Someone asked, “Who died?” They asked the question with all seriousness and sincerity. They asked the question because someone brought a plate of deviled eggs to the fellowship hall. That almost never happens unless someone has died. The reason, by the way, that deviled eggs show up at our church at funeral time is that the kind ladies of our church prepare a meal for the family after a death. And thus, the question.
It was a good question. The answer to the question was “No one.” Someone, out of the goodness of their heart, brought a plate of deviled eggs to our Wednesday night supper. No one had died, though my Wednesday night Bible studies have sometimes been dry enough to threaten the death of the saints. By the way, if someone had died suddenly that Wednesday, then we would have been a step ahead because we already had the deviled eggs. Just throw in some fried chicken, a few veggies, and we would have been ready.
On that Wednesday night, when the deviled eggs showed up unexpectedly, I knew that I was special. Are there little things in your life from time to time that make you feel special? A note from a friend? A post on Facebook? How in the world would deviled eggs make me feel special? Is this some sort of church cult ritual involving chickens?
Actually, several years ago, after a death in the church, someone brought a plate of deviled eggs. I made it known then that I like deviled eggs, and so a tradition began. On those occasions during a funeral meal, the ladies hide a deviled egg or two for me in the kitchen. That is just in case the grieving family tries to eat their way out of sorrow by stuffing their faces with the deviled eggs before I can get through the serving line.
Do you have deviled eggs hidden away in a secret location for you? I told you I am special. Well, on that Wednesday night, when the deviled eggs showed up unannounced and not attached to grief, someone told me that the deviled eggs were already gone. Some hungry parishioners had beaten me through the line, and I was out of luck. Hanging my head in despair, I began to whine: “Poor me, the deviled eggs are gone.
Then much to my surprise, one of the ladies from the kitchen brought out a small plate with my very own deviled egg. It was like finding the golden egg at an Easter Egg Hunt. I was the only one that night who got a special delivery of a deviled egg. The only thing that would have made it better would have been if someone had stuck a candle in it.
We are all special in the eyes of God, deviled egg or not. The Bible affirms our value when it says that we are made in the “image of God” (Genesis 1:27).
I sat with a grieving family. I did not know the deceased well so I asked the family to tell me some things about her. I promise the first two words out of their mouths were “deviled eggs.” As it turned out, she loved to make deviled eggs and give them to her family. One of her many ways of showing love to her family was through cooking. Her stove and oven became drones that dropped love on their doorstep.
I think that she and I would have gotten along just fine. She loved to make deviled eggs, and I love to eat them.