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A Feast Fit for the King of Peace They shall build houses and inhabit them; ~ Isaiah 65 Following the calendar of the church year provides the opportunity to travel through various seasons of emotion, relationship and ritual as participants in a grand story. When I was growing up, the only liturgical season my church celebrated was Advent and it delighted my senses with mystery. Accompanied by the lighting of candles and gathering of gifts, Advent is a season of hopeful anticipation. We long for God incarnate, a flesh-and-blood God who comes to us to reveal salvation in our conversation and in our daily lives. But some of our Advent rituals offer the opposite of hope. Some family traditions drain us: the same argument we had last year, same old fears that have dogged us for years, gift-giving dictated more by ads and one-upmanship than by sacrificial love, language or opinions that distance us from people who share our very DNA. And into this potent mix we almost always drop a prime opportunity for contentious collaboration: the holiday meal. Some meal tensions are related to limitations that have chosen us -- an eating disorder, alcoholism, allergies -- while others are related to significant identities we’ve actively chosen as vegetarians, vegans, locavores, traditionalists, or culinary epicureans. But, food can still be a powerful agent of incarnational unity – a ritual of peace building. Like the memories we create each year, which become a part of our stories, food literally becomes a part of our bodies. We take in vitamins and nutrients that nourish us, even as we take in less tangible nourishment from shared meals: hospitality, abundance, love, peace. Perhaps we could consider together as families how the good news of “peace on earth” and “joy to the world” might extend from our table to the earth and all creatures. Jesus didn’t just enter into the world to save humans, but to save a whole creation that’s been groaning deeply for release from violence and brokenness. Humans were designated as stewards of that creation in the very beginning and now we face complex questions of what exactly that stewardship looks like in our current industrial food context. It feels so unlike the “peaceable Kingdom” of Isaiah 65. At his table we are invited to healing and reconciliation. The holidays offer a great opportunity to recover the possibilities of food in the light of our deepest faith commitments. We might begin by asking: What kind of feast can honor the Prince of Peace by embodying that peace for the plants, animals, soil, water and air that help provide our nourishment, as well as the beloved children of God who will share our table? In considering how we might be agents of Christ in our food choices, most of us don’t need longer lists of do’s and don’ts, but better questions as a starting point. If we can’t engage these questions within the community of our families, we might consider honoring a principle of the biblical and monastic tradition, eating what is set before us as guests. Our best hope, however, should be that we can set our egos aside and earnestly seek together what a truly good meal might look like, in honor of the child king and in anticipation of the great banquet that is to come. Prayer Pursue Peace Kirstin Vander Giessen-Reitsma is the publications director for *culture is not optional. She and her husband Rob can usually be found sharing an office at Calvin College, working in their small town fair trade store or getting 50 miles to the gallon as they ramble the region on the extended Eat Well Food Tour. |
