I realize that there is a lot at stake in sharing some things publicly and I have to approach today's confession with caution. There are people's emotions involved and I really don't want to hurt anyone; unfortunately, sometimes we have deviant values and find ourselves led down a treacherous path. I'm not even sure I can be redeemed, because I'm admittedly unrepentant. So here goes. My confession is this: I am a Baptist Minister and I hate potlucks. I despise the very idea that I should subject myself and my family to a meal that professes its success to be a matter of chance!
In the years since, perhaps in relation to the age progession of the casserole-loving portion of our congregation, we have found a pattern to our digestive issues. Namely, we usually have digestive issues within hours of attending a potluck. Just to spread the love around, however, my husband's family has an Italian-American Reunion potluck each summer that achieves roughly the same results. But if you didn't know two spoonfulls of polenta couldn't sooth the effects of hot Italian sausage followed down by fruit soaked in homemade everclear, well...you're probably already on Prevacid.
There is no question that generational differences are a source of constant challenge and amusement. We have to share the road and the grocery store aisles. We struggle to provide for and honor those who broke the path for us, while still making way for the new ideas and passions of the generations that are coming up. We have such different ideas about what is "good" or "right," yet we need one another and, more importantly, we love one another. So I still go to potlucks sometimes, but I don't eat much while I'm there.
'Rise in the presence of the aged, show respect for the elderly and revere your God. I am the LORD. Leviticus 19:32