Episcopal Church Foundation Vestry Papers - for leading congregations

After the turkey tryptophan has wound its way through our system and we’re bright-eyed again, my mom re-sets the table. We’re not allowed into the kitchen while she works, so we wait.

When she finally calls us in, the table has been transformed into a landscape of upturned, off-white Tupperware bowls, baseball cup giveaways and dish towels. Underneath are the bingo prizes.

This has been a family tradition for as long as I can remember, with the inner 8-year-old of my dad racing us for prizes, my sisters and I teasing him and each other. My mom is at the helm, in charge of all things bingo, including the top job of winding the crank so the wooden numbers pop in the metal cage and roll out one by one.

My son and his friend pulled out the bingo game a few nights ago, and I felt the mantle of captain being passed from mother to daughter. I’ll call the numbers, I told them. Don’t touch. 

Deflated, they begged. We’ll be careful. We won’t lose any. Please let us be the callers too. 

And I vacillated, torn between the way we’ve always done it and sharing the spotlight with these eager 7-year-olds. In the end, common sense won, and the kids shined as they took their turns calling out the number and rattling the bingo cage. 

I think about the traditions in our church. We have the kitchen ladies who rule the cupboards with an iron fist. What started as a way to keep order morphed into a way to maintain control. I’ve heard tale of newcomers being chastised: That is not where we keep the dish towels. I know the same is true with our altar guilds and the greening of the church leaders. There are the ways we’ve always done it. Period. 

I’m a big fan of traditions. And even though we won’t be with my mom this Thanksgiving, we’ll play bingo. I already have the dollar-store prizes. But this year, we’ll re-shape the tradition a bit, for this new time and place. And everybody will get a turn as bingo chief. 

B-4. I-19. Bingo.