Morphing traditions
Yesterday was the annual ward Thanksgiving dinner. There was a great turnout, tons of food, and happy fellowship.
It all started when we were first in the ward as a young family, and didn't involve us at all. The young people decided that they wanted to do a Thanksgiving dinner two days before Thanksgiving, on Tuesday, for the senior members of the ward, many of whom did not have family in the area to spend the holiday with. Some of them couldn't afford a fancy meal. It was a service project, with the teenagers, twelve and up, waiting tables, and volunteers cooking two turkeys (paid for out of the budget) and bringing other menu items. It was a wonderful experience and much appreciated by those who came. I remember Karl Jones, whose wife and child had died so very many years ago, decades, and who had never married again; he lived alone and the ward was his only family. His claim to fame was that he had made the Cowardly Lion costume for The Wizard of Oz, and I don't remember how he ended up in Tacoma from Hollywood.
It was a lot of work two days before Thanksgiving, but satisfying to those who organized it and a blessing to those who were able to gather together and eat. The following year, there might have been a moment of dismay somewhere when it was apparent that everyone wanted it to happen again.
Thus the kind intention of a moment reveals the deep impact of an offering through action. We have been here, in whatever permutation of boundaries, since Christina was six months old. This first dinner for the seniors may not have been until the second year we were here, but it predated my Relief Society calling before Roseanne was a year old. It was something that all those who lived alone looked forward to, and it had to be continued. So it was. It might have missed a year or two, I don't remember, but it wasn't forgotten.
Skip forward a few years, past a couple of bishops, and the bishop decided that it should open up to the full stewardship of the high priest quorum, and include all the single sisters of whatever age. When asked the obvious question, he decided that yes, that would mean the ones with kids should be included, so now there were families. That made it bigger and more work, so the following year (or the one after?) it was moved to the Friday before Thanksgiving and made a ward dinner for absolutely everyone.
Which is where we were last night. So many more sisters are working who would need to do oven duty for the turkeys, that the bishop decided that it should be moved to Saturday instead of Friday. That sensible idea confused people briefly, as did his announcement that it would be at 6 instead of the normal ward dinner time of 6:30, but the sisters gamely corrected their announcements and, judging by the participation, it wasn't too much of a monkey wrench. There were either four or five turkeys cooked. (Not by me, I made pie.)
The only real glitch was that Alex married Greta last Sunday, and their simple, informal celebration was supposed to be last night. They had carefully checked the ward schedule and planned it for the day after the ward Thanksgiving dinner. Then comes the announcement over the pulpit. Oops.
We went ahead and celebrated both. The bishop introduced the newly married couple before we began, and we all gave them a big hand, and then when it was time for desserts to be brought out, they stopped first and asked the best man to make a toast, all of us with our water cups, and offered the congratulatory cake as a separate treat. (The happy couple did have a simple cake after the ceremony with those who had gathered with them in a private home, where we were honored to be included.) The bride was well pleased, and looking forward to going to the temple with Alex once she's been in the church for the required year; she is a new convert. It was all good.
So what started out as a simple choice of service, took on a life of its own because it hit a true place in the heart. I expect that every new bishop being briefed on his calling and his budget issues will be told that he has to factor in a ward Thanksgiving dinner, because it would be a crying shame to lose this now. It's a tradition that matters.
It all started when we were first in the ward as a young family, and didn't involve us at all. The young people decided that they wanted to do a Thanksgiving dinner two days before Thanksgiving, on Tuesday, for the senior members of the ward, many of whom did not have family in the area to spend the holiday with. Some of them couldn't afford a fancy meal. It was a service project, with the teenagers, twelve and up, waiting tables, and volunteers cooking two turkeys (paid for out of the budget) and bringing other menu items. It was a wonderful experience and much appreciated by those who came. I remember Karl Jones, whose wife and child had died so very many years ago, decades, and who had never married again; he lived alone and the ward was his only family. His claim to fame was that he had made the Cowardly Lion costume for The Wizard of Oz, and I don't remember how he ended up in Tacoma from Hollywood.
It was a lot of work two days before Thanksgiving, but satisfying to those who organized it and a blessing to those who were able to gather together and eat. The following year, there might have been a moment of dismay somewhere when it was apparent that everyone wanted it to happen again.
Thus the kind intention of a moment reveals the deep impact of an offering through action. We have been here, in whatever permutation of boundaries, since Christina was six months old. This first dinner for the seniors may not have been until the second year we were here, but it predated my Relief Society calling before Roseanne was a year old. It was something that all those who lived alone looked forward to, and it had to be continued. So it was. It might have missed a year or two, I don't remember, but it wasn't forgotten.
Skip forward a few years, past a couple of bishops, and the bishop decided that it should open up to the full stewardship of the high priest quorum, and include all the single sisters of whatever age. When asked the obvious question, he decided that yes, that would mean the ones with kids should be included, so now there were families. That made it bigger and more work, so the following year (or the one after?) it was moved to the Friday before Thanksgiving and made a ward dinner for absolutely everyone.
Which is where we were last night. So many more sisters are working who would need to do oven duty for the turkeys, that the bishop decided that it should be moved to Saturday instead of Friday. That sensible idea confused people briefly, as did his announcement that it would be at 6 instead of the normal ward dinner time of 6:30, but the sisters gamely corrected their announcements and, judging by the participation, it wasn't too much of a monkey wrench. There were either four or five turkeys cooked. (Not by me, I made pie.)
The only real glitch was that Alex married Greta last Sunday, and their simple, informal celebration was supposed to be last night. They had carefully checked the ward schedule and planned it for the day after the ward Thanksgiving dinner. Then comes the announcement over the pulpit. Oops.
We went ahead and celebrated both. The bishop introduced the newly married couple before we began, and we all gave them a big hand, and then when it was time for desserts to be brought out, they stopped first and asked the best man to make a toast, all of us with our water cups, and offered the congratulatory cake as a separate treat. (The happy couple did have a simple cake after the ceremony with those who had gathered with them in a private home, where we were honored to be included.) The bride was well pleased, and looking forward to going to the temple with Alex once she's been in the church for the required year; she is a new convert. It was all good.
So what started out as a simple choice of service, took on a life of its own because it hit a true place in the heart. I expect that every new bishop being briefed on his calling and his budget issues will be told that he has to factor in a ward Thanksgiving dinner, because it would be a crying shame to lose this now. It's a tradition that matters.
Very, very cool. And Alex and his wife both are married to a peach.
ReplyDeleteObviously that's a tradition you don't want to lose!
ReplyDelete