I’m still struck by a story Mark
Green, author of Fruitful on the
Frontlines, telling of a minister, known as one of the foremost Christian
clergymen of the twentieth century, who made quite an impression upon hosting
dinner, one evening. Interestingly, the
invited guests were all of quit different faith traditions and persuasions. When
they guest left the table; the memory lingered for decades. But what is so
powerful for me is that the host, not once, ever made any striking attempts to
convert his invited quests or even presented with winsome argument for the
Christian faith. Green says they remembered this: “He carved the meat with such dignity.”
I ruminate for a few moments and think I could write a great deal about
this observation. I’m sure I can express
much about a theology that can shape dinner parties, consumption, even the way
one carves meat. I think maybe this is particularly true for a culture where
the disconnect between farm and freezer is often so great that I asked the
fella at Burger King the other day: “are the nuggets made solely from chicken or have they other ingredients.” His response was, "I haven't the slightest idea, sir." I have a good belly laugh recalling another friend
telling the story of his wife, for old times sake, served a stuffed roasted chicken for Sunday
dinner as a special treat for their son's birthday. His young grandson, far more accustomed to seeing
chicken in less-identifiable “nuggets” or packaging, stared with fixation at
the chicken on the table, slowly coming to recognize its form—body, wing,
legs—when suddenly he yelped a cry of utter disgust. “It’s a bird!” He
screamed. “Gross!” His parents were
red-faced.
My own disconnect with food and faith is not always been so far off, as
I discovered when I read Robert Farar
Capon’s: Supper of the Lamb. In it I was instructed to take a moment to
connect with an onion. He said: “Seated before your onion (resisting the
temptation to feel silly), you will note to begin with,” he writes, “that the onion is a thing, a being,
just as you are… Together with knife, board, table, and chair, you are the
constituents of a place in the highest sense of the word. This is a Session, a
meeting, a society of things.” Step by step Capon
then led me through the process of examining this confrontation, examining
self and onion as fellow living things. At one point, reducing a piece of the
onion to cell and skin by simply pressing the water out of it, he reflects on
this “aqueous (new word) house of cards” with
storied depth: “You have just now reduced
it to its parts, shivered it into echoes, and pressed it to a memory, but you
have also caught the hint that a thing is more than the sum of all the
insubstantialities (new word) that comprise it. Hopefully, you will never again argue that
the solidities of the world are mere matters of accident, creatures of air and
darkness, temporary and meaningless shapes out of nothing.”
I would like to not be thought of as a believer of global warming, yet
somewhat of an environmentalist, being defiantly full of admiration for trees but
not a hugger. I do think there is something
to the argument that there is something dignified about this world of living
things, about all the solidities (new use of word) around me, about dining,
eating, or just snacking with others who share my mean estate. I’ve thought it
somewhat sensible for the Kelcher boys
of the History channel series of The Alaskans to thank the animal they have
just killed for giving it’s life in order that they supply meat for their
family. On the other hand, as a
follower of Christ, I believe that all of this dignity is understood as rising from the
graciousness of God, not the animal, as creator and provider, and thus
accordingly, the goodness of every living thing and creature God has made.
This, I am rolling over in my mind and am ready to argue, is the same worldview
that was reflected in the way the thankful theologian served dinner all those
years ago. In fact, I read that fifteen years after dining with his guests, the
man had occasion to hear about the mark he had made. His response to his
impression of dignified meat carving was not one of surprise, but doxology, in
other words, a praise to God: “Well, the
animal gave its life for me!”
Nonetheless, I’m thinking, his carving, like the remembrance of Christ
in the breaking of bread, was noteworthy to his guests not because it was a
covert attempt at Christian symbolism, a religious act meant to persuade in
abstraction. It was noteworthy because it was as real as the meal before them. Isn’t
this precisely the sort of kingdom into which Jesus invites me: Not a kingdom
of alterative motives but a kingdom of solidities, a kingdom of dignity and
sacrifice, a kingdom ready to house God’s creatures. I find invigoration in the closing of Capon’s section on thing and creature: “One real thing is closer to God than all
the diagrams in the world.”
Father, Sovereign God, thank You for allowing me to find that the simplest
acts and things in life can bring dignity to Your name. I pray that I might be
more open to the fact that just gathering with friends brings with it the love
of the Trinity. A taste of Christ as the Creator in a bagel with a friend just as
breaking the bread of Communion with fellow believers. That You for allowing my insight into Jesus’
teaching that Your kingdom is not in words, but in power. Thank You that Your
table and invitation to join You in a real meal is a solid offering of promise where
the old pass away and the new springs forth every day with a solid offering of
promise. Amen
