In one of my pastor-husband's sermons he mentioned "memorable meals" we've shared in various countries. "Various countries" because, though we've relocated back to the states, we lived about sixteen years in France as missionaries. During those years we were fortunate to have had contacts with people of many nationalities in France, as well as by traveling to other countries from France.
In his sermon my husband was pointing out the closeness between people when they sit down together at the table for a meal. Food is shared. More importantly, communication is shared. People tend to relax and get to know each other around the table.
We found this to be true wherever we went. Accepting an invitation to sit at the table and share a meal with someone, no matter how simple or how luxurious the meal, was often the key to communication between us - to understanding, to becoming friends. Many barriers were done away with, in our travels, when we agreed to sit down at the table with strangers, as well as friends.
If we accepted their invitation, sat at their table and ate their food (or invited someone to our table), then they were more apt to believe we were truly interested in getting to know them. They believed we really did care. And we did.
What did we eat, you might ask? Does it really matter? Is it not the fact that we DID eat that matters? We happily sat at the poorest of tables, as well as at a few of the wealthier tables, sharing not only the food but, even more, their lives...their hopes, dreams, sorrows, joys.
"Yes, yes", you say impatiently, "but what did you eat?"
"So much", I will answer, "and so little".
French cooks, for the most part, live up to their reputation. From the five-to-six-course Sunday afternoon dinners to the afternoon cups of tea and coffee and slices of "gateaux" (cakes). Delicious. How nice it was to enjoy some of their meals.
We were fortunate, too, to have had contacts with many of the immigrants in France - and delighted to get acquainted over their different ethnic foods.
Kimchi and gingsing tea with our Korean friends ... couscous and mint tea at our Algerian, Moroccon and Tunisian friends' apartments (with slight variations from each country). Tiny, sweetened cream cheese dumplings with Polish friends ... coffee and kougelhopf and madeleines with French friends ... parsley, lemon and couscous salad at a Lebanese friend's. Diversity, for sure!
During the worst drought ever in Mali, Africa (at that time, anyway), when food was so scarce people were dying by the multitudes every day, we sat on the sand floor of a small hut. Forming balls of hot rice with our fingers, out of a large common bowl, we dipped the rice balls into the other communal bowl of hot sauce. We didn't want to eat what little food they had. They insisted. We did eat. They were sharing not only their bit of food with strangers, but their lives. Their culture. We made new friends. We communicated.
Right after the Romanian revolution we sat at a poor farmer's table, humbly and gratefully swallowing the cabbage soup and cabbage rolls (which were delicious). The family stood around the table watching silently as we ate (their custom). We were the well-fed westerners eating at the table of the almost-starved. They were so proud to have us at their table. We could not refuse. We ate. And our bodies, our souls, were filled with much more than cabbage soup.
Such meals are etched in our minds forever; and the people in our hearts.
Now, back in America, we see many changes in family life and meals. Much of American "table life", we've seen, consists of restaurants and fast-food places. Too many of us live life at such a fast pace that we've lost the importance of "memorable meals", of shared tables ... the importance to our children, to ourselves, to extended family, to friends and to foreign visitors. Might this not be a factor in so many youth being lost to gangs, drugs, other crimes? Could the loss of much of their family togetherness - sitting down together at the table and eating a real meal together, sharing their lives with each other - could this be, perhaps, a huge factor in our children heading in wrong directions? All kids deserve good memories of some home-cooked meals and sitting around the table with their families, eating and talking - communicating with each other. Loving each other.
I don't need to travel far to find someone, besides my own family, to share meals with at our table. I just need to take the time to do so. To reach out. To want to get to know someone more intimately...to make a new friend.
As a Christian, what better way to share the Gospel of Christ, to show His love for everyone, then by inviting someone to sit at my table and share our food? When someone sees that I am honestly wanting to get to know him or her, to listen, to show interest - then that person is more apt to listen to me; to hear about and discuss the Gospel.
So ... there are many reasons for sharing meals. For me to accept to eat with another. For me to invite another to sit at our table, whether I can serve a full-course meal or simply a cup of water and a shiny apple, I store up many "memorable meal" memories. I get to know someone else; and someone else comes to know me better. I show the love of God by sharing.
Romans 12:13 (the Bible) tells us:
"Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality."
And, in I Peter 4:9 (the Bible) we see:
"Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling."
We don't need to be wealthy to do this. As it says in Proverbs 15:17 (the Bible):
"Better a meal of vegetables where there is love than a fatted calf with hatred."
Want to make some memorable meals?
