My brother Jules is a chef in Philadelphia. Like most of my family he is an artist and his craft is food. He can turn the cacophony of a kitchen into a near-sacred space where brightly colored vegetables and dark sauces are transformed into the most delicious and delicate flavors. In this weekend’s Gospel I’m thinking about the chef as we see Jesus gathered around food.
If there was one place I could meet Jesus, it would be at the many dinner parties he seems to enjoy. If I could be at the Savior’s feet — I’m not going to lie, I don’t need to be there on that first Easter — I have no desire to see my Savior in the throes of a brutal death, the Transfiguration seems a little strange and though I love to fish, the Sea of Galilee is not where I would like to do it. If I could meet my Savior, I would want it to be at dinner. I love these dinner party scenes; it recalls the artistic salons of postwar France. I dig Jesus’ taste; nearly every weekend I host gatherings of couples and friends and eat too much and argue too much.
In my imagination they are beautiful scenes of community where, if you were to look across the room, you’d see the rich and powerful with the poor and illiterate, you’d see men and women, children and pets nearby. Italian-American families and Asian-American families know this all too well at their traditional Sunday dinners.
I often think we take the Gospel stories too seriously. I don’t think we should disrespect them, but I think we should remove the gravitas from them sometimes. I’m sure that the parables Jesus told at the dinner party were filled with the same hilarity of stories friends tell around our own dinner tables. Of course, there is meaning in his tale of where to sit at the wedding banquet, his larger point is about humility, but I think he is also making his guests laugh saying, “Don’t be that guy! Don’t be that guy at the wedding, that guy we all know at work or in traffic!” No dinner was as special and as needed as Jesus’ Last Supper, but I find it absolutely beautiful that our Savior chose the sacrifice of himself hidden in bread and wine on a table. The Eucharist is the meal of love. Bon appetite!
I’ll be seeing you,
Elliot