Love III
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.
"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
-George Herbert
I love George Herbert’s poem Love III with its intimate and loving dialogue between God and the Soul over a meal. There are multiple images of meals in the Scriptures to which this alludes. The Song of Solomon goes “He brought me to His banqueting table and His banner over me is love.” Or the Psalmist prays with such hope: You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You have anointed my head with oil; My cup overflows. Or that tender moment in Revelation Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me. It is beautiful to think that this is all that God really wants to do. To set a table for us. To dine with us and share a meal. What holy conversation that would be.
I think it was the turkey dinner that tipped me off. Starting out this odyssey of staying in place, baking a few cookies seemed like a reasonable thing to do. With young adult children hanging around who like to graze, I made up some peanut butter oatmeal cookies. Then some blueberry muffins. After that I thought a banana cake might be a good idea. Of course who can be without buttermilk biscuits? Then a strawberry cake made with almond flour. This was an experiment that succeeded (thank you for your guidance Bishop Mary!).
Of course dinners need to be made and so on until last weekend I graduated to cooking a whole Turkey dinner with all the works. Then I realized: I am stress cooking. In my house we had all become accustomed to going our different ways and suddenly now we are thrown into this situation of being together all the time. Perhaps it’s a way of trying to assert some kind of control in a very out-of-control situation. To create something, affect something, anything.
Or perhaps it’s a way of participating in the holy.
Because in the middle of it all I remember. I remember sitting with two children in highchairs feeding them. I remember the struggle of getting children to eat but also the joy. It has always been a joy to watch my kids eating. I always loved it when their friends came over and ate. Young children don’t really question where food comes from they simply receive it. Gathering people around a table and nourishing them and sharing life over a shared meal is a beautiful thing to do. We do that at Supper Club – there is always just about enough. Now that my kids are young adults I don’t see them quite so often, at least until now, but I love it when they gather in our kitchen and talk and laugh (loudly) and eat in the place they still call home.
We are unable to share in that sacred meal, the Eucharist, but we can see and receive the Sacred in the meals we share in this time when we are forced into an unusual cohabitation. And if I can see the Sacred in those around my table and take joy in nourishing them, then at the very least I am finding God in this time. Finding in gracious hospitality the same invitation God extends to us all. Perhaps I don’t have to question where it all comes from but simply receive from the God who takes joy in being with us and who longs to dine with us.
And that Turkey turned out to be a great idea. We’re still eating the leftovers.
‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’
So I did sit, and eat.
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