Memorable Meals

Morning tea, perhaps? I'm not going to ask anybody for their responses, but I'm happy for you to have shared those things. According to Terry Durack, who is the chief restaurant critic for the Sydney Morning Herald and the Good Food Guide, he lists four things. He says: originality and quality of food, secondly ambience, thirdly service, and fourthly the wow factor. Then again, maybe it's just the people who you got to have dinner with or you got to eat with; maybe that is the thing that is most memorable.

What I want to do for a few moments today is to talk to you today about food, because I think in Sydney today we have a bit of an obsession with food. I mean, when did Australia Day become about lamb, and when did Christmas Day become about seafood? We have an obsession here in this country, in this city, with food. I used to listen to ABC Radio Sydney on Saturdays, and Mr. Simon Marnie would talk about food, and he would talk to the providers, the people who were producing the food, and say, "You know what's good, what's in season—the meat, the seafood, the vegetables." Then he would talk to a famous chef, and that famous chef had to put it all together. It was a great segment; I'm really sorry it's not there anymore. On TV, you've got MasterChef, which ran for 15 seasons, and if you think that's a lot, My Kitchen Rules ran for 16 seasons. Food is ubiquitous, so much so that someone has coined the term "foodgan"—that is like a food bogan, people who just eat Macca's and KFC and food that ends in "eto."

I'm so glad that as a culture we have moved from just seeing food as a necessity, either junk food or meat-and-three-veg style food. Now we see food as an event; I'm so glad we've done that. I am so glad that my family of origin changed from being a meat-and-three-veg family to embracing the food of the Greeks, the Italians, the Chinese, and the Lebanese; it was fantastic. In my family, food was one way of showing that you cared. You know that funny book called Love Languages you might have come across? I reckon food is one of the great love languages, which isn't in the book, actually. My grandmother's boiled fruit cake, my mother's experiments with cooking—which were amazing; it sounds dodgy, but it was amazing, she was always trying new things. And when my dad was slowly wasting away, cooking for him was one of the ways of showing love.

And so I got to thinking: is this food thing just another typically Western obsession with our material well-being, just another round of hedonistic pleasure-seeking, but more cultured and extravagant? Because most people are just happy to have a meal, right—most people in the world? Well, I'm thinking there might be something more to it than that. You see, it's interesting how important eating is in the Bible, because food is mentioned a lot in the Bible, and not just for necessity—food is a big deal in the Bible. The Old Testament looked forward to a day—and we've heard the verse read a couple of times—looked forward to a day when God would transform everything.

Isaiah 25:6, the description of the way he transforms everything is this: "The Lord Almighty will prepare a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine, the best of meats and the finest of wines." Maybe the most famous passage in the Bible, Psalm 23, it says this: "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." There's in some sense that if God is going to prepare, he's going to take care of you, it's to prepare a table in the presence of your enemies. To be God's guest at his table is to be more than just an acquaintance invited for a day, but it's to live in his house and at his table forever.

And God knows how to throw a dinner party. You might remember Jesus' very first miracle according to John was a bit of fun—it was at a wedding where he changed water into wine, and they said, "Wow, this is the best," or words to that effect. Often the big criticism that was made of Jesus was that he was a glutton and a drunkard; it was the people he ate with, because he ate with tax collectors and sinners. There's a sense in which to eat with someone is to throw your lot in with them. There's something personal about it. When we celebrate Holy Communion or the Lord's Supper—which we're not doing today, but we do it twice a month—it really is a very pale, Anglified version of the reality. The original would have been much more like an Ancient Near Eastern knees-up than having a little bit of wine and a little morsel of bread.

So rather than us being obsessed with food and wine and dinner parties, maybe it's we just don't party enough. Maybe we don't feast enough—I mean, not the sort of dodgy parties where I can't remember where I left my car, not those sort of parties—but the idea of the feast, the party, the eating together, maybe we just don't do that enough. And God knows how to throw a good party, and we, made in his image, we long and desire for them, too.

And this chapter, this section in Luke chapter 14, it's about a great banquet. The words of Jesus, you can see it there on page 1034, "Parable of the Great Banquet." Verse 16, he says: "A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests. At the time of the banquet, he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, 'Come, for everything is now ready.'" It was a great banquet—literally, in the original, a mega banquet. A few years ago, somebody gave me a Bible written in Creole, and I looked up the passage, and it says it's a "big baladi," and I think that's a good description—it's a mega banquet.

There is a banquet here, pretty clearly. God is the host, and it's the best, and it's a picture of heaven. You might know that in the Bible, the most common picture of heaven is that of a party, of a feast where God the host provides the richest of food and the richest of company—principally himself, but not just himself, all the people he's made to be as interesting and magnificent as he can be. And it's the choicest of food and wine. There's nothing at this banquet—there's no food that ends in "eto", no food that has "Mac" anywhere in the name; it's the best. God has made red wine to go with red meat, he's made white wine to go with white meat—he's even color-coded them for my sake! But there'll be nothing there that ends in "eto."

I remember a time when we were a family and we went to New York, and we watched the Brooklyn Nets play in Brooklyn, and they played the Indiana Pacers. If you go to New York, you've got to watch a basketball game, right? And I had to buy some food, and food for my daughter who wasn't really wanting to eat at that stage—they need to eat—and so I said, "What about nachos?" We bought nachos and two drinks; it cost $38 American, and it was the most horrible eating experience I've ever had. I wasn't sure whether you needed like hazmat protective clothing to eat this; it was terrible. We're not at God's table: no macaroni cheese, no Spam, no wine that comes in cardboard boxes. It's a picture of extravagance, but it's also very good company.

Do you know what it is to go out and eat, or maybe have people over to eat, or go out to somebody's house and eat, and you just have time to chew the fat, and it's just amazing? Or you meet someone and you're meeting over a meal, and it's just fascinating, and the banter is just so much fun, and time flies, and it's wonderful company? And here, it's principally God himself, the host.

And clearly as well, God is the great inviter. He's always inviting; he's always saying, "Come, come to me." Not because he needs us, but because we need him. Remember Jesus said those words: "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Jesus is saying, "Come to me." If you're weak and heavy laden, if the world's just been too tough for you: "Come to me, I'll give you rest." You'd think that people would be saying to God, the Great One, "Well, God, you come to me," but no, God is saying, "No, you need to come to me." God is saying, "Come."

So that's the picture of the banquet—see if you can picture it there. The food's all sorted, the wine is all sorted, the band's tuned up, ready to go, and God says, "Come." But then they just make excuses, and they're pretty lame excuses, really, aren't they? We don't need to go into details, but, you know, things like, "I've just bought a field." They haven't gone to look at it—who buys real estate without going and looking at it? I mean, realistically! Someone else says, "I've just gotten married." Well, surely you plan for that; it just doesn't happen by accident, does it? So, you know what? Your plans and your priorities, they're just excuses.

And the host is, understandably, a little bit aggrieved, a little bit unimpressed, because he's outlaid a lot for this party. Back in the ancient world, to put on a party like this, it was no small thing. And in real life, it costs God a lot to put on this party, doesn't it? In real life, it cost him a lot to give out this invitation, this invitation to his kingdom, this invitation to the great banquet. It cost him a lot; it cost him the price of his only Son. So God has committed himself to us in an extraordinary way.

So the master says, verse 21: "Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame." "Sir," the servant said, "what you've ordered has been done, but there is still room." Then the master told his servant, "Go out into the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full. I tell you, not one of those who were invited will get a taste of my banquet."

A host moves on, and he says, "Gather the poor, the crippled, the blind, the lame." He takes them just as they are. The sort of people who would never dream they'd get invited to this sort of party. The sort of people who would think they are just naturally disqualified: the lowly, the destitute, those who've got nothing to offer—they are the ones who get the invitation.

And it's working on a number of levels here, isn't it? In the parable he's referring here, he probably is referring to the financially and the materially poor. Maybe he's that, but more I would say for those who are spiritually poor. Often it's the same way in life, but not always. For those who are weak, and damaged, and traumatized by just the experiences of this world, they're the ones who he reaches out to. Those whom society deems to be of little concern or little value. Maybe those who think they're too bad for God. Those who've been conditioned by society to think they're no good: "No, I'm just trash."

And God's hospitality is at the very center of this, because, you know, without his invitation, we don't have anything; we've got nothing without his invitation. I love that line in that old hymn we sing: "Nothing in my hand I bring." And that's true, isn't it? We just come with empty hands—that's the reality.

Well, I wonder how you might live out the hospitality of God? I really want to say two things at the end: how might you live out the hospitality of God? Hospitality literally means to welcome the stranger—not so much to welcome the friend, but to welcome the stranger. These days, talking to a stranger is called stalking. Like, "Are you trying to sell me Amway or something?" Or, you know, sometimes the charity collectors at the station, and, you know, they want to try and talk to you, so you don't make eye contact. Don't feel bad about this, because they get paid to do it, so it's their job, but you just think, "I've got to keep moving." And they say, "Hey, I like your jacket!" You think, "I'm not wearing a jacket," but that's a good line anyway.

And we get a bit cynical about that sort of thing; we can get a little bit anxious about strangers. I've been watching these YouTube videos which talk like Americans saying how friendly Australians are, and I think, "Oh, are they?" I didn't really think that.

But how do you welcome the stranger? How do you, more broadly, live that out? It's not about having no boundaries, okay? We are all different; we've all got different boundaries, and you've got every right to set your boundaries, but so does the other person as well. You need to be respectful; let people set their boundaries.

But how might living this out work? Hospitality is not supposed to be a social occasion like a who's who of society, but something to approach with humility. Often in our world, parties are about trading up—inviting people who are more handsome than you, prettier than you, more intelligent, cooler, more interesting, better connected than I am. I've always got a long list of people like that. But we don't relate just to meet our own needs, but to open yourself to people who may not be able to give you back as much. To be generous to those who've not met generosity before. Not just in sharing food together—I think that's a great picture—but in life.

So it's an attitude of life of being generous. I think sometimes we can get quite savvy about life, and we work out pretty quickly that some people are just going to be too much work, but do it anyway. What about just being a bit more reckless about life? What about being a bit more reckless with your time, a bit more reckless with your energy, a bit more reckless with who you connect with? Less planned, more spontaneous. Less, "I'll open Outlook and see if it fits in the calendar," and more, "I'll just do it anyway." God wants us to passionately live for the glory of him and the good of others. So that's the first thing: how would you live out the hospitality of God?

Second question is this one, and this is in all sincerity: do you think you're going to be at that party, the one in heaven? God's made the invitation; have you turned to the Great Host and said to him, "Yes, thank you, I'll be there"? Because it cost God a lot to invite us, didn't it? Will you come?

So the food, it's all good to live and enjoy eating and drinking fine things with fine people—you're just being biblical when you're doing that. Don't neglect the ones who might not give you much back, and most of all, don't neglect God's invitation.

Let's pray:

Heavenly Father, we thank you for this invitation from the Great One, from you. We know that it cost you a lot. We thank you for the Lord Jesus, who's made it possible. Please help us, Heavenly Father, to take that and hold on to it very, very strongly. We pray you might help us to show the same kind of hospitality as we're able to others. And we pray this in Jesus' name. Amen.

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