Table manners...

We went out to eat with friends last night and I caught myself leaning on the table with my elbows. My mother’s voice began ringing in my ears...”Keep your elbows off the table if you’re able!” Since daddy’s family was short on the graces of most kinds including social graces, it fell to mama to raise us right in this regard. Breakfast and supper were teaching opportunities for my mother in the fine art of table manners. We learned as little children how to set the table, where to place the fork, to put the glass at the tip of the knife on the right side of the plate. We sat up straight in our chairs with our napkins in our laps, passed the food to one another while having conversation. Daddy was exempted from the conversation rule because he often sat in silence when he was mad about something. That something was difficult to determine since he wasn’t speaking. His silence gave the rest of us plenty of time to talk and talk we did.
Home Ec in high school expanded my world of table manners. Mrs. Barton taught us there were two forks not just one and butter knives and soup spoons and at least three different kinds of glasses. I learned how to pick up my silver from the outside in and to recognize a finger bowl. Serving food was an aesthetic experience with centerpieces and artfully arranged food. Good table manners were the ticket to fine dining and the world of cultured folks. I was an avid learner.
Once the mechanics were learned, good table manners boiled down to be kind, listen to others and don’t interrupt, share what has happened to you today, eat gratefully, thank the cook. This is, I think, a pretty good pattern to follow for living in general.
The first Bible verse I learned, “Be ye kind”, works not only at the table but at the grocery store checkout line and with my children. Family, friends and strangers all need kindness as do I. Listen first and speak later is a discipline that helps others feel they matter, that what they say is important to you. Being heard and understood gives all of us a sense of belonging. When it is your turn to speak, running the risk of sharing what is going on in your world can open others worlds to you.
In the picture framing class I teach, I often see this happen. Last Thursday, there were only two women left in the room at the end of class. We began speaking about our lives, our struggles to find a new self in the last third of our lives. One woman, a professional photographer in her work life, now yearns to be a watercolor artist. When a painting is finished, she hears her mother’s voice telling her it is not good enough. The other woman began telling of a painful childhood. She was the child of a man her mother did not marry and her presence in this world was a visual reminder of that painful event. Consequently her mother treated her badly and she learned to live with a non-mothering mother. The conversation flowed on to the topics of forgiveness, grace and spirituality. As I drove away from school, I marveled at their willingness to open the doors on their pasts and be so vulnerable with each other... strangers who are now friends because they risked something big for something good.
So today I am grateful for my life, for the opportunity to sit at the table with all those around me. I partake of the food and experiences set before me with a thankful heart. I see resurrection all around me as well as crucifixion. Both are a part of life. And I thank the heavenly Cook, the One who prepared this feast for me and set me down in the middle of the South to learn table manners from a mother who cared. If I forget and put my elbows on the table, I will never forget to be gracious in remembrance of the One who brought me into being and who has shared the banquet of my life. I am ready for some table talk, God. Pass the creamed corn, please.