Thanksgiving is no Last Supper. Maybe that’s why there are so many leftovers. In the wake of this wonderful celebration of roasted bird, I have some important theological questions about what would Jesus do for Thanksgiving.
For one, what would he be thankful for? That his father treated him like a lamb and sent him to be slaughtered by humans? What if Jesus wanted a normal life — a wife and children, a nice house with a two-donkey garage, and summer vacations on the Dead Sea?
I wonder, might Jesus say this as “grace”:
Thank you, Self, for saving all of humanity, except of course those at the far reaches of the earth who haven’t heard of me. And excluding those who refuse to believe the stories about me. Which really makes me mad, so I send them to hell without pumpkin pie for dessert and eternal punishment. Amen.
If Jesus attended one of the large Thanksgiving affairs I experienced in my childhood, the turkey weighing nearly as much as me, would he have watched any football? What team would have had chosen to help win?
I suspect Jesus wouldn’t have touched the turkey. For Jesus was a Jew and the bird on our table wasn’t kosher. Thanks to our French-Canadian heritage, there was ground pork in the stuffing. Because pork is “unclean,” maybe Jesus would have had to settle for nibbling on a wedge of canned cranberry jelly and some mashed turnips.
Or maybe he would have said, “To heck with my dad’s old decrees about cleanliness.”
Oh my gosh! What about the bathroom? Would we have needed to give Jesus instructions on how to operate a toilet? Would we have had to explain that we use toilet paper today, and we highly recommend that he do, too? That would have been awkward.
Then there is the matter of the fork. The everyday-eating utensil that we take for granted wasn’t invented and in widespread use until hundreds of years after Jesus last left the table.
Would we have had to give Jesus lessons on how to use the fork, or would we instead have just tried to not look surprised when he ate with his hands — as was customary in his day? Maybe mom and dad would have let us eat with our hands, too, so Jesus wouldn’t be the only one. Shoving mashed potatoes into our mouths with our fingers would have been a fun change. But messy.
Here’s an interesting tangent. According to Wikipedia, and other sources I’m presently unable to recall, when people started using the innovative utensil in Europe, the Catholic Church was strongly opposed to the fork.
“God in his wisdom has provided man with natural forks — his fingers. Therefore it is an insult to Him to substitute artificial metallic forks for them when eating.”
Back then, the fork was a serious issue. Like gay marriage is today. Neither are “natural.” So both should be banned.
For the upcoming election I think the same states that have anti-gay marriage legislation on their ballots should add anti-fork amendments.
It seems “the church” consistently opposes progress. In hindsight it may be amusing. But to those of us who view homosexuals as no less human and deserving of the same respect and rights as the rest of us, what’s going on today is not just another silly foible of the religiously wrong.
Finally on Thanksgiving Day, I wonder, would Jesus help do the dishes? Some verses of the Bible seem to suggest he would, while others send another message. Jesus speaks out for the meek, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven, where there are no dishes to be scrubbed. At least that’s my guess. Jesus talked of equality. Yet he also said it was perfectly fine for some women to wash his feet with expensive perfume. And then he sent them to make him a sandwich. (Or did he?) So I don’t know if Jesus would help with the dishes.
If Jesus did help clean up, someone would need to instruct him how to use Tupperware and whether or not the plates should be rinsed before placing them in the dishwasher?
With Jesus at your Thanksgiving celebration, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about running out of wine. But what about beer? Could Jesus turn seltzer into Michelob Ultra? (Seltzer into Guinness? No, that’s impossible.)
A tom cranberry bird (otherwise known as a male cardinal). Not enough breast meat to top a cracker.
Carolina chickadee. In some cultures they fry small birds whole and eat them bones and all. I’d prefer to use this tiny guy for entertainment outside my window than calories on my table.
Boat-tailed grackle. Interesting bird, but obnoxious. Travels in small gangs, will empty a feeder in little time. You have my blessing to eat a couple. Maybe wrapping a drumstick in bacon would be nice. Precious few servings per bird.
Blue jay. Not many of these around my small neck of woods. The feathers might make a nice table centerpiece. But getting the bird to sit still for any amount of time would be difficult.
Don’t you dare eat this bird! A somewhat oddly named red-bellied woodpecker. At best their bellies become crimson blushed. Because it is a woodpecker and dines on dead-wood insects, and because dead wood is scarce in developed areas of Florida . . . the future doesn’t look bright for this species.
Barred owl. A carnivore. But do you really want to eat recycled lizards and mice?
There we go! Wild turkey photographed last spring on the riverbank while boating (as was the above owl). But you might want to select one of his cousins from the supermarket freezer case. Quite tasty, lots of meat. What’s not to love!
Enjoy.
Warning: Thanksgiving dead ahead. One elements of the celebratory feast with family and friends can be a bit tricky for atheists. The pre-meal prayer. The religious folk at the table like to give and hear one, the atheist folk may object or simply squirm in their seat a little.
Personally, I don’t like it because it strikes me as antiquated voodoo. We thank our sky lord for this food. Heads bowed, hands clasped together and all that.
What do I do? Fortunately, over the past few years I have hosted the meal, and as host have given the pre-meal thanks. We hold hands, look at each other, and give thanks for the people in our lives, their health, their presence. Cooks get a kudos. And sometimes the real providers of the food–the farmers–get a nod as well. There. A moment of appreciation and togetherness that, importantly, makes no one feel excluded. For everyone believes in the existence of family members and friends. With a warm focus and feeling of togetherness, we dig in.
The last time I was at a believers house for Thanksgiving, I was a tad nervous about the pre-meal prayer. The house was a significantly religious one. While I don’t enjoy being a stick in the mud, I do have integrity. I’m not going to “pretend” on a matter I find serious.
Fortunately, the wife of the host family decided to it was time to give the pre-meal prayer while people where still up and milling about. The children had been herded to a small table in the kitchen. While the adults grabbed plates and silverware and formed a line heading toward a counter-top crammed with food, the wife asked her husband to say a blessing. He protested. We weren’t seated yet. The wife replied that the children were, and we couldn’t expect them to hold off from eating very long.
I saw the logic in this. But I also imagine, and I am probably wrong, for it’s only a semi-paranoid hunch, that the wife thought this would be a better time for the blessing because it would spare the awkwardness of two known atheists sitting at a table of nine adults engaged in the act of bowing their heads and holding hands and talking to their god. If this was part of her thinking, she was being clever because it would indeed have been awkward. My wife and I certainly enjoy holding hands and being part of group activities, but the prayer bit might have become a piece of social popcorn lodged in the teeth of group harmony.
As it was, the husband shrugged his shoulders and put his hands together in prayer. The wife and the four other, seriously religious adults in attendance, and all the young children, did the same. They bowed their heads and listened to the blessing. My wife may have looked toward the floor out of embarrassment, or due to a residual habit she had acquired from her church-going and table-prayer years. I didn’t look down for a couple reasons. First, to me the day is about family, most of whom I haven’t seen for awhile. Why would I look away from their beautiful, cherished faces? Second, I do not believe in an almighty being I must show subordination to (he can lick his own boots). So I’m not going to avert my eyes out of respect for “Him.”
The actual blessing consisted of something along the lines of, “We thank you, Lord, for this food you have provided. . .” and something about family and guests, amen.
“We thank you, ‘Lord?’” As opposed to a landlord, “God” is a food-lord? I may have briefly felt the urge to make an addendum to the blessing, succinctly expressing what I think another important element of the holiday is: The Pilgrims making their brave journey. One of the things that inspired the pilgrims was the state-sponsored religious intolerance of their home land. Those who followed in their wake established a great nation in which no individual is forced to live under the belief system of another. Church and state, keep them separate, because there are no more New Worlds to skee-daddle to. In a sense, this feast is a sort of “first supper.”
And as important an element to that, no Thanksgiving giving-of-thanks is truly complete without a nod to the Native Americans, whose knowledge of the New World’s flora made it possible for the Pilgrims to have such a cornucopic day of feast. In my imaginary channel 77 oratory, I may have taken the cheap shot of ending my thanks with an apology to those very same Native Americans who were later subjected to genocide by the “good, god-fearing Christians” of various denominations.
But I didn’t do any of that because I’m not confrontational by nature and because I think behavior at gatherings should be aimed at finding and celebrating common ground. It’s better for digestion.
I realize that a lot of believers and even agnostics and some humanistic atheists think, “What’s the big deal? It’s not hurting anyone. Just play along.”
To me, this is a bit like saying, “What’s the big deal, your uncle intellectually fondled you. It’s not like he hurt you.”
An unwelcome advance is an unwelcome advance. We live in a new age, an age in which believers need to be more sensitive to the deeply held convictions of those with differing beliefs. But fear not, common ground can still be found, with a festive meal enjoyed while firmly planted on it.
[recycled material - first appeared here]
It seems to me that much of human existence is about chasing pleasure. Or at least relative pleasure: moving away from unpleasant experiences toward more pleasant. Bored at your desk? Have another cup of coffee. Listen to some music. Home life not stimulating enough? Maybe a top-shelf home entertainment system will bring you greater pleasure. Etc.
As regular readers might guess, a recent news release of the science kind got me thinking about pleasure. Here’s the lead:
Many cancer patients in Europe are being denied access to adequate pain relief because of over-zealous regulations restricting the availability and accessibility of opioid-based drugs such as morphine. [source]
It additionally seems to me that many people have a biased view of pleasure, including relative pleasure (moving away from suffering), and when and how it’s okay to pursue it. For example: the mildly depressed upper-class guy who buys a powerful jet ski and spends an afternoon thrill-seeking before retiring to a bar veranda for a couple cold cocktails — perfectly acceptable. The dude in the depths of the slums taking drugs and consorting with his pals in an abandoned building — not okay.
Certainly, it’s not a simple issue. And in a well-functioning society we do need shared values. But black and white thinking about drugs, or jet skis, for that matter, is just not very enlightened. And in my estimation, not very humane, either.
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Update: Of course, an important element to this issue is the possibility of abuse and addiction. At least for most people. For cancer patients in pain — its importance diminishes dramatically. In some cases, to zero.
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