**** Author’s Note: This sermon was done as a "Chalk Talk" a picture was drawn in pastels as the sermon was preached. ****
Denise blew her nose and wiped her eyes on the hem of her apron. It was silly for her to be crying over a turkey even if it was the day before Thanksgiving.
She filled the sink with cool water, and then submerged the still thoroughly frozen bird. The instructions on the package said that soaking the turkey in cool water would help to speed up the defrosting process. Even so, Denise calculated, she wasn’t going to be able to start cooking the large bird until sometime next week. Well, it was really tomorrow about noon, but it may as well be next week for all of the difference it was going to make.
Back in Cincinnati, Denise’s mother had always bought their Thanksgiving turkey from Mr. Wellstone’s grocery store. He always saved their family a big twenty-pound, fresh bird straight from the grocery supplier. So Denise had never even seen someone prepare a frozen turkey, much less roast one all by herself. She could see it was going to be a long day.
While Denise was trying to imagine how she would replicate the huge Thanksgiving lunches of her childhood, given that she was getting such a late start in her preparations, her daughter Becky ran up to the sink and examined as closely as she could the plastic-wrapped, still frozen turkey. “Mama, I don’t like turkey salad,” Becky said in a cool matter-of-fact tone of voice.
“That’s fine, Becky,” Denise said in a kind of absent minded way. “I wasn’t planning on making turkey salad anyway. It isn’t among my favorite meals either.”
“Mama, I don’t much like turkey sandwiches or turkey and rice soup either.”
“Well, you ate some last year,” Denise replied. “What do you think that I should do with all of the leftovers when we finish our meal tomorrow?”
“Mama, on the television a few minutes ago they said that somebody stolen the truck of turkeys that were for all the hungry people. I don’t really like leftover turkey very much. And mama, this is one big turkey. Can we give some of our turkey to the hungry people instead of us eating the leftovers?”
Denise turned to face her daughter, whose six-year-old face was dotted with freckles and showed the earnestness of a naïve child. She stood with her left hand on her hip, just like Denise herself often had stood when she was trying to get her way on some issue. Denise’s voice sounded a little harsher than what she had really intended. “Becky, what in the world are you talking about now?”
Becky took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The six-year-old began her story again all though slower this time. It was as if it were she that was speaking to a child. She tapped her sneaker-clad foot impatiently on the floor. “Mama, I told you. I just herd on television that somebody stole the trucks with all the turkeys that were intended for the hungry people. And so, I want us to give them some of our turkey. Mama, we really have too much.
Denise looked deep into the face of her only child. The sweetness of Becky’s eyes always seemed to take her breath away. She loved this child so much. How could she have taken Becky away from their huge extended family in Cincinnati? How could she so selfishly deny her so many people who loved her?
When the job opening in Atlanta had become available, it had seemed to her like a gift from God. It was a chance for her to spread her wings and prove she could be a good mother and provide for Becky all by herself, independent of all her own family. But two months in a new city without family had really tried her strength. And now it was their first holiday alone and now it was threatened because she had forgotten to buy the turkey until after work tonight.
Denise reached out and handed Becky a pilgrim-shaped sugar cookie and said, “Honey, I’m trying to get our Thanksgiving dinner started. Go on back into the living room and watch television for a little while longer.” Becky took the cookie and reluctantly left the kitchen for the living room and more TV.
Two hours later, Becky was ready for bed. She knelt beside her bed to say her prayers. Denise heard her include, “And God bless the hungry people. Send them lots of peanut butter and jelly since they won’t have any turkey.”
Denise finished mixing up the cornbread and spices for the dressing and then started to fold laundry. The late local news began with the same report of the stolen turkeys Becky had seen only a few hours before. “Civil rights leader and Atlanta city councilman Hosea Williams has reported that his ‘Feed the Hungry Dinner’ program is without any turkey,” the news anchor said.
The report went on to say that someone had stolen the refrigerator truck holding the hundreds of turkeys intended for the annual Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless. And though many people, people from all over the city were coming out of the woodwork to donate money for more, it was believed that there would not be enough turkeys available nor would there be time to prepare them for the special Thanksgiving lunch scheduled for the next day.
Denise stopped matching socks and let her mind run away for a minute and play over the wonderful Thanksgivings of her childhood. When Denise’s grandmother had lived with them, she had let Denise help make pecan pies and her famous yeast rolls. Just as important, Thanksgiving was never complete without her Aunt Pearl’s dressing and cousin Lynn’s sweet potato casserole.
This year would be the very first Thanksgiving in her life, and that meant the first for Becky as well without being surrounded by twenty close relatives. Without a doubt she and Becky weren’t exactly homeless like the people who were now missing turkeys, thank the good Lord, but they were family-less.
A little later, back in the kitchen Denise poked her finger at the big, plastic-coated, submerged bird that because of the water sitting on it seemed to reflect the light back at her. As she looked at the turkey Denise knew Becky was right. This was far too big of a turkey for just the two of them to eat. They couldn’t finish it in a week. It just wasn’t what the two of them needed. Denise up the telephone book, looked up a number and dialed.
An hour later, Becky stirred in the backseat of the car as Denise headed for downtown. She sat up rubbing sleep from her eyes and asked, “Mama, are we there yet?”
“No, honey, but I think we are really close.” Denise turned on the car’s overhead light and looked again at the directions she had scribbled on the back of an envelope. She had made the third left, but all the warehouses looked alike. It was so dark. And, to add on top of that, she had never been in this part of town before. She felt lost and alone and even a little bit scared.
Then, up ahead, she saw a building with the doors standing wide open and light spilling out. As she pulled her car into the parking lot, a woman came out and waved. As they entered the building, Lucille – the woman in charge – shouted out to the dozens of others who had volunteered, “Everybody say hello to Denise and her daughter, Becky,” Voices rang out, “Hello!”
Lucille first introduced young Becky to her daughter Deidra and then gave Denise the job of opening huge cans of green beans and whole kernel corn.
Many hours later, the time passed so fast, Denise reached under a long metal table and shook Becky and Deidra awake. The two new “bestest” friends came out from under the table, holding hands. Becky and Deidra asked Denise, “Is it time?”
Denise said, “Yes, it just about is. Deidra, find your mother, she’s filling plates in the kitchen. Reverend Williams is going to say the prayer before everyone eats.”
Denise looked around the room at the hundreds of people lined up for plates of turkey, dressing, vegetables, and peanut butter sandwiches. Men, women, and families, all together, out of the cold, were ready to share a special meal.
When Reverend Williams finished the prayer, Denise squeezed Lucille’s hand and said, “Lucille, let’s get the girls together this weekend for some playtime.”
Lucille smiled and said, “Sure. And I’ll give you my recipe for my sweet potato casserole. I would bet you that will like it better than your cousin’s. The secret is in the sugar, you know. You need to have two different kinds.
Two different kinds? As Denise looked around the warehouse at the full tables she thought, “No, there are many more kinds of sweetness here than two.”
From that year on, Denise’s traditional Thanksgiving dinner included Lucille’s sweet potato casserole and a platter of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And, there was also as much loving company as her heart could hold.
I know that many of you think that I have either lost my mind or forgotten how to read a calendar or both. But you see, I have not. It seems to me that the story of Jesus’ feeding of the 5000 was a great miracle. But for us today, I think that it should be a story about thankful and generous hearts.
You see Jesus took the boy’s lunch, five loaves and two fish and gave everyone their fill and had twelve baskets of crumbs left over. That friends is a miracle.
Today, we mere mortals don’t have the ability to perform such a miracle, or do we? Most of us I believe have witnessed times again and again in our lives when there are times of great need. And, it would seem that each time people step forward and share that which God has given them, entrusted to them. The need is met and there is, it seems, always something left over.
Even when we have had our fill, even when our plates seem empty and there is nothing left, there really still is something left over. God is what is left. God who provides for us in all situations is still with us. And, where God is, there is also love. Where love is there is a reason to be thankful even in the hottest days of August a long way from the fourth Thursday in November.
We are called to be thankful people at all times and in all circumstances for what God has given to us. We need to remember that even when our plates seem empty, our cup still runs over. It runs over with the love of God.
