A meal with strangers can yield discussion and friendship
This fall our family decided to attend one of our church’s Wednesday Night Dinners, something I haven’t done in about 20 years.
These evenings are promoted as a casual time to gather for food and fellowship, with an optional class afterward. We didn’t have plans that evening, and I was ready for a night off of cooking, so with our church not more than ten minutes away, we made reservations and pulled into the parking lot just before dinnertime.
I grew up in East Tennessee during a time when blue laws were still very much a thing on Sundays, and Wednesday night activities at church were a cultural given.
Homework was lighter on Wednesday nights in both public and private schools with the subtle understanding that many families would choose to spend their evenings at their places of worship.
My grandmother, a devout Methodist, started taking me to her church’s Wednesday fellowship when I was in seventh grade, and those nights became formative in my spiritual development in a way we could never have predicted.
To this day I still remember the sound of volunteers unfolding the aluminum chairs around the tables, the smell of the food that congregants had spent the afternoon lovingly preparing and serving on pale green divided plates, and the good-natured ease of a community so grateful to be together after a long day.
As I reflect on those memories, what stands out most is the variety of people I sat beside: many retirees, some families scrambling after young children, and a few newcomers to her town.
Many of us are guilty of gravitating to those like us
Putting a cross section of people, some strangers, together for a meal is a benign exercise in sociology as well as spirituality.
Wednesday Night Suppers played a part in my faith development to be sure, but they also allowed me to experience a variety of relationships with people other than my teenage friends.
Where spiritual growth is a goal, the inauspicious outcome of this type of fellowship is simply a stronger community.
So many of us are guilty of walking into group settings and automatically gravitating toward people who look like us, who are in the same stage of life, or who share our socio-economic class.
It turns out, when it’s a mixed bag of individuals around a table, commonality is found more often than not despite our predisposition to choosing the familiar.
Wednesday Night Dinners may feel like a relic, but we need them today
The night my family arrived at church for supper, we looked around for a place to sit and, recognizing no one, randomly chose a table with a few older adults.
A delightful older woman asked where our younger daughter went to school and then proudly announced that she was an alum of the same school. She and my daughter went on to compare notes about what the school was like then and now.
My husband discussed engineering with an older gentleman, and I had the good fortune to join in on a spirited conversation about affordable housing in Nashville.
Yes, we were united by our faith, but simply living in the same city was enough to spark intimate and real conversation.
In a world that is ever-busier, in which crowded calendars are hailed as achievements rather than indicators that something is wrong, we gained much from sharing a slow dinner with new friends.
Wednesday Night Dinners may feel like a relic of a ritual from yesteryear, but I wonder if community conversation around a meal might be key to understanding the role diversity plays as we move forward.
As we listen and share, we sharpen our empathy for others and allow ourselves to be educated and shaped by the stories we all carry.
Mary Cady Bolin is a writer and pastor based in Nashville. She writes about spiritual life, current events, and family.