I enjoyed a bowl of clam chowder for lunch yesterday at Red Lobster. The Methodist Meal, a group of senior adults, meets there the first Thursday of the month. We used to gather at church for a potluck, but now we meet at a restaurant. The cheese biscuits and the conversation were plentiful.
On the theme of conversation, Pastor Mack notes his discomfort with small talk.
I’m reminded at how little patience I have for “small talk”. There are times, of course, when we all have to fill a void in a conversation with something akin to cotton candy – weather, sports, gossip, etc. – but perhaps this is symptomatic of something more sinister. That is, despite all our lip-service to being “real” nowadays, there is very little interest in or discussion of the truly real. God, the good life, truth, beauty – these things are left out of what passes for conversation.
We all could do better in talking with one another about God, truth, beauty, or what makes for a good life. Mack’s words sound like something John Wesley might have said — he didn’t approve of wasted time or wasted words. But I still think there is a place for small talk, and our Methodist Meal features a large helping of it. Small talk is safe talk. It doesn’t involve risk. It brings people together in friendship and affection, particularly if shared over a bowl of soup or a sandwich.
When Katherine Anne Porter was a little girl, her mother sent her out to the backyard and had her talk to a peach tree for 30 minutes at a time. Her task was to keep the flow of words coming, never too light or too deep. Her mother thought this would be a useful skill in later life. If only I had undergone this training too. I am an introvert. I will never have great social skills, but I have come to appreciate the art of small talk, or safe talk, and I have worked to improve. I do best at it among seniors.
The best comment yesterday was one I overheard: She said to me, “I know you’re supposed to teach your children to wash their hands after they go to the bathroom. But I just tell them, ‘Don’t pee on your hands.’” Wish I had caught the context for this one! It’s a good insight, one you’re not likely to hear at a theology seminar.
“Don’t pee on your hands.” That is as sound as life advice gets. I suppose part of my dislike for small talk is generation. Many of my peers can wax poetic about who they like and dislike on Jersey Shore or The Hills, and yet they can’t tell us the first thing about Scripture. On a recent Sunday morning, for instance, I asked the congregation, “Who was the first King of Israel?” Crickets.
Of course, that wouldn’t happen in a baptist church!
Thanks for your kind response, as always, Chris. Hope all is well your way brother.
Thanks, Mack. Hope all is well with you too.
“Don’t Pee On Your Hands” — sounds like a chapter that was left out of “All I Ever Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten!” That would have made a great book even greater!