Thanksgiving Playbook, Episode 2: The Hobbits Got it Right
“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”
—J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
The hobbits are distinct among all the inhabitants of Middle-earth, namely for their deep and sometimes troublesome preoccupation with food and drink. (“What about second breakfast?!”)
In The Two Towers, the second of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, two such hobbits, Merry and Pippin, to the surprise of King Theoden and eternal consternation of Gimli, are found indulging lightheartedly in the sumptuous stores of the enemy on the heels of battle.
Addressing the king’s bewilderment, Gandalf exclaims, “These hobbits will sit on the edge of ruin and discuss the pleasures of the table.” Gimli’s words were less gracious, but held no less love for the pair.
Were they being foolish? Were they, as Gimli so delicately put it, being “woolly-footed and wool-pated truants”?
Or perhaps their enjoyment of good food and drink at that moment was in itself a fierce and fearless act.
I don’t think their delight in simple pleasures is disconnected from their imperviousness to the temptation of power, wealth, glory, and domination.
To drop into another, and actually real, war, Tolkien’s contemporary and friend C.S. Lewis builds on this concept in his essay, “On Living in an Atomic Age.”
“If we are all going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let that bomb when it comes find us doing sensible and human things—praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts—not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. They may break our bodies (a microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our minds.”
In our Intro to the Thanksgiving Playbook, we reference this line from McKelvey’s liturgy on feasting with friends: "To gather joyfully is indeed a serious affair, for feasting and all enjoyments gratefully taken are, at their heart, acts of war.” Reading this line again today, I imagine Merry and Pippin at the ruins of Isengard.
As very small people in the midst of a very large war, again and again Merry and Pippin wonder what they can do to help. I would contend that their act of feasting and feasting and feasting was no less powerful in beating back the darkness than Frodo’s journey into Mordor. Well, slightly less, but you get my point.
When we undertake the preparation of a feast with intentionality and delight, we emulate these hobbits, living out in an embodied way a declaration that our enjoyment of these things matters both for the present moment and for eternity. It is doing something to us. Feasting together shapes and forms us in a way that is both literal and symbolic. In the kitchen, we are engaging in ritual.
Our Thanksgiving meal ritual always begins with the making of the cranberry sauce. It’s generally the least thought of, last-minute fix on the table. (Can you hear the squidge of that canned cylinder of corn syrup slopping into a bowl?) But we decided to elevate it and make it first. I could be misinterpreting it, but I’m pretty sure that’s what Jesus meant when he said the last would be first.
For nearly 15 years, I have kicked off the Thanksgiving holiday by making cranberry sauce, always the weekend before so it can age for a few days before it is quickly devoured.
Each year, I pull out the recipe
(though wholly unnecessary).
I flatten the creased and stained paper
and read over each ingredient again.
The crossings-out and penciled-in additions
made over many years
tell its story of change and growth
as the recipe has slowly evolved.
This cheap, single sheet of 24-lb copy paper
inscribes on me a sense of place.
It holds the memories
created over the years
through repetition and intention.
It brings to mind the look, feel, and scent
of the ingredients carefully chosen
at my local farmer’s market.
It recalls joy in watching my kids' excitement
for the whole holiday season
as they mark its beginning
by the making of this dish,
this liturgy of the cranberry sauce.
Cranberry sauce is just the beginning. We also have the ritual of the green bean casserole. Mel has tried many times to veto it to the swift and sharp outcry of the rest of the family. Sweet potato casserole, a recipe handed down from Mel’s family. The near-perfectly roasted turkey.
Each of these dishes—through repetition and intention—is imbued with meaning, surrounded by story. And as we come back to them year after year, we are building on these stories. This is why when we host Thanksgiving dinner, we always make the dishes that are meaningful to us and we invite our guests to do the same. We are listening to and honoring one another's stories through the foods we prepare.
In the making of the meal, we are building anticipation.
In the making of the meal, we are remembering our stories.
In the making of the meal, we are arming ourselves, just like those hobbits, against the powers that would seek to sever us from joy and to destroy us.
As you engage in your own ritual of planning and preparing your Thanksgiving meal, we leave you with a portion of McKelvey’s “Liturgy for the Preparation of a Meal”:
O Bread of Life,
Meet us in the making of this meal.
As we perform the various tasks of
washing, chopping, sifting, mixing,
simmering, baking, and boiling,
let those little acts coalesce into an embodied liturgy of service—
an outworking of love offered
for your purposes,
that through us, your tender care
might be translated into the comforting and cheery language
of nurturing food and drink
offered for the benefit of others.
…
Unto that end, let us labor creatively,
with imaginations engaged,
knowing that we are cooks
in the kitchen—yes—
but we are also agents of a deep eternity,
whose prepared meals might
feed more than the body,
nourishing also the hearts
and hopes of those
sometimes-weary souls who
are well-served by our labors.
(For access to the entire liturgy, you can purchase a digital download here.)
Read our next Thanksgiving Playbook post:
Episode 3: “Are You Not Entertained?!”