Well, friends, it’s that time of year again when the smell of charcoal, sunscreen, and slightly overripe watermelon fills the air. Yes, it’s the Annual Church BBQ, and let me tell you, the anticipation in the congregation is palpable. Even Mr. and Mrs. Lovebird are a-twitter about something other than their upcoming nuptials. After weeks of meticulous planning and countless group texts, the event has finally arrived. And oh, it is a sight to behold!
The church BBQ grill has been lovingly scrubbed with more elbow grease than a green ’69 GTO at a car show. It’s squeaky clean and ready to go. I mean, you could perform minor surgery on that grill if needed.
An invitation slipped out on Facebook, so there may be a need to return to Walmart for more food. HHH will be making his famous shrimp macaroni salad, and I’m making sugar-free ice cream from scratch.
Speaking of the kids, our littlest saints will be there in full, sugar-fueled force. The slip and slide will be deployed on the HHHHHH Lawn (HHHHHH = Hands of Humble Horticulturist, Hubba-Hubba-Hubby), which was sprouted, and maintained with tender care since March. He still twitches when people walk across the new spots.
Of course, there will be watermelon and macaroni salad. But the real star of the show will be the homemade ice cream. Hand-churned by a church brother who insists on using “the old-fashioned way”, we’ll be roping unsuspecting teens to turn the crank. But let’s be honest, it’ll be worth it. That Cookie and Cream recipe? Divine intervention in dessert form.
The burgers and hot dogs will flip faster than Bible pages during a particularly fiery sermon. Smoke will waft across the lawn like incense on Christmas Eve, except instead of frankincense, it will be mesquite with a dash of hickory.
But perhaps the most unexpected (and highly entertaining) twist this year? Watching the Burning Man pilgrims drive up Main Street towards the Walmart.
We live in that magical town located squarely between “middle of nowhere” and “gateway to the Playa.” Once a year, our little slice of wholesome Americana becomes a pit stop for 80,000 tie-dye tanks, LED hula hoops, and RVs held together with duct tape, glitter, and sheer will. As it’s always been, the townspeople welcome them with open arms.
Not sure if any will drop by our BBQ, but if they do, they’ll have a great time with the rest of us. It turns out the Kingdom of Heaven is big enough for everyone, whether you’re in church clothes or a feather boa. Besides, Jesus did say, “Feed the hungry” and who are we to argue with divine BBQ logic?
As the sun dips below the horizon and the last scoop of ice cream is scooped, we’ll all sit back, full and a little sunburned, watching kids play in the water while adults swap stories. For a split second, we’ll forget how fast the summer is slipping away.
We’ll come together as believers, burners, barefoot toddlers, and one burger-flipping pastor, to celebrate community, faith, and the sacred art of not overcooking a hot dog.
Until next year, Church BBQ, you’ll bless us once again.
Have a wonderful weekend. Amen — and pass the mustard.
