Defining Moments: A Casserole Epiphany

Reflections on Isaiah 43:1, 4 & Psalm 139

Mary was the fourth of five children and often felt invisible.  Sara was the baby, five years younger than Mary.  Sara was doted on.  Everything she did was “darling.”   Charles was the eldest and heir to the family business.  Jane was mother’s favorite, although mother often said that she didn’t have favorites.  Still, it was obvious to everyone, Jane included, that she was it.  Michael, the third child, was more comfortable in his skin then any child had a right to be.  He played to the tune of his very own drummer, always engaged, rarely flustered.  Mary was just eleven months younger than Michael, but they could not have been more different.  Michael was brave.  Mary was timid.  Michael moved forward in the world, always exploring.  Mary held back, unsure.  Michael exuded confidence.  Mary had none.

But now says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you.

The eldest four use to play hide and seek with the neighborhood kids after school.  More times than Mary would like to remember, she was not only never found, she was never sought.  The sun would set and the kids would all have gone home for supper and Mary would still be hiding behind a tree or a shed, waiting to be found or for her name to be called.  It wasn’t that the others were mean or playing a cruel childish trick, Mary was just so quiet that you could easily forget she was there or just as easily fail to notice that she was not there.  The end result was always the same.

I have called you by name, you are mine.

There were plenty of more important moments in Mary’s life, but hide and seek as a child became for her a defining moment.  It was who she had come to believe she was, someone who was neither lost nor found.  Someone easily overlooked.  Someone often forgotten.  It is funny what memories stick and what ones fade to nothing.  And it is sobering to realize how what sticks has the power to shape us for better or for worse.

O Lord, you have searched me and known me.

Mary did not seem the better or the worse for her memories of hide and seek.  Her life was ordinary and safe, like white toast with butter.  Nothing risked meant nothing lost, but also almost nothing gained.  Mary faded easily into the background at work and at home.  Her colleagues moved quickly by her, up the corporate ladder, making names for themselves along the way.  Her husband lived comfortably in a world that centered around him, his needs, his interests, his friends.  Mary created that world for him and he loved her for that.  Her children, now teenagers, took her for granted, as teenagers are apt to do, expecting from her meals, laundry and cash without accountability.  She never raised her voice, because she had yet to find it.

Even before a word is on my tongue, O Lord, you know it completely.

One day all that came to an end.  It was silly looking back on it, but it was her watershed disguised as a casserole.  Mary was active in her church’s women’s guild.  Quarterly the guild hosted church suppers.  In theory, they were offered in an effort to draw the whole church family together, to foster fellowship and reinforce the ties that bind all hearts in one accord.  But in reality they were showcases for the fanciest dish and most creative table settings.  Mary always did her duty by these suppers.  She made casseroles and stayed out of the fray … until one night in September.  On that evening, Marsha and Naomi were throwing verbal jabs disguised as compliments in the kitchen as they compared dishes.  Marsha had brought her brown sugar sweet potatoes, topped with miniature marshmallows, lightly browned and served in a speckled blue ceramic dish that had once belonged to her mother.  Naomi brought the very same sweet potato dish, but served in a clear Pyrex dish, nestled in a woven wicker basket with leather handles.  Someone had not checked the sign-up sheet, but who?  This was a huge faux pas and it was clear that the fallout would not be pretty.  Mary, a witness to this crime, quietly dropped off her chicken broccoli and rice casserole and quickly disappeared into the dining hall.  She had yet to rise in the ranks.  She was only welcome to make dishes, not to organize them on serving tables.  That task had to be awarded.

You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.

After the grace was said and guests were invited to the buffet spread, Mary noticed that everything was set as it always was with two exceptions.  First of course, there were two sweet potato dishes, served side by side, where there should have only been one, and her casserole was missing.  It wasn’t on the table.  It wasn’t on any table.  On any other night she would have stuffed her disappointment, unwilling to stand up for herself, but that night something snapped.  For reasons only God knows, a switch was thrown and the gates that seemed to have rusted shut over the course of a lifetime of perceived insignificance, burst open.  Out came anger and indignation aimed in all directions.  Perhaps for the first time in her life she walked with her head up, her shoulders back and her chest out.  Pushing past Naomi and Marsha in the kitchen, she grabbed her casserole and brushed back by them straight to the serving tables.  She plopped her casserole on the main table, making extra room, by dumping both sweet potato casseroles, dishes and all, in the garbage.

I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Wonderful are your works; I know that full well.

In that moment, Mary became visible ... to all.  For the first time she was certain of her own worth.   In that moment she was both found and noticed.  In that defining moment, she understood what she had been told since childhood …

… you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.

***Writer’s Note:  Okay, so this is a little tongue and cheek and yet so often the big moments, the epiphanies, the defining moments, come is the midst of the ordinary or even the ridiculous.  And hey, God can find us in the midst of the best and even the worst that church has to offer.