The Grace, the prayer before a meal, once standard in every Presbyterian home, a ritual that did more than told God what God already knew, is here in this first reading re-purposed, or maybe returned to its original purpose, by the late great Irish poet John O’Donohue.

I suggest that purpose is a pause. Like a red traffic light. A stop in the flow of our busyness and desire to commune with others and consume. A pause inviting us to be still. A moment of stillness. To breath in and out. To listen to stillness.

And to remember. To think of gift. The grace of gift. That life, food, everything really, is a gift to us. Given by the earth, the soil, rain, sun, the creatures, the farmers, the labourers, meatworkers, bakers, truck drivers, grocery store personnel, those who have prepared this meal before us… The list of givers seems endless.

The truth of gift is a much bigger truth than the truth of merit arising from industry and intelligence. Yet our world is wired in a way that affirms the latter, and then creates a reward system so the wealthier get the best and more, and the poorer get the leftovers and less. We are told from childhood that this is way the world works, and we must be industrious and intelligent if we are to get the best and more. And there is some truth in this.

Yet that pause before a meal, that incantation of Grace (whatever the words literally say, or what deity invoked), points to a bigger and greater truth. That what matters most has always been given regardless of merit. Or rather because we all have merit, have worth, are worthy of the bounty that comes without a price tag. Like life. Like love. Like beauty. Like belonging. Like sustenance. Like community. Like music. Like a mountain river. These are the great gifts, the great truths, that are beyond price or purchase or possession.

My prayer is that those with power, big power, with the levers of governance, industry, and budgets in their hands, will realize before they are too much older, and the earth too much destroyed, and the poorest too much dead, will pause and open their eyes to the graces of these gifts, and the responsibility of all of us to share, where we can, how we can, with whatever we can.

And sharing food at a dinner table, at a communion table, is a symbol of all that.

What would Jesus do? WWJD. Of all the slogans that evangelical Christianity has created WWJD is probably the best.

And my answer is four-fold:

Firstly, eat with outsiders, and invite insiders along. Model how you want the future to be by your behaviour. One little action leads to another. The table is a symbol of all being included, all having enough.

That’s what this parable “The Banquet,” our second reading, is primarily about. Including people you wouldn’t usually, if ever, include. People who are not like you. People who can’t reciprocate. People who have different table manners, who look different, smell different.

Which means today things like recognizing outsiders. Who are the outsiders in our city and country? And who are the insiders? And how do we get them together in a way that creates community and serves the common good?

And then such behaviour, such modelling of the future, leads us to ask questions. Why do we have national borders, immigration barriers, and deportations? Who do these things protect and serve? Is it just because we don’t want to share?

And why is there segregation or privilege based on race, class, age, gender, sexual orientation… indeed anything that demarcates an insider from an outsider? Why can’t we treat everyone as close siblings, with respect, kindness, and loyalty?

These are unrealistic and uncomfortable questions. Jesus-type of questions. Questions that in some places and in some times can get you killed, or at least ignored.

Secondly, wander around and heal people. By talking to them. Sometimes touching them. Like people who are off their head. Like people with ailments considered contagious, ailments that are scary. Like people considered of little worth, including children, foreigners, and those with no money. Not the usual people we meet at our local cafes or churches.

One of the uncomfortable things for liberal-progressive Christians like me is that Jesus healed people. People seemed to physically get better in his presence. And we don’t know why. And my guess is he didn’t either. But he noticed sick people. Went to sick people. Touched, when it was not advised (even prohibited) to touch sick people. He talked, took time, and broke the rules around sick people. And people found healing.

Which means for us today we need to walk more, notice more, say hello more, and connect more with people different from ourselves. For simple kindness, inclusion, and concern are in themselves a healing balm. We all can be healers.

It also means we need to resist a class-stratified health system where those with more money and influence get served first and better. We need a system where the most in need are served first, and all get served better.

And we need to work and advocate for a healthier environment generally – whether its air, water, food, products, ecology, radiation… For health is knitted into nearly everything else.

Third, don’t be afraid. Jesus lived in a bullying culture. Put whatever dress you like on the Roman Empire but at heart it was all about bullying minorities and taking, extorting from them, their possessions. Mind you there was a lot to be afraid of. Loss of position, power, wealth. Protest was costly.

Jesus also didn’t like religion when it got into the bullying imperial mode of prescribing what sin is, what forgiveness is, what salvation is, with eternal consequences. Religion is, in the Jesus vision, about setting people free, not tying us up in guilt and pietistic expectations. Religion is about the common good, not the good of the most powerful, but a good which everyone can share in and have enough.

Jesus lived in violent times with little legal or other protection. So he walked a fine line between living his values and vision, and not getting arrested. (Until he did). He stood up to the bullying behaviour of certain religious leaders, even of his disciples, when they were dismissive of women and children and sick people. He confronted the bullying of Pilate and Herod and their soldiers largely with his presence and his silence.

He lived with fear but it didn’t control him.

Lastly, Jesus told stories. Instead of polemical preaching he articulated his vision in parables.

Here’s one that points to his brand of anarchy. Matthew 13:33: “The commonwealth of God is like leaven that a woman took and concealed in 23 kilograms of flour until all of it was leavened.” The leaven is problematic. It’s a metaphor for moral corruption. (It is unleavened bread that is considered holy). The reference to the Abrahamic banquet (which also had 23 kgs of flour) is problematic, for the parable is saying that God’s commonwealth is a totally corrupting activity. And of course the gender of the baker is problematic. Instigators, leaders of change, are meant to be men.

Jesus also told some other deeply troubling parables.

In the Gospel of Thomas there is the parable of The Empty Jar[i]. A woman sets off walking with a jar full of meal but arrives home empty-handed. It leaked out. It was an accident. Why can’t a prophet of God materialise and make everything right? Like Elijah did for the widow of Zarephath. Surely a full jar is what we could expect in God’s commonwealth, not an empty one.  

The message is disconcerting. ‘Don’t be anxious, though there is plenty to be anxious about.’[ii]  Instead recognize that following the way of Jesus will not get you rich and famous, satiated or even particularly satisfied. Instead God’s realm is identified with loss. There is no super saviour (like Elijah or his God) hovering in the wings ready to swoop down and rescue you, to sweep up when we mess up. Rather God’s commonwealth is here in the spillage and the mess. This loss, this mess, is what God’s realm looks like.  

Jesus also told parables that undermined competition, pointing to the bigger truth, that cooperation is the only viable currency for the human community. Forget nationalism, make the whole planet great again.

The Good Samaritan parable mocked the religious and cultural competition between Jews and Samaritans. Wellbeing is found when we help and look each other. Health and wellbeing for all is found in cooperating not competing.  

And the Prodigal Sons parable. He’d eat with outsiders, wander around and heal people, not be afraid, and tell stories.

Here’s another answer, this one given in a speech this week by US Senator Chris Coons(who has a Yale Divinity degree):

“I don’t think it is possible to read the Gospels and to read the Torah… without hearing over and over and over in the course of the Old and New Testaments a call to respect those at the margins of life, a call to be generous, and open-hearted and kind to those who suffer and struggle, to be attentive to and present to those who are in prison, who are widows, who are orphans… You cannot miss the central message, which is kindness to those on the margins, attentiveness to those in need, and good news to the poor.”

[i]Thomas 97.

[ii] Matthew 6:34.

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