THE V WORD

IN THE CHURCH OF MY YOUTH, we observed a couple of ordinances: baptism and communion, which we called “Observing the Lord’s Supper.” These ordinances are pictures, and to this day I love them. They are metaphors for remembering. In fact, at the beginning of the communion sevice, the elements—the bread and the “wine”—were set on a table at the front of the sanctuary. Engraved in the front of the table in a sort of gothic typeface were the words of Jesus, “Do this in remembrance of me”.

At the end of the observance, the pastor would read Matthew 26:30, a verse in the narrative of the last supper:

“And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount of Olives.”

In the church of our tradition that song was the first verse of “Bless Be The Tie that Binds.”

Blest be the tie that binds
our hearts in Christian love;
the fellowship of kindred minds
is like to that above.

It was written by John Fawcett in 1782, although I would guess that many of the old saints of my childhood probably would have insisted that it is the exact song that Jesus and his disciples sang together at that first Last Supper.

Maybe you know the hymn from reading Thornton Wilder’s "Our Town” in high school where the song makes several appearances including at a wedding and at a funeral.

Do we still have ties that bind? If so, are those ties too fragile, too frayed? Have they been reduced to a thread to which we are barely hanging. What is it that is tearing at the fabric of our society and even our families?

Vaccinations? Surely it’s more than that. But I know people who have secretly gotten the vaccine because their family are so strongly anti-vax that could have severed family ties. And what about Jeffrey Allen Burnham from Maryland who killed his brother, a pharmacist. Burnham allegedly said, ”that his brother was 'killing people with the COVID shot.”

As the days click closer to Thanksgiving Day, it seems uncertainty still looms. The fraught questions will not be white meat or dark (WHITE), roasted or fried (ROASTED), should the offal go into the gravy or not? (NOT) Pecan or pumpkin pie or both? (PECAN) Sweet or unsweetened? (UNSWEETENED) Lions or Bears? (BEARS)

Some are asking should we gather together or not? Maybe rather than having seperate tables for adults and kids we can have tables or seperate rooms for the vaccinated and the un. Or, maybe a table in the garage or backyard for old people like myself. These days I’m a part of the oldest generation at our family gatherings. That puts me in the “Covid will probably kill me if I catch it” category. It also means I’m more likely to be cranky and less sympathetic with those who hold differing views of stuff.

A year ago, we didn’t have the vaccine. It was around this time of year that the long term care facility where my mom lived was shut to outsiders. We did get to have a couple of visits outdoors with her but that didn’t last long. At some point, even with the quarantine measures in place she was infected, and shortly, Covid took her life. Thus, I’m puzzled by the arguments, denials, or theories of the militant anti-vaxers; an emotional response on my part for sure. I do have empathy for those who truly are not able to be vaccinated for various reasons or have already had Covid. See, it’s narrow-minded people like me, who are afraid of death by suffocation that are gnawing away at the binding ties. Still I’m puzzled and saddened by how deep the divide is. I wish I knew what to do.

My Amazing-Missus reminded me that there was a time that the divide in our nation was worse. It was during that time, specifically in 1863, President Abraham Lincoln, at the height of the Civil War, established Thanksgiving Day in a proclamation entreating all Americans to ask God to “commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife” and to “heal the wounds of the nation.”

Pass me a heaping helping of what President Lincoln is serving up.