So, the Catos and I have an unspoken, unremarked tradition. I don't even know that any of us have thought about it until now. Monday (or sometimes Tuesday) is family dinner down here at my place. Thursday (or sometimes Friday) is family dinner up at their place. Nothing fancy, just dinner, some streaming of something, and some time with each other and the dogs.
I've noticed that whenever they come down, the first thing out of each of their mouths is, “Oh, man, it smells so good!” And then we make our way to the stove, lift the lids, and sniff, and if a spoon is handy, taste. Now, when I go to Hamilton, I do even more than that. I go in to the kitchen, open the fridge, and open a container of their leftovers to see what it is. I don't ask, I just taste. And it feels so natural that I don't think we realize just how natural it actually is.
Food keeps us alive. But more than that, food is what makes us alive. Or rather, meals are what make life worth living. I mean, admit it. When you get together with friends and family, how often does food come up? Not a “My body needs a few hundred more calories today, and I'll be good.” But “Do you remember that fried chicken at Bea's? That's all I get when I go” Or “That chili smells so good it reminds me of that time in Mexico when we got those tamales on the roadside, and you thought you were supposed to eat the husks.”
Food. Meals. And in Luke's church today – Jesus.
The eleven are huddled together in that room. This has been a horrible experience. Their master brutally executed. Rumors flying among his followers that he has actually done the impossible and risen from the dead. Or body snatchers have been at work. Either way, this could spell trouble if they are discovered. At the least they'll be taken in for questioning, and Romans question with the point of a sword. They are scared, really scared.
And Jesus appears. I had a seminary professor who used to call this the “Poof! Jesus!” moment. And that may have been just how it happened, because the first thing Luke wants us to know about them is that they literally looked like they'd seen a ghost.
And Jesus, sussing out the situation, says “Shalom,” which is sort of a cross between “Peace” and “Hey.” It’s both a meaningful greeting and a casual, everyday one. And poor things – even this is terrifying. Their dead master is here in front of them – and acting as though nothing weird has happened.
Maybe we can see the scene that Luke has set for us. These scared followers are somehow and at the same time both trying to move away and crowd closer in equal measure, like a little kid easing to the edge of the pool for the first time. And Jesus smells the food and looks over their shoulders at the fireplace. Finally, in the midst of reassuring them, he can’t wait any longer: “Uh. Do I smell fish?” Someone catches on to his hunger and goes to get him a plate, and they watch him chew and swallow. And they know that Jesus is real, really here, really really resurrected.
Let's face it. They were human. Jesus’ reappearance defied all conventions of humanity and mortality as they knew it, and as we still know it today. They had watched him be crucified. They had witnessed his death. And in this moment, Jesus was not just reappearing to them as a ghost, but as a person in the flesh. He showed them his body, complete with the holes from the crucifixion that they had all seen with their own eyes. The fear, confusion, and doubt that overcame them was completely understandable.
And Jesus sat with them in that place. He let them give voice to their doubt, their confusion, and their fear. He never ridiculed them for being afraid; he never rebuked them.
But, and here's the gist of the story, he doesn't let his followers get all eat up by that fear.
Jesus does what Jesus seems to do best in Luke's gospel – he shares a meal with them. And he's not just doing it because after three days in a tomb a fella can work up an appetite. And he's not just doing it to prove he's really real and not some haint. Jesus is doing this because he's showing them that their faith, whatever that ends up becoming, cannot – cannot be the faith of isolation. Jesus, in sharing a meal, his first act after all that activity that morning at the tomb, is calling his followers back into community.
Just like when he blesses bread, breaks it, and shares it, Jesus reappears, blesses his disciples, and then breaks them open to this life-changing experience of being in the presence of the resurrected Christ. And then he sends them on their way to proclaim a simple message.
Starting on Pentecost (May 23rd), with any luck, we will reenter our churches, and we will share communion together, many of us for the first time in well over a year. Now, I know, in some ways it's hard to call a single wafer a meal. In fact, I did my research and one communion wafer is 0.88 calories. But of course that misses the point. The point is that the doing of church, whether in our buildings or on Zoom, that's just the beginning of the what we have here in Luke's gospel. Yes, we need this spiritual nutrition of sharing and praying and worshipping, but we need it so that we can truly live. And truly leave.
Because the leaving the building and going into the world, that's where our meals are shared. Encountering others and sharing with them what you have, what sustains you, what keeps you alive. Proclaiming the same message Jesus gave his followers way back when.
Not a message of power and influence. Not a message of righteous indignation toward those who got him all wrong and to those of us who still do. Not a message of punishment and revenge. No, the only thing Jesus asks of his followers on that night, in that place, is to stop hiding and go out there. And to offer God's forgiveness and grace, building a community of believers who follow the way of the Spirit, not the way of the world.
A message of love, as sustaining in its way as any meal we will ever remember and recount to our friends. It is a message of grace, as fulfilling as any banquet the finest chef can prepare. It is a message of peace, as appetizing as any grandma's home cooking. The message of Christ, this Gospel, our mission, is the stuff of life worth living.
With fewer calories.