Reflection by David for August 29, 2010

You don't have to be an anthropologist or a sociologist to know that food and how we consume food together are two of the most important aspects to human culture. I remember one of our first inter-church refugee sponsorships; a member of our congregation was entertaining a woman and her two daughters for a summer dinner early in this family's time in Canada. As we often do, the congregational member set a salad out, and there was corn on the cob. The woman and her two daughters looked at each other and there was an awkward silence; the congregational member knew that something was up. It turns out that where this woman comes from, greens, corn on the cob and such-like are usually fed to farm animals. There was a teaching moment then, and some learning.

Think of all the wonderful stories there are about food and feasts.

The movie, "Babette's Feast", which I haven't yet seen, is a wonderful story of food and sharing at table. In most movies with some depth to them, there will be a scene where food is shared and usually something significant takes place at that moment.

I remember many wonderful feasts when I was young. They were memorable events, perhaps in part because choosing the foods was important as we didn't have access to the wide variety of foods we do today. Like many of you of a certain age, we ate seasonal foods and whatever we had in our root cellars-winter storage places for potatoes, carrots, beets, turnips and other root vegetables. We had assigned seating places, we often wore hats, and we usually had friends, other family and those who were alone with us. When we were very young, we sat at the children's table and it was a big deal when we could graduate to sit at the big table. All of the finery was taken out and the feast was a big social and happy occasion. It was no wonder that feasts didn't happen all that often in anyone family's home; it was an event of big preparation, often required a fair bit of monetary lay-out and took lots of energy. Usually, however, these feasts were shared around.

This sounds a bit like a NorthWest Coast 1st Nations potlatch. When I was a child, born in Hazelton, BC, there were very few potlatches. They were simply too expensive to orchestrate and it was too recent that potlatches were legal again. There was a residual sense, even among 1st Nations people, that potlatches were bad-pagan festivals full of barbaric rituals. Remember that the 50's and 60's, while people were beginning to question Residential Schools and many 1st Nations traditions were being remembered and celebrated, there was still a lot of the colonial sentiment left in relations with 1st Nations people, some of which still persists today.

There were feasts that my dad spoke about that had potlatch overtones, but not in the old sense of what a potlatch was.

Mom, who was ordained in 1993, served in Kispiox, BC, having come full circle thirty years after she and dad were there in the late 50's and early 60's. I remember mom speaking about the first potlatch she attended; the Gitskan still called them feasts. She had conducted a funeral—a very ritualized process among the Gitskan people. There was usually a visitation with the deceased person present, a procession to the church, a procession to the cemetery, and then a feast. There were things that happened on the day of death and there were things that were to happen after the funeral and feast as well. Mom, as the minister, was required to perform certain duties at the feast and she could not go home before a certain hour. Usually the feasts lasted all night. Gifts were given and received, tributes given and received. People sat in proscribed places. It was a carefully orchestrated event. The next day, I remember mom telling me, she got up to go to work. There wasn't a soul around. Everyone was in bed sleeping. Mom realized living in a 1st Nations community that she needed to adopt many 1st Nations ways.

A potlatch sounds much like the feast that is described in Luke's gospel. And like Jesus' intention, everyone attends the potlatches; no one is to be left out. They were highly political events, but there was extreme generosity. On Haida Gwaii, you can see the notches at the tops of totem poles that indicate how many potlatches a chief gave. There usually aren't many because the chiefs literally give everything away and so can't afford to hold them often. They are wonderful examples of radical hospitality and generosity.

I remember two meals that I attended in which I felt incredible welcome and felt a part of the community. One involved my first experience at a working monastery. I spent a few days at Westminster Abbey in Mission with a friend many years ago. Since there weren't many guests, and the Benedictines practice hospitality, we were invited to eat with the brothers. My friend and I had no clue as to what to do and how to behave. We were both a little nervous attending our first meal.

Fortunately, we were adopted by Brother David, a simple brother of the abbey, who had a delightful sense of humour and was rather mischievous. He took us all around the abbey, up into the bell tower and probably into places we weren't supposed to go. He told us a little of what would happen at the meal. Benedictine meals are silent, or rather, there is no speaking except for someone who reads from Scripture or from a story of some saint or other. We were welcomed at the beginning of the meal by the abbot, grace was said and we all sat. Brother David was serving us; he would wink at us, make gestures behind his back at us, and indicate when we were to pass things. It was very interesting; we had to anticipate who might need the salt, the pepper, the water or whatever food was in front of us.

But it was delightful also because we felt so welcomed and included. And it was all we could do at times not to break out into laughter at some of Brother David's antics. We also realized that the meals are nowhere near silent. The clanking of cutlery, the grunting and even burping, the gurgling stomachs and scraping of chairs, the dishes clanking and the chewing sounds did not make for a silent meal. But it was a delight mostly because we felt so welcomed. We were all equal.

My second meal was more than just a meal; it was a whole experience. This meal, too was silent except for the recorded chanting that was being played over the sound system. It was a much more individualistic experience than the Benedictine Abbey, but no less meaningful. The food was simple vegetarian fare. You may have guessed that I was at the Yasodhara Ashram up the lake. I was there alone one December in the late 90's. The welcome I received that weekend was profound and incredibly gracious. The whole experience, the meal, the worship, the freedom to explore the different spaces, the encounters with people, the setting all combined to create an atmosphere of welcome, hospitality and healing. I felt accepted for who I was. At worship-called Satsang, everyone sat in a circle on the floor, the leader explained everything to me beforehand and I was accepted even though I dragged a chair to join the circle. The leader, like Brother David, helped me through that experience of worship. It was tremendously affirming and life-giving.

"When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers and sisters or your relatives or rich neighbours, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

Is it any wonder that the feast that Jesus described and the celebration of life that Jesus embodied is a vision for the church, of who we are and how we are to be with one another, friend and stranger alike? Is it any wonder that food features so prominently in how we, Nelson United Church, live together as followers of Jesus?

Blessed, blessed be!

Amen.