Maundy Thursday 2007
Rev. Elizabeth Macaulay
Every thanksgiving while I was growing up we went to
My father would lead worship at his church on Wednesday night and we
would jump into the car. It was an old
station wagon – the kind that got padded with blankets in the back well and
there a person could nestle in and watch the stars in the night sky as the
miles hummed by.
Coming over Thompson Hill the lights of
Warm hugs.
The smell of roasting turkey.
The warmth of the kitchen light after coming in from the car.
The sound of my grandparent’s voices and the feel of my grandfather’s wet kisses.
The scent of their home – a combination of pipe
tobacco, furniture oil and the iron tang of
And the taste of root beer floats – my Bappa
always whipped them up for us because he knew we loved them.
We would go into the living room and celebrate the good of being family
reunited.
The next day, on Thanksgiving, we would watch the Macy’s parade on TV
and then get dressed up and go to the Country Club for dinner with my mom’s
side of the family. There were aunts and
uncles and cousins galore. My dad’s parents were invited too and they joined
in. Northland is one of those old
buildings with a ballroom on the second floor, so it was always fun to eat a
fine feast and then escape to the fun with the cousins.
I love thanksgiving. It remains
one of my favorite heart holidays. Because it means family and gratitude.
One thanksgiving I will always remember. When we arrived on Wednesday night, instead
of the usual root-beer floats, my grandfather insisted that we try mincemeat
pie. Now, I don’t know what mincemeat
pie is made of, but I didn’t much like the looks of it and haven’t had it
since…..
Because I got very sick. My stomach revolted – maybe it was flu, but I
still blame the mincemeat – and I had a long night of it that continued into
Thanksgiving Day. And it became really
clear to me that I wasn’t going to get to go out with the family. And I was really sad about that. I tried to rise, like Lazarus, but it wasn’t
going to happen.
And then I heard a conversation from downstairs. It was my Bappa,
telling my folks that he wanted to stay back with me. He was happy to spend time with me and he
wanted them to go and have fun with everyone else.
My grandfather was always warm and he was generous in his love. But never had he volunteered to fill a
parenting role. But he claimed this
one. He was going to stay and tend his
grand daughter in her illness.
I won’t ever forget that thanksgiving.
Not because I was so miserable. But because I saw my grandfather in a whole new way.
He was a man with a big big heart. And he was a man who wanted to share that
heart. To tend me. To kneel at the feet of my bedside,
literally, and bring me comfort in the form of cold washcloths and gentle
presence at a time when I was so miserable.
His touch was tender and his love magnificent. He was never the same to me again. Because we had shared that
time of giving and receiving.
He was a rascally Scotsman and he was as Christ to me.
It’s what we do, we who follow The Way of Jesus. He taught us what it is to love. We kneel at the feet of our beloveds and we
cradle their places of hurt and tired and we wash them with our tender care and
we know that in doing so the world and our hearts are made whole.
Our loves will betray us. We
can’t love without the hurt that comes with it.
But kneel we must, because we have so much love to share and there are
so many desperate for the reminder that they walk no dusty road alone; the
followers of Christ walk with them.
You.
And I.
May we be as Christ.
Amen