Thanksgiving in Lufubu

Today is Thanksgiving in America. The people of Lufubu are now aware of this great fact thanks to the dogged efforts of Lufubu’s two Salesian Lay Missioners! Despite everything acting to the contrary, we have somehow managed to source and prepare a real, traditional Thanksgiving feast in the heart of southern Africa. I haven’t seen a supermarket, a digital thermometer, or a measuring cup in weeks—and yet, we have a turkey, two pies, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, and much more.

To prepare this feast, I have been concussed, electrocuted twice, through three blackouts, nearly struck by lightning, slept a total of 12 hours since Sunday, had cash business dealings all over Luapula Province, rode for miles on a motorbike with a live turkey strapped to the back, nearly had to slaughter it myself, rode for the same number of miles with the same turkey plucked, cleaned, and dripping over washed out dirt roads in a bouncing, shock-less Ford Ranger; dealt with two broken ovens, a non-functional refrigerator; a slowly thawing freezer; cut and burned myself with knives and stoves; trudged through mud, dirt, and open fields carrying gigantic pots on my head; cooked in two different villages and three kitchens, once by the light of a headlamp in total darkness, twice in the wee hours of the morning; begged, bought, or stole (not really) ingredients from merchants, farmers, and friendly Salesians, substituting nearly every single one of them for its closest African equivalent; appealed to the kindness of friends and strangers; called in favors, prayed, nearly despaired, prayed again, cooked and roasted and basted and baked—until finally, a turkey, gravy, and all the fixings sat before a collection of my closest friends (in a several thousand mile radius) gathered to celebrate a holiday only one other person at the table knew existed before Monday.

And we enjoyed ourselves—really enjoyed ourselves! Myself probably most of all. There was no way this venture should have ended in anything but disaster. And yet, it did not. A Divine Hand has placed itself on the scales. All of existence tends, without explanation, towards an anthropic principle. I am grateful to God for His unmerited, unearned, undeserved gifts.

God has given us food to feed our bodies, but feasts to feed our souls:

You make the grass grow for the cattle and the plants to serve man’s needs,

that he may bring forth bread from the earth

and wine to cheer man’s heart;

Feasting is not about gluttony. It is not about self-indulgence. Though the word has become synonymous with excess, a feast is really about gratitude—”Thanksgiving”, if you will.

For everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected when received with thanksgiving, for it is made holy by the invocation of God in prayer…

A feast is nothing without people to enjoy it. So today, on this happy day, I am grateful for those with whom I share the feast of life, those I call friends—in Zambia, America, and all over the world. May God bless us and unite us one day at the eternal feast. Happy Thanksgiving.