This is a meditation which centres on food. It owes more to Martha than to Mary, as I’m writing it in the throes of preparing lunch for friends. And these are not just any friends; the husband used to be a professional chef, and is a very good and imaginative cook indeed. I’m perfectly sure that he’ll eat whatever I set before him and be positive about it, but all the same, I want to get things right.
And this isn’t just because I want to try to impress him. I really want both of them to enjoy the meal, and to be able to sit there and eat it with them and relax while we talk over the food. Eating together is such an important thing; it draws us together and cements friendships, lays down memories of good times together and promises more good times to come. Eating with other people is powerful and significant.
The disciples must have spent so much of their lives with Jesus eating with him, feasting with him at the wedding with Cana, sharing whatever they could find while tramping along dusty roads from one town to another, gazing with astonishment at the never-ending supply of loaves and fishes by the lakeshore. This Sunday’s Gospel gives us an unexpected insight into the bonds that held them together.
There they are, not quite daring to believe that it’s their real, solid Lord, back from the dead, standing among them in the old familiar way. So Jesus does the most practical thing imaginable; he asks them for something to eat. What could be more normal and ordinary and completely human? Here he is, returned from the other side of death, eating with them as he’d done so many times before. Then they really believe at last, and he can talk to them freely.
I’d better get back to the kitchen, and get my tagine into the oven; it won’t be long before our guests arrive. Thanks be to God, who gives us food to enjoy and friends to enjoy it with – and his own Son, who died for our sake and rose again to be our friend as well as our Saviour.
– Margaret Z. Wilkins