“The Way to (the Son of Man’s) Heart is Through the Stomach”
Preached Sunday, April 23, 2022
Do you have a favorite memory around the table?
As I pondered this question for myself, I had a flood of memories come back to me: childhood birthday dinners where we went out to eat; family style meals around the dining hall tables at Camp Asbury; dates with Zach where the conversation blurred out everything else; dinners with my host family when I studied abroad and I wouldn’t ask what anything was until I tried it; a mission trip as a youth where we ate at the homeless shelter in D.C.; friendsgivings - both with the youth here at church and with my own friend group. Ones that especially stuck out with me was the waffle night dinners I would host while in Divinity School, or the simple Easter dinners I hosted during those years - chosen family gathered around the table, inviting each other to pull up a chair to the table, making do with the little funds and little food we had, and finding love and belonging together at the table.
Why are these memories around the table important? Beyond the food eaten, beyond the occasion…for me, the meaning of these memories goes to the company around the table and the deep sense of “belonging” that we made together through the hospitality of sharing meals. As if when we said, “Come and eat, pull up a chair” we were really saying, “There is room for me and you at this table - room for all of me and room for all of you.”
In her book “Bread & Wine: a Love Letter to Life Around the Table,” author Shauna Niequist says, “The heart of hospitality is about creating space for someone to feel seen and heard and loved. It's about declaring your table a safe zone, a place of warmth and nourishment.”
And so I will ask again, do you have a favorite memory around the table? Specifically one where you felt a deep sense of hospitality and belonging? Anyone want to share? If you can, summarize in a couple sentences.
(Sharing)
In the Christian Church, our worship is centered around the theology of a meal, a table, an altar table, where all who are seeking belong. And all are invited to come and find that belonging in the breaking of the bread, the sharing of the cup, and in the presence of our Risen Lord. This is especially true in the United Methodist Church where we practice and Open Table where all are invited, no exceptions and no barriers between you and this table. We’re not celebrating Holy Communion today, a fact that likely would make John Wesley who talked about “the duty of constant communion” roll over in his grave - but whether we celebrate the sacrament or not - the theology of the table, of the Open Table, shapes all we do together in this space.
And - Christ is found at more tables than just those in spaces of worship, engraved with “do this in remembrance of me.” He is found in more bread broken than just the bread we bless, break, and share. Christ is found at any table where bread is broken and room is made, chairs are drawn up, where people belong. Where in the sharing of food together and the fellowship, we see the Divine that is within all of us.
In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus has a reputation as a bit of a partier - a drunkard and a glutton. More than any of the other Gospels, Luke portrays Jesus at a party, eating, drinking - at least 10 times in the Gospel of Luke. And in Luke, Chapter 7, verse 34, we get this great line of Scripture: “the Son of Man has come eating and drinking, and you say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’”
Jesus was a guy who knew how to have a good time - and he shared his table with those who needed a seat at the table. With those who needed a sense of Belonging - who needed to see the Divine at the table with them.
Niequist says this in “Bread & Wine”: “We don't come to the table to fight or to defend. We don't come to prove or to conquer, to draw lines in the sand or to stir up trouble. We come to the table because our hunger brings us there. We come with a need, with fragility, with an admission of our humanity. The table is the great equalizer, the level playing field many of us have been looking everywhere for. The table is the place where the doing stops, the trying stops, the masks are removed, and we allow ourselves to be nourished, like children. We allow someone else to meet our need. In a world that prides people on not having needs, on going longer and faster, on going without, on powering through, the table is a place of safety and rest and humanity, where we are allowed to be as fragile as we feel.”
Jesus used the dinner table as a great equalizer - where he allowed tax collectors, prostitutes, outcasts, sinners - to come not as their labels, but to come as people who needed to be fed, people who needed love as much as they needed bread.
With all this in mind, let’s finally turn today’s Gospel reading, one of my favorites, the road to Emmaus. In today’s Gospel lesson, it is Easter day and the resurrected Jesus is walking with some disciples who don’t recognize him. And what strikes me is these disciples, they don’t see Jesus for who he is, the Christ, in his presence with them. They don’t see him in the quoting and teaching of Scripture. They don’t see him in the ways we’d expect them to see him. They finally see the Divine that was there all along, by pulling up chairs to the table, offering hospitality to a stranger turned friend, and breaking bread together. It is only then that they see Jesus for who he is, Christ. Their resurrected Lord. Their friend who they shared dinner parties with many times.
So what practical implications does this have for us? How do we live out this table theology in our everyday lives?
In the book “Bread & Wine” that I’ve been quoting, Niequist offers this:
“When you eat, I want you to think of God, of the holiness of hands that feed us, of the provision we are given every time we eat. When you eat bread and you drink wine, I want you to think about the body and the blood every time, not just when the bread and wine show up in church, but when they show up anywhere— on a picnic table or a hardwood floor or a beach.”
Let’s move our theology and worship practices from this table to all of our tables. To consider how we can open the eyes of our hearts to look for Jesus in the people across from us every time we eat. And, when we get good at that with family and friends and loved ones - it’s then we focus on putting more seats at the table. Saying “Hey, pull up a chair.” When we’re really saying, “You belong here. Let’s find God in each other at this table.” Let us create room for all who need a seat at the table - literal and metaphorical tables. Create room for all who need a glimpse of the Divine - the divine in themselves, the Divine in others, and the Divine who is revealed in the breaking of the bread.
May all of our tables be so blessed.
“When you eat, I want you to think of God, of the holiness of hands that feed us, of the provision we are given every time we eat. When you eat bread and you drink wine, I want you to think about the body and the blood every time, not just when the bread and wine show up in church, but when they show up anywhere— on a picnic table or a hardwood floor or a beach.”
Let’s move our theology and worship practices from this table to all of our tables. To consider how we can open the eyes of our hearts to look for Jesus in the people across from us every time we eat. And, when we get good at that with family and friends and loved ones - it’s then we focus on putting more seats at the table. Saying “Hey, pull up a chair.” When we’re really saying, “You belong here. Let’s find God in each other at this table.” Let us create room for all who need a seat at the table - literal and metaphorical tables. Create room for all who need a glimpse of the Divine - the divine in themselves, the Divine in others, and the Divine who is revealed in the breaking of the bread.
May all of our tables be so blessed.
