Southern Knights

Quick, what’s the first thing that pops into your mind when I say the word “knight”? Lancelot? His son Sir Galahad, or one of the others Knights of the Round Table? Maybe William Wallace if you have seen Braveheart.

Chances are you only picture a man when you think of the knights of old. Maybe that was true in Camelot, but not here in the South. Our knights tend to be female. Grandmothers, aunts, mothers, these are our nobles, our trustworthy and brave warriors who are willing to fight for us or feed us with equal fervency.

In my heritage, it is women who are the keepers of wisdom and virtue, and secret recipes that are only passed down to those whom they deem worthy. They don’t gather around a round table, but picnic tables, kitchen counters, coffee tables, gazebos, patio furniture, and swimming pools. They convene informal conclaves to discuss hairstyles, cleaning products, high school crushes and bible verses. They dispense wisdom about relationships, dealing with PTA divas, removing pesky stains and good-for-nothing men. I use the moniker of knights -- which I will explain shortly-- but you are likely more familiar with Robert Harling's depiction of them as Steel Magnolias in his homage to the strong Southern women who shaped him.

The passing of John Prine last week led me into a deep dive of his musical catalog, where I found myself soggy-eyed as I listened to him sing the line, “when I get to heaven…I wanna see all my mama's sisters, 'cause that's where all the love starts, I miss 'em all like crazy, bless their little hearts.” I'm grateful that all my mama's sisters are doing well, but I also know that time waits for no man, or woman. I grew up playing with G.I. Joes in kitchen floors near groups of women like this. Their wit and wisdom wove itself into my DNA without me even realizing it was happening. To this very day, their words will make an unexpected appearance on the tip of my tongue in a moment when they are needed the most. They could mix a bowl of potato salad, while simultaneously carrying on a conversation and fixing one of my broken toys, moving with an effortless grace more elegant than any knight dodging a joust. I can’t help but smile and think of them every time I hear the quote, “Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in high heels.”

I not only grew up around women like this, I continue to be surrounded with a great many of them in my life, like an order of knights sworn to protect the virtues of all that is sacred in our culture. When you get a group of Southern women together in the same room, phrases like, “What can I do?” and “Do you need me to stir the beans?” fill the air with a melody like so many hymns. These are women who don’t just wear their heritage like a badge of honor, but embody it as if it were an ancient religion — washing dishes as an oblation and packing up leftovers like they were sacraments. Even the dishes themselves take on an air of holy relics as they speak of their “granny’s cast iron skillet” or “mamma’s butter dish.” This isn’t just cookware, they are sacred instruments used to summon ancient spirits of love and wisdom and strength — memories of strong women who could run a household, nurse children, ring a chicken’s neck, strip tobacco, and influence the decision making of the men in their lives at a time when society denied them any semblance of a voice.

Is this not what the knights did? Knights were the defenders and protectors of the kingdom, carrying out the will of their king, and these Southern knights do the same today for the people in their lives. Like their ancient predecessors, these women are well armored because they have to be. Their skin is thick but their hearts are as soft as a nannie’s lap. When they stand up for what or who they believe in they often get stung with words labeling them “bossy” or “assertive” or worse. Their crusades are seldom bloody, but they are nonetheless just as brutal. Today they fight for their sisters to be heard when they come forward with stories of abuse at the hands of men. Some of them have to fight to be taken seriously, or for their marriages, their children, to make ends meet, and for anything else they love.

This is nothing new. Throughout most of history, women have had to put on their armor each morning, slay dragons all day, and whip up a delicious dragon dinner recipe in the process. If you can’t find one in your recipe books just know it likely involves being deep fried and smothered in sawmill gravy. Most of the ministry of Jesus was funded by women. When the apostles abandoned the Lord, it was the women who remained near the cross. On the morning Jesus rose from the grave, it was the women who arrived at the tomb to prepare His body for burial and then told the apostles "He is risen." The apostles were in hiding, and to add insult to injury, they didn't believe the women when they told them the good news.

Although the time of the knights has largely come and gone, even today, when a man is honored by the English crown we say he is “knighted.” When we think of those knights today we still tend to picture men and soldiers, but the word actually comes from an Old English word for “servant.” I can think of no better description for the women who have populated my life, and can imagine no greater reward and honor for them than to be “knighted” by their King. “Jesus called them to him and said to them, ‘You know that those who are considered rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many’....where I am, there will my servant be also. If anyone serves me, the Father will honor them” (Mark 10:42-45; John 12:26).