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By the time August arrives, we are
deep into the liturgical season following Pentecost.
Some Christian traditions call this time in the church
year “Ordinary Time.” This identification isn’t because
the green banners and vestments have been draped and
worn for months by now, but because the Sundays are
ordinal, that is, numbered in order: 8th Sunday after
Pentecost, 9th Sunday after Pentecost, 10th Sunday, and
so on.
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By this time of summer, I can close
my eyes and imagine a red-checked, plastic tablecloth.
It’s held in place by metal clips. Before the days of
tablecloths with elastic on the ends, my grandmother
used the special holders to limit the effect of passing
breeze on her picnic.
We’re a family of greetings—a
kiss and a hug upon arrival. And it’s the same when we
leave. As the aunts and uncles assemble in my
grandparents’ back yard, they come bearing salads and
sides, hugs and laughter. My grandfather stands watch
over the grill’s fire. The cousins run around the yard
where decades ago my sandbox and my swing-set stood.
Growing up in close proximity to my extended family has
been truly a gift. Gram and Gramps watched over all of
the grandchildren as we grew from infant to young adult,
loving us even through the awkward teen years.
Plenty for all
When my family gathers for a summer picnic, there is
never a shortage of food, never a shortage of love.
Attending college and then seminary in the same
metropolitan area as my childhood home, I was able to
bring classmates and friends to family gatherings. And
while my friends and family sometimes shared little in
terms of education or hobby or politics or theology in
that backyard, around Gram’s red-checked tablecloth the
beloved people in my life could come together as one.
On long weekends, our family picnic can be a moveable
feast, sometimes on Sunday afternoon, other times on
Monday. As a pastor, I’m one of the family members with
a weekend work schedule, so I usually get consulted on
the decision to change the day. A few years ago, as one
of these long weekends approached, my mother called to
ask what day would be better for my schedule. At least,
that’s why I thought she was calling.
“Gram wants to know, what would be
best for the boys?” she asked. “The boys” are two
classmates-turned-friends from seminary. They had never
before been consulted on the family picnic schedule.
“The boys?!?!” I said with
exasperation, “I’ve been in this family for 28 years,
and you want to know what is best for the boys?!?” As
exasperation softened through brief reflection, I
smiled. Not that Mom could see my face change over the
phone, but I suspect my tone said it all, “Sure, let me
check with them and call you back.”
The boys had been to my
grandparents before for picnics and Thanksgivings. They
also traveled with me to Florida to visit my sister and
her family. On that trip, the boys became part of the
extended family. I knew this. For me, it wasn’t so much
an issue of their invitation but of their consultation.
My mother’s instruction to “ask the boys” resulted in my
initial offense and subsequent smile, revealing to me
that the ordinary picnic table is a place where everyone
is fully welcomed, even when it comes to the planning.
Picnic in the kingdom
Carpenter, pipe-fitter, forklift-driver, teacher, and
academic, straight and gay, politically left-leaning and
leaning right, church-workers and “only for the funeral
or wedding” church-goers, female and male, old and
young, blood-relation and chosen-family, what my family
and friends were living out around the picnic table was
the reality of God’s love shared in the midst of or in
spite of our differences and potential division.
Something beautiful transpires as people who are so
different from one another come together. It might feel
like just another ordinary day during an ordinary time,
but God provides us with moments when the ways of the
world are replaced with the ways of God’s kingdom. It’s
up to us to receive these rich gifts of time and
circumstance.
When the world says that
differences of opinion should polarize us and lead us to
name-calling, God provides a picnic table. When the
world separates the people we love by space or time or
circumstance, God comes through a loving hug. When the
world says that death and destruction shall prevail, God
places that plastic red-checked tablecloth and calls us
to see beyond divisions into a backyard of peace and
fellowship.
The Rev. Kelly K. Faulstich was born and raised in a
suburb of Chicago. She is the associate pastor at Grace
Lutheran Church and School in River Forest, Ill.
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