Eating and Loving

Yesterday’s Sunday School lesson and sermon were about daily bread. Which is appropriate because the biblical narrative is all about FOOD, of course. Do you doubt? Consider:

    When God first creates people, he gives them two things: work to do and food to eat.

    How did the fall happen? Eve wanted fruit that God forbade.

    Jesus’ first temptation? To turn stones into bread.

    One of Jesus’ metaphors for himself: the Bread of Life.

    The Lord’s Prayer tells us to ask God for . . . our daily bread. (Definitely a carb theme happening here.)

    How do we remember Jesus? Through Communion – eating bread and drinking wine. (Carbs and alcohol . . .)

    And how is this all supposed to end? What comes at the end of time? The marriage supper of the Lamb.

The biblical evidence is clear, people. Eating is HOLY. Let’s make it a spiritual discipline. It’s the pathway to God, for cryin’ out loud.

But it’s the pathway to others, too. Mealtimes have a profound social significance in our culture (probably in every culture). All the important holidays, it seems, involve food. Whenever we get together with family or friends, we share a meal. We support those in our circles who are suffering loss or trials by bringing them dinner. The typical first date takes place where? At a restaurant, of course.

And again, it's not like it was humanity's bright idea to put food on such a pedestal. In the book of Revelation, Jesus told the Laodicean church that if they would open their door to him, they would all “sup” together. I’ll come in, and we’ll do brunch. Sharing a meal is the metaphor that Jesus himself uses for intimacy. I don't know about you, but I find that intriguing.

Maybe because I have a rather unhealthy relationship with food. I don’t eat because I’m hungry – at least not solely because I’m hungry. I eat because I’m bored. I eat because I’m sad or lonely or tired or nervous or sick or who knows what. God was so gracious to make the intake of the food we need for survival a very pleasurable experience for the most part. And yet, I abuse this.

We abuse intimacy, too. All of us do at some level, I suspect. We use others and are used. We get burnt and burn one another – over and over and over. So, we put our wounded souls behind walls to protect them. Or we defend them by going on the offensive and damaging other potentially dangerous souls first. Or we hobble along with our scars and bruises, desperately looking for that one special person who’s going to make us all better. We humans just can’t figure out this love thing any more than we can figure out how to not eat ourselves into infirmity.

In his book How We Love Matters, Albert Tate makes this statement which hit my heart hard:

“Love shouldn’t be cheap. If you can love someone and you haven’t made any adjustments, you haven’t had to shift your capacity or make room, you haven’t had to empathize, and it hasn’t cost you anything, then I would argue the quality of the love itself.”

If it’s easy, then it’s probably not really love. Love was Jesus’ greatest command, and real love requires some emotional connection and sacrifice and risk. Intimacy is costly. But it’s worth the cost. Eating is not optional for healthy human existence, and neither is loving -- so it behooves us to learn how to do both of them right. 

Y'all, I’ve got a tiny little table and a tiny little kitchen in my tiny little house. Plus, I’m an introvert and I’m no fabulous cook and spontaneity isn't exactly my friend . . . but if you want to stop by and share a meal at that table with me, you’re welcome.  We need to share food and we need to share ourselves. Let’s make it happen.