Homecoming

October 26th, 2007 | webmaster | Memory Lane

By J.E. Ransom

The smell of tobacco curing to golden brown, watermelons reaching the peak of ripeness, the last of the season’s tomato sandwiches, these are the things that bring summer to a close and usher in the fall season.

With the onset of fall, the thoughts of many turn to the annual pilgrimage of the faithful to where their Christian lives began for homecoming. This tradition, as southern as boiled peanuts or grits, always triggers excitement in countless congregations. Whether it’s the anticipation of seeing loved ones long ago relocated due to jobs or the unbridled joy of worshipping in a sanctuary filled to capacity, there’s just something special about homecoming Sunday. The handshakes seem a little heartier; the hugs feel a little warmer, the smiles just a bit broader. And the hunger is unbearable!

As a child, this unbearable hunger began a day earlier. There were pots full of good ole home cooking on every burner of every stove and a freshly prepared pie in every oven. But not one crumb could be consumed until Sunday. You see, even I remember a time when the Lord’s Day was honored more faithfully. No cooking on Sunday! Everything was prepared on Saturday in order to “keep the Sabbath”.

I can still picture grandma’s pastry, rolled out paper-thin on a linen cloth with an old pop bottle. I always hung around to get to cut it into squares before it was left in the open air to dry. Then the chore began of properly putting it, one piece at a time, into an old pot with one handle, full of boiling hen broth. Yes, hen broth because it’s just better – because grandma said it was!

Most of the time this dish was accompanied by homemade chicken salad diced with a pair of scissors to just the right consistency. And then there were the butter beans, (green of course). Not one bean in the entire pot would exceed the size of a pinky fingernail and it goes without saying, not a blemish to be found on a single bean.

After an evening spent on this labor of love, everything was covered and carefully placed in an old G.E. icebox until morning. What a grand time Sunday morning was! If it needed to be served hot, it was heated up and along with the chicken salad, best served cold by the way, placed in the car for the trip to church.

And what a sight! Tables lined with food of every description, desserts to thrill even the sweetest “sweet tooth”. And the aroma of this annual feast, it takes me back to a simpler existence. But still we had to wait. Morning worship went on as usual in spite of my aforementioned unbearable hunger, which by this point I was sure would literally kill me!

The sermon would be extra special, although slightly diminished by – you guessed it – my unbearable hunger. The story of the prodigal son, the miracle of Jesus feeding the multitude with a boy’s meager lunch, and even death, the final homecoming, all topics through the years of the day’s message.

After the sermon came the invitation. Not an invitation to lunch, but a chance for lost ones to be embraced by the forgiving arms of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Not an invitation to lunch, but an opportunity to lay ones burdens at the foot of the cross. Not an invitation to lunch, but rather a call to intercede to the Father on behalf of those in need. Even though a meal
fit for a king awaited everyone, this was the most important event of the day.

I cannot remember whether anyone ever made a profession of faith on homecoming Sunday. However, I do know that if anyone did that the angels in heaven and the entire congregation praised the Lord for another soul being saved from an eternity separated from God. There could not be a better time to “come home” than homecoming.

Finally, the moment everyone had been waiting for had arrived. Well, let me speak only for myself and say that this was definitely the moment “I” had been waiting for. It was time to ask God’s blessing upon the feast we were about to partake of. Even though only those nearest the pastor could hear what was being said, everyone knew that thanks were being offered for all the blessings received throughout the year and for His endless grace to continue to fall on us all.

I had never been in a line this long in all my born days. The children were instructed to be mindful of the elderly and infirm and allow them to be served first. How many old and broken down people could there be in one church? Needless to say, I lived to reach the plates and utensils.

Then there began the task of filling my plate to capacity without embarrassing myself or anyone else, especially mama. Even in the presence of food prepared by some of the best cooks to ever don an apron, I was still looking for one thing – actually three. On old one-handled pot full of pastry, a mottled green bowl of chicken salad best served cold, and green butter beans seasoned to perfection with love.

Are you looking forward to homecoming? Not a very special Sunday in October set aside for fellowship and food, but real homecoming – the day when we’re all welcomed to our eternal home by a Father who loves us infinitely. Not a day for catching up with friends, but a day of reunion with loved ones gone on before us. Not a day to eat the food prepared by human hands, but a day to feast at the Master’s table on heavenly cuisine. I know I’m ready and I hope you are. I look forward to seeing you in line and I hope it’s a long one. Don’t worry! We’ll have plenty of time. And even that old one-handled pot full of pastry won’t be empty when we get there.