looks good enough to eat

what happens at the table of Christ

I’ve never been one to photograph my food. Perhaps if I were about to eat a taco laced with a heretofore unknown garnish, one granting superpowers — that might be a candidate. Of course, without photos, cookbooks would be less helpful. The food would seem less tasty, less “photogenic.”

We have a photo taken last week by a diner who was entranced by Banu’s biblical dishes. She was one in a group brought together by a young woman who wanted to celebrate their relationships with her — relationships bound in the unity of Christ. Her invitees didn’t all know each other, since their convener had connections with them in different aspects of life.

It was a time of food, fellowship, and worship. (The worship, at least intentional worship, happened after we left the table.)

This was worship unlike what I have experienced in a very long time. It has been years since I was in that atmosphere. Actually, I could sense the atmosphere, the ether, during the meal. People were speaking words I deeply resonated with, but there was also spirit/Spirit behind them. I must confess, there was something in me that was looking for an excuse to have myself excused. And yet, I knew I couldn’t shut the door on love — not this time!

I appreciated a comment by another young woman who said she was asking her husband if they should leave. With these other people uttering such profound insights (my words, not hers), she said she felt “shallow.” She felt inadequate. I could understand her feeling.

I won’t claim I agreed with all of the theological impulses I heard, but the Christ in our midst invited a shifting of focus. The Christ in our midst invited us to his table. The Christ in our midst invited us to lay down our weapons, of whatever they might be configured. The Christ in our midst invited us to join in song, “O taste and see that the Lord is good.” (Psalm 34:8)

I’ve never been one to photograph my food, although on the evening of December 28, 1994, I made an exception. Walking home from my job at Baskin-Robbins late on a Philadelphia night, how could I not appreciate Banu’s lovingly prepared dish awaiting me?