Pass the gravy

When my eldest sister went to college, I remember worrying that she would never come home. What I found, instead, was that Maureen did return, and she rarely came alone. She would often bring a friend or two. That was especially true at Thanksgiving.

Maureen’s university closed for that entire week. Some of her friends lived too far from home to be with their families for the holiday. Others saw our house as a stopping point on their way to their families’ turkey day meals. Whatever their story, they were all welcome to stay with us in Baltimore.

My father would drive our 12-seat van, Big Blue, up to New Haven, Conn., to pick up Maureen for the break, fill the seats with her friends, and bring the whole group home. Sometimes I didn’t even know everyone’s names until they came through the front door.

Our family of eight lived in a Rodgers Forge townhouse, but somehow there was room for all of us, and we had a blast. We didn’t just get to have Maureen home. My younger siblings and I were thrown into an ongoing house party that lasted for days. We played raucous board games, watched movies we could recite in our sleep, and made loads of memories.

Then there was our Thanksgiving meal.

My parents hosted Thanksgiving every year, but they served the big meal on the Sunday before the official holiday so our extended family wouldn’t have to choose whether to dine with us or other relatives. The altered date of our pseudo-Thanksgiving made coming to Maureen’s house even more appealing for her friends. When my sister Shaileen went to college too, the group just continued to grow, and the large Thanksgiving bash was its own special tradition.

Looking back, I can hardly figure out where we put the dozens of guests for dinner, which my mother has always insisted should be a sit-down meal. The table stretched into the living room, but the house was only so deep. Once you sat down, you might not be going anywhere for a while, but you were guaranteed a seat and a delectable feast.

When I think of Thanksgiving, I remember how we had plenty of turkey and pie and conversation for everyone, and no one was ever turned away. I marvel at how my parents opened their home every year to my older sisters’ friends, while still hosting their own dear friends and relatives for a delicious and beautiful – if crowded – meal. Hospitality is such a gift.

As we head into the holiday season, many families will be making room at their tables. I like to think of how that carries over into our church families, too. Whether we attend daily Mass or haven’t entered a church in years, there is room for everyone in our church pews. Those of us who are there regularly have an opportunity to open the doors wide and welcome a stranger with a smile.

“Do not neglect hospitality, for through it some have unknowingly entertained angels,” we read in the Book of Hebrews, chapter 13.

May this season of gatherings offer us opportunities to open our arms and hearts to others – and to be ready to entertain angels along the way.

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