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There is some deep wisdom around the Thanksgiving table. If our churches and politicians could imitate the hospitality of
the family table, we might be a wiser and more peaceful people.
Our family finds a way to bring together a marvelous assortment of people, from different religions, perspectives and
life experience. Something about family has a way of softening the edges and empowering the center so that reunion happens.
Of course everybody doesn't make it for every Thanksgiving, but if they did, here's a picture of the diversity present within
our little family.
We are politically disparate. We have both Democrats and Republicans; some are apolitical; one I might call anarchist
and another libertarian. We have fans of Rush Limbaugh and of Noam Chomski. One relative went to a conference to hear Ann
Coulter, and another ran unsuccessfully for Congress as a Democratic nominee. Nobody likes the war, but we all disagree about
how to get out of it.
One relative's internet home page is the Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church of Dr. D. James Kennedy, whose call to reclaim
America for Christ includes impeaching judges who do not acknowledge God and a collection of publications espousing the young-earth
theory of creationism and intelligent design. Another relative is a professional evolutionary biologist, who is doing research
that confirms and refines what Darwin discovered. Another's father and grandmother are judges who would fall under Kennedy's
edict.
At our Thanksgiving table we have one Episcopal priest and several Episcopalians; members of several independent and evangelical
"Bible-believing" churches; Unitarians; a matron of the First Baptist Church in the most-Baptist town in Mississippi;
and one who is completely comfortable with the atheist tradition that she grew up with from childhood. We have some who believe
life begins at conception and one who served on the board of Planned Parenthood.
We have an active duty Navy admiral and one who would have been a draft-dodger if called to service. We have one who
served serious time in the state penitentiary for a felony and the widow of a former prosecutor. One relative is gay and
brings a partner. Some believe it is a sin; others believe it is love; all are welcomed gracefully at the table.
We are married, divorced, single, widowed, and remarried. Good spouses and not-so-good spouses. We have young people
in China and South Africa; another specializes in things Burmese. There are professional musicians and one who had a competitive
skateboarding contract. Some are into money and power; others eschew both. One family owned a ma-pop department store; another
retired from Lowe's. We have three generations of builder-contractors. And usually there are some friends with no blood
ties who simply join us because of long connections.
At kickoff time, we have four SEC teams represented along with Georgia Tech, Memphis, Hawaii, and Harvard. There's also
Wheaton College, Moody Institute, and Birmingham Southern, some high school graduates and one GED.
We join together as an extended family. Everyone is welcome. Sometimes we argue, but we are careful and sensitive about
the many heartfelt differences. There is something powerful in the maternal influences that reinforce connection and civility
over competitiveness and rightness. All are welcome at the table.
I think our family is pretty typical. Families are pretty good about doing religious things -- things like forgiveness
and union and love. Why is it that in the name of God so many Christians can't be as gracious and loving as we are in the
name of family?
Certainly God can love us at least as generously and creatively as our families can. Why is it that some people believe
in a God who can't love us as well as we can love each other? I know Christians who imagine God would condemn to everlasting
damnation and punishment some of the good people at my family Thanksgiving table, and at their own.
Why would anyone worship a god who is so small? A god who can't love any better than we do is not worthy of our worship.
God knows, better than I, how loving and compassionate, how grace-hearted, idealistic, faithful and committed to good is
our relative who is an atheist. God loves her even more than we do. And if God is God, God's table is certainly bigger than
mine.
There is a wisdom present at these tables of Thanksgiving. What binds us is stronger than what separates us. Our religions
and our civic institutions could learn something from our tables.
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