The Potluck Principle

Potlucks terrify me.

But, you say, that is madness! Smells wafting up from the kitchen to tantalize the noses of parishioners as the Sunday morning service draws to a close. Standing in line eyeing the plates of those who got to eat first, hoping there are enough deviled eggs to go around. Hearty warm dishes, three kinds of potato salad, colored fluff with fruit and marshmallows, and a dessert table that stretches for miles. Terrified of potlucks? Absurd.

Oh, I enjoy eating at a potluck. I love taking bits of this and that, helping the kids fill their plates, and knowing that we might just be sent home with some leftovers so I don’t have to cook supper.

The trouble is this. I never know what to take to a potluck.

When you go to a potluck you’re supposed to bring your best. Your signature dish. The one everyone looks forward to. Like Hildegard’s famous cream puffs or Cora’s ribbon salad. Something filling and satisfying and delicious.

But I haven’t got any recipes that make my family smile and beg for more. I can’t make potato salad to save my life, and my deviled eggs usually taste a little funky.

It’s my secret shame. I’m a rotten cook. And that’s why potlucks terrify me. In the middle of all the goodness that everyone else dishes up, I don’t have anything to bring to the table.

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It’s not a new struggle. So many times, so many days, I feel like what I have to offer just isn’t good enough.

I like being a part of the life of my congregation, helping with Sunday School and waiting tables at the whitefish dinner. But I feel like I ought to be doing more.

The trouble is, I don’t know what more to do.

I so admire the other people at church. The ones who do it all. I see them each Sunday and throughout the week, competent and confident, working and giving and serving. Making a difference. Doing the Lord’s work with joy, and doing it well.

I want to do that. I want to do more. I want to offer my hands and feet to my church.

Wouldn’t it be nice to feel like you had something really, really awesome to offer to God, and to your Christian brothers and sisters? Something filling and satisfying, something just from you. A specialty. That’s what I want. I want to offer God something that’s just from me. Something really special.

But I don’t know what to give Him. Everything I try seems to get messed up somehow. It’s the secret burden of a pastor’s wife; church life terrifies me.  Because in the middle of all the goodness that everyone else dishes up, I don’t feel like I have anything to bring to the table.

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Do you know what I usually bring to potlucks? Your basic green salad – iceberg lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers, a bottle of thousand island dressing on the side. Usually almost nobody eats it. Their plates are too full of kielbasa and casseroles and cream puffs.

But every once in a while, somebody is in the mood for salad. I smile when I see them walk by with my bit of green on their plate. That day, at that moment, my meager meal was just what someone needed.

Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.  - 1 Corinthians 15:58

There’s a lot I don’t get right. But my brother Jesus stood firm for me. Nothing could have moved Him off of that cross. He led us to the table and fed us with His own body and blood, offered something nobody else could give. And because He gave Himself fully to the work of His Father, our labor in His name is never in vain.

My husband tells me that it’s okay that I mess up sometimes, even when I’m trying to do God’s work. And it’s okay that what I have to offer isn’t as perfect or as special as I want it to be. Because in Jesus, God accepts my mess-ups. He knows that what I give Him is not going to be anything spectacular. I can set before Him my little offering, my imperfect self, and He will use it to His purposes.

There are a lot of really wonderful people in my church doing a lot of really wonderful things, and I’m glad.  But there’s always going to be someone who wants salad.

Originally published in The Alpena News, September 21, 2013