Lines of wooden tables covered with red checked cloths, yellowed cotton cloths, handmade crocheted cloths, loaded till sagging, every square inch laden with stoneware bowls full of red potato salad, yellow with mustard, and studded with chopped celery, sweet pickle nuggets, and chunks of hard-boiled egg; bright orange carrot salad polka-dotted with black raisins; clear glass bowls of layered salads, various shades of green, orange, white, and yellow; finely chopped slaws, pale green with orange and purple flecks and dressed in a white dressing or a sweet vinegar; chipped china platters of golden-eyed deviled eggs, some bloodshot with paprika; luscious pink ham slices, and piles of fried chicken covered with a homemade breading redolent with spices and herbs, the chicken itself tangy and moist from a buttermilk brine; club aluminum Dutch ovens filled with pole beans, green beans, speckled butterbeans, and white acres, mustard, turnip and collard greens, all sporting a sheen of bacon drippings and shreds of pork; cast iron pots of bubbling baked beans spiked with molasses and the contents of every bottle in the refrigerator; others loaded with fall apart pot roast, pork roast, or chicken and bright yellow rice; others still steaming with chicken and slicker style dumplings; spoons sticking up akimbo from mason jars full of the jewel colors of various pickles, everything from deep red to chartreuse to layers of emerald green, canary yellow, and white; baskets of fluffy, tan buttermilk biscuits, soft yeast rolls, and black skillets of cornbread wedges; pies billowing with meringue, dense with pecans, or fruit bubbling from a vented golden crust; moist cake layers enrobed in swirls of chocolate or cream cheese or clouds of seven minute frosting, some cloaked in coconut, others with nuts peeking out from the coating—none of them exactly perfect because everything is homemade.
That’s what potluck was like when I was a child. It was far superior to today’s offerings, at least half of which are purchased on the way—fold-up boxes of fried chicken and take-out pizza, plastic containers of salads and slaw, and bakery boxes of cakes and pies, all entirely too perfect to be made from scratch. Is it any wonder that everyone rushes for the obviously homemade goodies and even snatches slices of cake early, before going through the regular line, and hides them for a later dessert?
Potluck originally referred to feeding drop-in guests or folks passing through who needed a meal whatever was in the pot that evening. Drop-ins were not considered rude in those days. I remember my parents thoroughly enjoying the evenings when someone just happened to stop by. We didn’t load our lives down with extra-curricular activities back then--people were the activities.
Potluck eventually came to mean “You bring what you have and I’ll bring what I have and we’ll eat together.” It didn’t really involve any extra work—that was the point. When no one has enough of one thing but you pool it together, there is plenty for everyone, and plenty of time left to visit.
We often speak of “feasting on the word of God.” I wonder what would happen if we had a potluck? What would I have to offer? Anything at all? Do I spend enough time in the word of God to have thoughts on it readily at hand? Most of us are too embarrassed to show up at a real potluck with nothing in our hands, but think nothing of showing up to a Bible study with nothing to share.
Would my spiritual table be loaded down with good food or store-bought, processed, preservative-laden grub because I had no time left in my day to cook something up? Would my offering be fresh and nutritious or calorie-laden and fatty? Would it be a gracious plenty mounded high in the bowl or spooned into a plastic cup barely big enough to feed one? Would it be piping hot or lukewarm? Would people go away satisfied or determined to avoid my table at all costs in the future?
Think about it tonight when you look at the meal you feed your family. What’s in that spiritual pot of yours should someone happen by? Would they be lucky or not?
Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live; and I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David, Isaiah 55:1-3.
Dene Ward
That’s what potluck was like when I was a child. It was far superior to today’s offerings, at least half of which are purchased on the way—fold-up boxes of fried chicken and take-out pizza, plastic containers of salads and slaw, and bakery boxes of cakes and pies, all entirely too perfect to be made from scratch. Is it any wonder that everyone rushes for the obviously homemade goodies and even snatches slices of cake early, before going through the regular line, and hides them for a later dessert?
Potluck originally referred to feeding drop-in guests or folks passing through who needed a meal whatever was in the pot that evening. Drop-ins were not considered rude in those days. I remember my parents thoroughly enjoying the evenings when someone just happened to stop by. We didn’t load our lives down with extra-curricular activities back then--people were the activities.
Potluck eventually came to mean “You bring what you have and I’ll bring what I have and we’ll eat together.” It didn’t really involve any extra work—that was the point. When no one has enough of one thing but you pool it together, there is plenty for everyone, and plenty of time left to visit.
We often speak of “feasting on the word of God.” I wonder what would happen if we had a potluck? What would I have to offer? Anything at all? Do I spend enough time in the word of God to have thoughts on it readily at hand? Most of us are too embarrassed to show up at a real potluck with nothing in our hands, but think nothing of showing up to a Bible study with nothing to share.
Would my spiritual table be loaded down with good food or store-bought, processed, preservative-laden grub because I had no time left in my day to cook something up? Would my offering be fresh and nutritious or calorie-laden and fatty? Would it be a gracious plenty mounded high in the bowl or spooned into a plastic cup barely big enough to feed one? Would it be piping hot or lukewarm? Would people go away satisfied or determined to avoid my table at all costs in the future?
Think about it tonight when you look at the meal you feed your family. What’s in that spiritual pot of yours should someone happen by? Would they be lucky or not?
Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live; and I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David, Isaiah 55:1-3.
Dene Ward
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