Churches often host an event known as Homecoming. It’s a Sunday where old members are welcomed home, new members are welcomed in and everyone enjoys a big meal (often outdoors) after the preaching and singing and worship have ended.
I am not sure how many churches still call it “homecoming.” This Sunday I am going to an annual church picnic which will include lots of homemade (and store-bought) dishes, an abundance of fried chicken and deviled eggs and enough desserts to guarantee a sugar high for anyone who desires it. The meal doesn’t start until the worship has ended. Along with the eating will be lots of talking and laughing and kids running around and stories being told and even those who have been faithfully dieting will line up for just one more piece of chicken or a sliver of pecan pie.
I remember going to homecoming celebrations at my grandparents’ rural Baptist church. A long line of tables made of sheets of plywood placed on top of wooden sawhorses were laid out end to end on the grounds outside the church building. The tables were covered with tablecloths—real cloth, not paper or plastic. There was more food than I ever saw in one place in my life. There were platters and platters of fried chicken. I always tried to find my grandmother’s chicken as I thought hers was the very best.Platters of sliced ham, usually from pigs that had been raised and slaughtered by church members, and baskets full of country ham biscuits. Deviled eggs with paprika and without. Potato salad, sweet potato casseroles, corn pudding, pickled beets…oh, the list goes on and on and on.
You would take a spoonful of this and a spoonful of that because your plate could only hold so much. You didn’t want to get too full because the enormous dessert table was always a place of wonder. Pound cakes and chocolate cakes and chess pies and coconut pies and little fried apple pies and peach cobbler…oh my. And no parents or grandparents telling you to only pick one.
After lunch there was more praying and singing, usually gospel quartets and my grandmother would even allow me to stretch out a little bit on the wooden pew and she would fan me as I took a short nap. There were those paper fans on flat wooden sticks (usually provided by the local funeral home) to cool yourself in the buildings which had gotten a bit hot in the afternoon. No air-conditioning in those days.
We left homecoming full. Full of delicious food. Full of friendships, old and new. And yes, full of the Holy Spirit. Even those who usually didn’t have room or much tolerance for the Holy Spirit could not help but feel it on Homecoming Sunday.
I don’t know if that Baptist church of my childhood still hosts a homecoming, but if they do I imagine it is somewhat different. I have a feeling that there is more store-bought food than homemade. They are as likely to have the dinner in a new air-conditioned parish hall instead of outside under the trees. The world has changed and continues to change. And that’s okay.
The church picnic I plan to go to on Sunday will have an Episcopal liturgy and there will be live music played by some members of the congregation and we will sing and celebrate beneath a picnic shelter next to a lake. There are usually a few loudly quacking ducks who accompany us on some of the hymns.
It will be different than the homecomings of my childhood but it will also be the same. People gathering. People praying and singing and laughing and eating too much.
And just like the old homecoming, we will leave the grounds full. Full of much of what really matters in life—friends, family, food, laughter, joy, a God that loves us all. No exceptions.
See you tomorrow, Jeanne! Yes, it is also a homecoming.
I’m bringing 12 Bones style corn pudding (No onions)