A Table for Saint Joseph

I first experienced a St. Joseph Table as a young bride in March of 1956. One of our cousins, Rosie Tilotta, was offering this Table to petition Saint Joseph’s intercession in the healing of her seventeen-year-old son of Leukemia. Rosie felt so helpless in controlling what was happening to her beloved child. This Table enabled her to do something for him. The son, Vincent, later died of this dreaded disease. It was so heartbreaking, but I truly believe his mother derived some semblance of peace and acceptance of God’s Will knowing she had done all that she could for Vincent by her prayers and by offering this Table in her home. Hosting a Table takes love, time, dedication and a great deal of work. It’s a united effort of family and friends to make it all come together successfully.

On the day of Rosie’s Table, I recall entering her modest home and delighting in the sights, aromas and sounds surrounding me. In spite of the underlying sadness, there seemed to me to be a sense of joy and expectation in the camaraderie and busyness taking place. The living room’s focal point displayed a three-tiered Altar, complete with white altar cloths. It was a thing of beauty; unlike anything I had ever seen. Every available space on each tier held something significant for this occasion. The focal point, a statue of St. Joseph holding Baby Jesus in the center of the top tier, caught my eye. Pies and cakes and cookies with their wonderful aromas tantalized my senses. China plates filled with fried mustard, collard, turnip and other greens made my mouth water in anticipation. Large sculptures made of dough and filled with a fig filling, adorned the Altar. I would later learn the significance of these religious symbols.

The Altar offered fresh fruits and vegetables of all varieties along with vases of fresh flowers. Everything looked so colorful and vibrant and appealing to the eye. Huge loaves of shiny, brown, braided bread stood up against the back of the tiers. I felt a part of something very special and unique. I heard that the priest had already been there to bless the Altar and all the food.

A small bowl of dried beans, unfamiliar to me, displayed a sign to “take one”. Aunt Angeline, our “Aunt Glean”, encouraged me to take one and keep it in my purse. She said it was a fava bean and considered to be lucky. That if I would always carry one as she did—and she showed me hers—I would never be broke! Well, everyone knew our sweet Aunt Glean always had money, so I took one. I reasoned; it couldn’t hurt. Young children, mostly relatives, chosen to be the “saints”, were seated at a special table. Once the food had been blessed, they would be served first—a small portion of everything on the Altar, in addition to pasta and sauce, bread and dessert.

The women who had spent weeks preparing for this feast day had prepared huge pots of spaghetti sauce seasoned to perfection. And the men were cooking pasta over an open fire in the backyard in an enormous pot—big enough to feed an army. They would be cooking fresh pasta throughout the day. People would come and go all day to celebrate this special saint’s day, partaking of the delicious food while sharing their stories and news with one another. People of all cultures and all backgrounds have a common thread—that of sharing their joys and sorrows while sharing a meal together. Food is the cement that bonds us together with our faith, family and friendships. That special day at Rosie’s Altar, I allowed all the beauty, reverence, congeniality, flavors, and LOVE surround me and fill me up. I vowed I would learn all I could about this special day and perhaps someday write about it. Now, by the grace of God, my dream has come true.