Meal Sharers

A sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California.

In this morning’s reading from Luke’s Gospel, the disciples, upon seeing Jesus in his post-Resurrection state, truly don’t even know what to do with themselves. They’re still reeling from the traumatic events of the past few days. And now, Jesus has appeared to them, and they seem almost over-stimulated; joyful and disbelieving and afraid. I  imagine them all kind of mumbling – maybe laughing and maybe crying – probably both. I imagine it was chaotic and, well, awkward.

And finally Jesus is like, “um, you got anything to eat?”

Such a simple gesture. Such an effective gesture. It’s like calling the disciples home. “You see?” I imagine Jesus saying, “do you smell that delicious grilled fish? It’s really me. I’m really with you. Like I told you. Let’s eat. Let’s share a meal.”

Sharing food is holy on multiple levels. It brings us together. When we have friends over for dinner, or marvel at the abundance and skill of a church potluck; when we bring soup over to a sick loved one, or something easy on the stomach to a mourning friend; when we lose hours in laughter and chatter over dinner with those we hold close. Sharing in meals has a certain magic to it. Jesus knows this.

And for some of us, the sharing of meals meets a more urgent need. Jesus knows this too. For some, sharing food provides basic, desperately-needed nutrition. Ministries that feed — ministries like our own Vision – are holy in this double-purpose; providing spiritual and physical nourishment.

I suspect we have all had the experience of a particular disturbing image on the news burning into our hearts. For the past two weeks, the image burning through me is that of the charred and broken remains of a white van with the unmistakable colorful logo on the roof and in the windshield that reads: World Central Kitchen.

You may remember that our Shrove Tuesday pancake supper benefited this organization, that feeds people in war zones and disaster sights around the world. I’d so recently printed that logo for our table toppers and used it in invitations for that supper. The war in Gaza was already unspeakably terrible all those weeks ago. But somehow crossing this line — food sharers landing in the violent crosshairs of war – seared through my soul.

Seven World Central Kitchen aid workers were killed in that Israeli airstrike in Gaza. These were people taking no side in this war. Who would never touch a weapon. People whose mission was simple: Share. Meals. Their names were Saifeddin Issam Ayad Abutaha of Palestine, Lalzawmi (Zomi”) Frankcom of Australia, Damian Soból of Poland, Jacob Flickinger of the U.S. and Canada, and John Chapman, James (Jim) Henderson and James Kirby of the United Kingdom

I daresay there’s not a religion on this planet whose tenets would teach anything close to comfort with this outcome. And yet, this planet allows such a crime against the heart of what makes us human — the sharing of meals — to take place.

Jesus shared meals with his disciples, and with saints and with sinners; with those at the center of power and those marginalized by those centers of power. He shared meals in intimate gatherings, and with enormous crowds. He shared bread and wine and fish. He prepared them, and others prepared them for him. He broke barriers with this sharing. He helped those who ate with him let go of their spinning brains and, for a moment, see and feel and taste that we are all fundamentally human. That we all ultimately need the same things to live. We all need air. We all need water. We all need food. Wealth and power and privilege, and anger and prejudice and hate can make us live in our minds alone; forget that we are bodies. All of us: fragile and needy; one disaster away from being on the receiving end of a ladle of soup from an aid worker we’ve never met.

As World Central Kitchen founder José Andrés says, “Not only is a thoughtful, freshly prepared meal one less thing someone has to worry about in the wake of a disaster, it is a reminder that you are not alone, someone is thinking about you, and someone cares. Food has the power to be the nourishment and hope we need to pick ourselves back up in the darkest times.” Sharing meals. Spiritual and physical nourishment.

So what can I do with this? This image of a ministry of shared meals, and the people who shared them, violently ripped apart?

Andrés himself has some ideas. He says, “The U.S. needs to do more to stop the war,” He says. "The U.S. must do more to tell Prime Minister Netanyahu this war needs to end now.” If you Google “Episcopal Public Policy Network Action Alert” and click on the result, you will see a button to “Call for a Ceasefire Now.” There is a form to fill out that will allow you to quickly and easily contact your representatives as a person of faith. In addition to calling for a ceasefire, 40 members of the House of Representatives and a growing number of Senators are calling for the Secretary of State and the President to halt US weapons transfer to Israel. If you feel moved to do so, join them. Write. Call. Keep writing.

I want to say: I know this is awkward. This is hard for me to say and to preach. Because it feels like I’m sticking my nose in something that is not my business; certainly not the church’s business. But this is not about Israel. It is not about Palestine. And it is certainly not about Judaism. Or about Islam. Or Christianity.

This is about war. In particular, a war that is killing civilians of all ages at an alarming rate. A war that is killing the meal-sharers. A war that needs to stop. That’s not partisan. It is human.

But knowing we are very small voices in a very big war, and knowing we cannot stop wars overnight, what else can we do? Well, I think we can be meal-sharers. We can live in the way that Jesus of Nazareth and, later, the risen Christ demonstrated for us. And we can live holding close the memory of seven aid workers who died showing love in one of the most fundamental ways we know, and all those who have died of direct violence, of untreated illness, and, yes, of hunger in a conflict they did not sign up for.

We can make and prepare and deliver and share meals with our neighbors experiencing the disaster of homelessness – another tragedy, like war, this world simply allows. And we can make and prepare and deliver and share meals with those of us who are sick or sad or overwhelmed. And we can make and prepare and deliver and share meals with one another; and those closest to us. And, we can gather at that table behind me, week after week after week. And, like the disciples sharing that meal of grilled fish long ago, we can know that Jesus is with us in that meal. We can know that we are not alone. And, that there is another way and another promised world that is very close.

In this Easter season, we can remember that as Christians, impossible improbable hope in the face of the worst kind of death and disaster is our story. It’s what we do. In his Easter Vigil  sermon, Palestinian Christan the Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac preached: “The Resurrection gives us hope. Christianity is a faith that hopes. Hope is not a denial of reality. We are not blind to our reality, and we as Palestinians realize the corruption and evil of the world — probably more than anybody else. But we must refuse to let this be the last word. Christ is the Risen – this is the final word. Christ is Risen, and this changes everything.” .

And the risen Christ is here. Inviting us, as he always does, to share a meal.