Around the Yule table, our family celebrates its diversity.
It started 25 years ago, at a wedding attended by 400 farmers, ranchers and city folk all coming together to watch a Mennonite and an Eastern Orthodox, my wife and I, join two Colorado immigrant streams.
During the three days of ceremonies in that little country church, there were more than a few bets this one wasn’t going to work out. But those vows stuck, and the diversity that seemed so straining now binds in loving ways.
It’s not such a strange story after all; It’s about people bound together by common ties, like the sweet smell of fresh- baked bread and homemade soup for any stranger at the door; a familiar smile and an old joke to share; and a steaming cup of coffee in a chipped white porcelain mug. It’s about traditions of hospitality and hope and simple pleasures money won’t buy.
It’s a story your family could probably tell just as well.
Our annual season of sharing in late December includes traditions passed down from four countries across the sea, from three religious heritages and birthed on two continents. We celebrate by honoring our wandering ancestors across two centuries.
She was from a family of farmers from Czechoslovakia, forced out of their homeland by poverty and oppression. They traveled Eastern Europe, finally sailing to America, living first as coal miners and then moving to Colorado to farm and ranch the Eastern Plains. I was from another immigrant band, by way of the Netherlands and Germany, always on the move, searching for freedom of religion until they finally were forced from Russia to the New World. At times, our families were so poor the only thing to keep them warm was faith in something better. So, once a year on Dec. 25, we take time to pause, give thanks for a hope and a light in the world to carry into the New Year.
Our two families’ shared experience of the Christmas season comes together around a well-worn oak table, carried by train across the continent, marked in pencil “Janzen Furniture 1886” on the underside. Now this isn’t your typical majestic antique oak table. One leg is bent with age, and the two leaves are held together with rusted drop-leaf hinges that creak with the touch of an errant elbow. There are scratches deep within the wood and the finish is scuffed by uncounted platters.
But around this table have been shared the secrets of good souls long departed. That’s what makes it special. Here, the simple Christmas peffer nus, the Russian baked peppermint flour bits, were shared by generations on my parents’ side. And here, the simple Christmas Eve dinner of Slovak red beans and boiled bread with poppy seed served by generations on my wife’s side were shared as well.
Why does this humble Yule table have the place of honor in our home? The long-dead voices of those once gathered at this table speak of a simple faith, that the good Lord will be present and the harvests will be bountiful.
And the Yule table reminds that giving, even when there is little bounty, is commanded, especially to those less fortunate or to those who may knock uninvited on the evening door. That old beat-up table reminds that gentle kindness to others, a bit of reflection and gratefulness for a shared meal and another day’s sunset are blessings.
The tinsel, store-bought gifts and glitter come and go. Years ebb and flow.
But the simple act of serving a meal, welcoming friends and strangers around a warm meal, soft words of encouragement and hope shared in conversation make the Yule table ever new.
Paul Johnson is a consultant on organizational change and a Post Colorado Voices columnist
