Since we moved into the newly renovated farmhouse in late February, hardly a day has gone by that our dining room tables has not been filled. Guests from near and far, recovering addicts, interns learning agricultural skills, and of course, our family, fill the places around our table.
I’ll admit that I hadn’t really given much thought to the daily ritual of preparing, sharing, and cleaning up these farm family dinners. It was just part of the woodwork. It was just a part of the life we live here. But there are those to whom this familiar scene is anything but familiar.
Dale, a young man biking his way across America, arrived last week to spend a week or so at our farm as part of the WWOOFing program. He found our farm online and called to see if he could spend some time volunteering in exchange for food and a place to sleep. We welcomed him. After his second meal with us, he remarked to my dad, “You don’t know what you have here. There aren’t very many places anymore where people sit down together as a family and eat like this. This is really special.” He went on to describe how his family never had a collective mealtime, but where each individual would just get what they wanted, whenever they wanted, and ate it how and where they wanted. His comment got me to thinking. How many other people are missing the same kind of nutrition, intimacy, and fellowship that we share so freely each day around our table?
There is a lot more involved in the simple but profound act of gathering around a table for a meal than just the food. It is a statement about life, culture, and the things that we count as important. The same forces that push us to “just grab something at a drive through” are the same forces that are ripping our homes and marriages apart. People are more disconnected, more starved for intimacy than ever before. We don’t have time for the things that really matter.
A simple meal is a statement, but it brings up many more questions. Where did the food come from? Who grew it? What were the conditions for the workers, the animals? Were there harmful chemicals used? How was the food prepared and by whom? Who is here? Who will be eating with us? How are they to be welcomed? Is the meal warm and inviting? Is there music? Does it feel like home? Is it delicious? Is it nutritious? Is it balanced? Is the conversation around the table uplifting? Is it a friendly review of people, places, events and experiences – present and past? Until the last dish is washed and put away, does everyone enjoy the time? Does the work together find deeper meaning?
Each meal is a profound experience, a spoon-sized sample of that Great Feast, the marriage supper of the Lamb. It is a little taste of heaven on earth. The very way in which God made food so tasty, the way in which so much of our lives are dependent on others for food and so much of our lives are spent preparing and serving meals is a clue; there is more here than food. We live through the death of other living things. We are sustained at the expense of the time and life of others. Each meal is sacred. It is a glimpse of eternity. God Himself is present with us around our table.
The Gathering at Victory Acres 