Food, Fun and Funerals

Food and funerals were synonyms in my little south Georgia community. The word would spread... announced at church... on black, rotary dial telephones for those who had them... at grocery stores, small schools, the paper mill where many of the men worked, the news of death flowed smoothly like a small creek to everyone. Without any committees or church organization, the food would begin to come, delivered by the women, containers marked with the name of the cook... my mother’s fried chicken and real cream corn, Mrs. Bland’s made from scratch coconut cake... bright yellow yolk deviled eggs made with real eggs pulled from the nests in the chicken house... potato salad... ham... green beans canned from the side yard garden... home made yeast rolls and corn bread... lemon meringue pie... real mashed potatoes with no lumps and plenty of butter... the occasional adventurous Jello concoction. Food was still our friend then and a freely offered gift of comfort. There wasn’t much that could be done to ease the grief of death, but food was one way to say "I love you" and it was a practical help too.
The women would confer as they came and designate one person to be present for each meal until after the funeral gathering. This person would warm and set out the food, organize the refrigerator, keep the dishes washed and return the empty containers to their owners. The presence of these warm hearted women taking care of the grieving provided the assurance that life would continue. When the sadness in the living room was more than you could bear, you would move to the kitchen where laughter and love and food waited for you. Someone would hug you, get you a plate, fix your sweet tea (is there any other kind?), fill your plate with love and food, tell stories and laugh, gossip a little as kindly as possible. For a few minutes, the rhythm of life as you had known it before death, washed over your soul... smoothed out the sharp edges of grief... provided shade in the harsh light of death and loss. All those Marthas were and are the face of Jesus in the house of grief.
At Uncle Calfrey’s funeral, the women of Millege Avenue Baptist Church in Athens, Georgia gathered food for the family at the church fellowship hall just before the funeral. Those of us who had driven in from out of town were welcomed in an old, familiar way with fried chicken, sweet tea, green beans, deviled eggs, coconut and pound cake and our grief lifted for a few minutes as those kind women served us their best food. Babies laughed and were passed from lap to lap, stories were told... Did you hear Uncle Calfrey has a spoon in his jacket pocket? He told his children to do that so he could have some of Marjorie’s banana pudding as soon as he gets to heaven... Remember when Uncle Calfrey showed up at Tommy and Shirley’s door at the University of Georgia, ready to go to school, ready to move in and they had no idea he was coming?... Doesn’t his grandson Nick look just like him... just like all the other red headed freckled faces of the Calhoun clan gathered around him... free flowing waters of grace and laughter in the desert of grief and sadness.
And now Betty has died and it is our turn to bring food... soups lovingly cooked by Michael and me... our turn to sit in the kitchen offering hugs and laughter, stories and hope, love and fruit salad. We will remember her patting baby Aidan’s face and calling him a pretty boy... patting her grandson Will’s face and telling stories from his babyhood... her love for the flowers in her yard that were planted in the old fashioned way as flower gifts from friends and family yards by her daughter and granddaughter... we will pat the last great love of her life, her dog Pebbles, and hear her voice in our hearts calling the dog to come in.
We will sit down to the table prepared for us and God will be there. The Holy will come as we are served and as we serve... food for our bodies and souls. At this table there is no unbearable grief, only sorrow and gratitude all mixed together as we say grace over the food and over our lives... gratitude for all that has been and all that is yet to be. Thanks be to God for these most amazing gifts of life and death...