Planksgiving

Percy, the silver-haired patriarch of the Davenport family, raised a glass and cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Good evening, loved ones. Before we partake of this Thanksgiving feast set before us, we will read from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 7, verses 4-5. Charlie, if you please.”

Charlie was the eldest of Percy’s three sons. He stood and read from the Davenport family Bible. “How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.” He sat down.

Again Percy addressed the eleven adult faces looking his way, plus the four smaller ones at the children’s table. “For those who are new to the family”— he nodded at Amy, recently married to his middle son, Trent— “and for those who are most certainly just visiting”— another nod, this one directed at his youngest daughter’s boyfriend, whom he did not like at all— “permit me to explain a Davenport family tradition. We call it Planksgiving. Every year, in the spirit of Jesus’ words in Matthew, also in Luke, we take time to … publicly purge, if you will, any judgmental thoughts or feelings we may have toward one another. You may speak your mind, but then you must forgive the one you are judging. First, however, as Jesus commands, there is to be no judging others before you have judged yourself. Only after taking the plank from your own eye may you point out the speck in the eye of someone else present today. Who would like to begin?”

“I’ll start,” said his eldest daughter, Julia. “In first judging myself, I confess to eating whatever I want from other people’s lunches in the communal fridge at work. It’s wrong and I ask God to help me stop. There, that’s my plank. Now, Aunt Carol, here’s your speck: You don’t know the difference between “lay” and “lie”. You say something like ‘I’m going to lay down for a nap.’ The correct grammar is "‘I’m going to lie down for a nap.’ I guess you were napping when proper English was being taught! I forgive you for being incompetent in your primary language.”

Aunt Carol’s smile quivered. “Thank you, dear.”

“I’ll go next,” said Trent. “My plank is that I don’t always put the supermarket shopping cart away when I’m done. Sometimes I just roll it into the adjacent parking space. It’s inconsiderate, I know. Forgive me, Lord. As for you, Derek,” he continued, addressing his younger brother, “the speck I want to remove is your habit of —”

“Finishing other people’s sentences?”

“Yes. It’s incredibly —”

“Rude?”

“Yes. But I —”

“Forgive you? Thanks, that means a lot.”

Trent crumpled the napkin on his lap.

“Oh, I see how this works,” said a delighted Amy, turning to her newlywed husband. “Okay, Trent, the plank in my eye is that, well, my eye wanders. I’m always checking out other men. I even have a little ol’ crush on your brother Derek. Please forgive me, God. That being said … the speck I want to remove in your eye, Trent darling, is that you’re so wasteful of water! You keep the tap running when you brush your teeth, like it’s no big deal! But I forgive you for being careless of our planet’s resources.”

“Um … what?” said Trent. “Can we go back to your plank? You’ve got a crush on —”

“Derek,” said Derek.

Amy looked at her father-in-law. “Percy, is my husband allowed to comment on my plank?”

“I’m afraid not. Trent has already had his turn to speak. He’ll have to wait until what will be an excruciatingly awkward drive home.”

Amy smiled and patted Trent on the shoulder.

“Well, we don’t want the food to get cold,” said Percy. “Perhaps one more?”

“My turn then,” said Eleanor, Percy’s wife. You could hear a pin drop. The matriarch had never once participated in Planksgiving. Nor had anyone ever had the temerity to point out a speck in her eye, let alone forgive her for it.

“For years now,” she began, “I have been resentful of the fact that each of my children, and their spouses or sweethearts, feels it’s perfectly acceptable to show up for the holiday without contributing so much as a basket of dinner rolls. I’ve felt utterly taken for granted as the one to provide every last item for your dining pleasure and to do all the cooking.”

No one broke the silence.

“My plank is that I have been harboring a deceitful heart. I have come to view you all as vultures. Takers. And so, as a measure of poetic justice, I haven’t served this family turkey for years.”

Everyone looked at the large roasted bird at the center of the table.

Julia stuttered, “D-Don’t tell me that’s a … a …”

“A vulture?” said Derek.

“My butcher knows someone who knows someone who catches one for me every year and fattens it up.”

Over at the children’s table, six-year old Ivy raised her hand. “Can I have chicken nuggets instead?”

An uncomfortable quiet enveloped the room once again. Appetites vanished. Yet more than that, remorse for selfish behavior stabbed every adult heart like a fork into stuffing.

“But I forgive you all,” Eleanor announced.

“For being … vultures?” said Charlie, reaching over and tenderly taking his mother’s hand.

“For being so gullible,” replied Eleanor. “Percy, say grace and then carve the turkey.”

There was a collective release of nervous laughter and relief.

After that, everyone in the Davenport family began, inch by inch, to show more grace to one another. In fact, the very next year Planksgiving came to an end, as no one cared to mention a single speck in another’s eye.

And never again did anyone show up empty-handed.