Picnics
There are two images that
come to mind when I think of picnics.
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| image from "quotesgram.com" |
The first is obvious: Yogi Bear—the Hanna-Barbera cartoon bear who
made his debut in 1958…27 years before I was born.
What I remember about the
‘smarter than the av-er-age bear’ character were his silly antics in the
fictional Jellystone Park. If you remember, Yogi speaks in rhyme and uses a
plethora of puns. My guess is that if you aren’t familiar with the show, then
at one point or another you’ve heard one of his famous catchphrases: “Hey there, Boo!” Or perhaps you have heard
someone refer to a ‘picnic basket’ in the manner Yogi did: “pic-a-nic baskets.’
Yogi was always up to
something and it was usually attempting to steal the picnic baskets of campers.
This, of course, always made me want to go on a picnic, while at the same time made
me quite terrified that at some point a tie-donning bear (why in the world is
he wearing a tie anyway? Does he not know he has no shirt or pants on?) would
jump out from behind the tree and steal my food!
My only saving grace is
that we never had a wicker picnic basket. Just Tupperware, which I was
confident Yogi wouldn’t be able to figure out.
Eventually this silly fear went
away. Thank goodness, because some of my favorite memories are centered on a
plastic table cloth, paper plates, and blue Solo cups covering a picnic table
in a park with family surrounding me.
It was a practice of my
extended family to gather for a picnic as often as we could during the summer,
especially for those special occasions such as Memorial Day, Father’s Day, and
the Fourth of July.
I loved these days. Not
only because of the food we had, but because it was a celebration, a different
way of being with each other. Us grandkids would bring our ball gloves and play
catch or hotbox until our faces were beat red and a sweat halo hovered at the
base of our ball caps. Then, when it was time to eat, my grandpa would offer up
the prayer, followed by a ‘speech’ letting everyone know how proud he was of
us.
Then we would dig in.
Each picnic was practically
the same. The food and the conversations were as predictable as the life lesson
presented at the end of each Yogi Bear cartoon.
Therein lies the paradox of
picnics. In the predictability of a picnic lies the promise of possibility when
God's people gather to share life, tell stories, and break bread. Picnics
provide the needed space for the Spirit to bind our hearts, as well as our
appetites, to the very core of Jesus, who, when he was at supper with his
closest friends, offered them peace, God's own peace.
What has become clear to me,
friends, over the years is that the most sacred moments, the ones I return to
for comfort the way I do with the mac and cheese, take place around the table
with family, friends, and even strangers.
Ultimately, for me, picnics
are not about the cuisine, rather they are about community. It is about what
happens when we come together, slow down, open our picnic baskets, look into one
another’s faces, and listen to one another’s stories.
This Sunday we will worship
at Kickapoo Park at 10 a.m. Then, immediately following, we will gather around
picnic tables and break bread. My hope is that you will join us and share your
story with me over cheesy potatoes and fried chicken.
I promise you, you won’t
regret it.
Though I can’t promise you
Yogi won’t make an appearance…
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