to go with the store-bought beverage.  Otherwise, food items are homemade, probably a signature item for which the giver is known, and quite likely prepared using a recipe handed down from her grandmother.  

While food is prepared throughout the community, friends slip quietly into the home of the bereaved to begin the highly choreographed dance of the kitchen. The fact that everyone knows the routine without being told is considered an indication of a good upbringing.

Counters are cleared and refrigerator shelves are emptied to accept food offerings, the magnitude of which has not been seen since the loaves and fishes. The ladies of the kitchen graciously receive food and make lists for the purpose of future thank you notes that will be penned by the lady of the house on her monogrammed stationary. (An especially loyal friend will volunteer to help write them--a sincere offer that will probably be politely declined.) All the while, someone keeps a vigilant eye on the buffet table and executes the graceful rotation of casseroles as they are depleted. 

The preferred method for food presentation is still bone china, but in today’s busy culture paper plates are becoming more acceptable. Disposable products are appreciated, not only by the family, but secretly by the women in the kitchen who hand-wash and quickly return to the table fragile china plates that everyone knows should never be put in the dishwasher.  

Flowers are received and strategically placed throughout the home. The phone is answered. Someone directs the continuous stream of sympathizers to the dining room and encourages them to help themselves.  Each lady takes a turn hovering near her grieving sister, ever ready to swoop in with a fresh box of tissues and to fill her ice tea glass should she become faint.    

Male or female, (other than family members, of course) everyone participates.  While women focus on food and the home, male friends take care of the yard and clean the cars, circumventing any horticultural or automotive embarrassment for the family who would have been much too preoccupied to tend to chores.

In times of trouble, the sole objective is to anticipate every need of the grieving family.

When I arrived home from the city where my daughter Tara died, food was on the counter, tea was on the table, and the grass was freshly mowed.

Nevin, my son and middle child, was among the first family members to arrive. Nevin walked into the house, embraced me, and quietly assumed command. He accompanied his father to the funeral home to assist in making arrangements for his sister. He performed the heart-heavy duty of selecting her casket and helped choose her final resting place. Sitting beside me on the sofa, Nevin took my hand.

“I like it, Mom. It’s on a gentle hill and a tree is nearby.” 

I don't know when our roles reversed, but it was clear, Nevin was there to care for me. When had my son crossed the threshold from youth into manhood? Even through tears, I saw him with proud eyes that morning. My son is no longer the blond-headed boy who lives in the memories of my heart. He is a man of substance.

In the midst of responsibilities shouldered by Nevin that day, the first to touch my heart was the simplest of gestures. With no expectation by anyone that he should do so, my son arrived with arms laden.   

Blessed are they . . . who in times of trouble . . . bring toilet paper.

I must have raised him right.

Reflections:

“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.” ~Aesop

“Hospitality should have no other nature than love.” ~ Henrietta Mears 

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” ~Galatians6:2 

"Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours."~St. Teresa Of Avila


-How can I reach out in love to someone today?
-Is there someone who needs a tender touch? A note, a call, a visit, a shared meal?
-What are my thoughts about this statement: Hospitality is the heart of the gospel.