Little Nathan and his family live outside of Kingsley on the way toward Brooklyn. As a result of his very rural location which is at the end of a very long gravel road, his family seldom has guests who simply passed by and can stay for dinner. Little Nathan was eager to help his mother after his father appeared with two dinner guests from the office one night last week. When the dinner was nearly over, the boy went to the kitchen and proudly carried in the first piece of apple pie, giving it to his father who passed it to a guest. Little Nathan came in with a second piece of pie and gave it to his father, who again gave it to a guest. This was too much for Little Nathan, who said, "It's no use, Dad. The pieces are all the same size."
We do have some issues with food, don't we? Some of us are particular about the size or portion of what we eat, like little Nathan here, others are concerned more with what we eat. For example, when the waiter in a Clarks Summit restaurant brought a snippety customer the soup du jour, the patron was a bit dismayed. "Good heavens," she said when the bowl was set before her, "what is this?" "Why, it's bean soup," he replied. "I don't care what it has been," she sputtered. "What is it now?"
It's true, most of us, at one time or another, will have an issue with food—either we don't want to eat it, or, conversely, we do want to eat it and worry about the amount of calories we'll carry after we consume it. One woman, according to a June 1983 issue of McCall's magazine reports that she's tried every diet. But eventually, inevitably, she says she'd always regain the weight until she found The Answer. After living for almost 44 years with a man who never gains an ounce no matter what she serves him, she found out what it is that keeps him thin: He thinks differently.
She found out that thin people avoid eating popcorn in the movies because it gets their hands greasy; nibble cashews one at a time; read books they have to hold with both hands; become so absorbed in a weekend project they forget to have lunch; fill the candy dish on their desks with paper clips; counteract the mid-afternoon slump with a nap instead of a cinnamon Danish; exchange the deep-fryer they received for Christmas for a clock-radio; warm-up after skiing with black coffee instead of hot chocolate and whipped cream; find iced tea more refreshing than an ice-cream soda; get into such interesting conversations at cocktail parties that they never quite work their way over to the hors-d'oeuvre table; think that topping brownies with ice cream makes too rich a dessert; bring four cookies into the TV room instead of a box; throw out stale potato chips; eat only Swiss or Dutch chocolate, which cannot be found except in a special store; think it's too much trouble to stop at a special store just to buy chocolate; and finally, she realizes thin people don't celebrate with a hot-fudge sundae every time they lose a pound.
It seems we aren't the only ones who have some issues with food. Take a look at our scripture. For many here this morning, I imagine something popped out when we heard the text. Jesus appearing to his disciples and not having them understand him, or understand him fully, is a long-standing, recurring theme in all four gospels. That his followers are filled with fear or with doubt when they first encounter the risen Christ is what we come to expect in the biblical narrative.
So this scene, as it's been described, is not unusual. This scene, like those found in other accounts, also doesn't stretch the limits because it goes so far as Jesus instructing them to touch him and make sure that he is real and not a ghost. This, too, is something many of us expect to find in scripture, particularly as we remember last Sunday's scripture and sermon on Thomas who, by following his faith, demanded proof of the walking, talking, self-professed risen Lord in front of him.
But the broiled fish...that may have caused some to pause. Many of us, familiar with many passages, are accustomed to most bible scenes being brief, if not almost scant. Certain scenes barely hold any detail. We are detail-oriented people and some stories, told almost cryptically, leave us wondering or subconsciously filling in information. You know what I mean. An example is the apple. The apple. You know, the beginning. Not that scene, the Bethlehem scene, not even the Virgin Mary being visited by an angel before the days of an early detection pregnancy test. No, the beginning. The garden. The three strategically placed fig leaves on Adam and Eve. And the apple.
Only we know it isn't an apple. The bible doesn't give us that exact detail. Instead, our scripture tells us its just forbidden fruit, which could have been a cantaloupe, peaches or blueberries much like those used in delicious treats we find every summer at the Montrose Blueberry Festival. The bible lacks many details, except here.
While we often assume, guess or are left wondering what could be meant, here we know that Jesus is given broiled fish. It's not baked or fried or blackened. It's broiled. We're only left to wonder, at the drive-thru window which might well have been around in his day, if the voice inside that outdoor menu sign asked him if he'd like that fish as a regular sandwich, as a combo meal, or, for just 99-cents more, he'd like that supersized.
We can make light of this now, and we do so because we think we have a greater handle or understanding of what a ghost is. For all of us, from our faithful nine-year-olds to our faithful ninety-something year olds here this morning, we've all been exposed to depictions of ghosts thanks to Hollywood movies and TV shows. Confidently, we think we know what a ghost is, and isn't. Unlike those who encounter Jesus in our scripture, we know ghosts are see-through, walk through walls and, for the easily scared here amongst us, myself most definitely included in this pack, we can focus only on them being friendly, like our cartoon friend, Casper, who, as we all know, is a friendly ghost.
The truth of it is, however, we don't know much about ghosts. In speaking now more to TV than to Hollywood blockbusters, we've all come across programs or maybe even documentaries that address the realm of the walking afterlife. Whether we tune these programs in or ignore them as absolute rubbish, there is a part of our culture that speaks to the fact: then in scripture, like now, we ultimately do not have a complete understanding of ghosts.
It's not easy for us to be likened to a crowd who never experienced the technology we have. In fact, it's humbling to think that while we have cell phones and GPS systems and HD TV available readily, we're still not so far from those who, like those disciples, lack an understanding.
But we do. The joy and the challenge of the scriptures is that they are as relevant to us today as they were to those first Christians who met in secret in rooms so much smaller than the one where we gather today.
Like the generations upon generations who have gone before us, we are connected to the human drama and diagram that points us to a single place at a single time in history: the cross on Calvary. Whether you're a rocket scientist in training or an amateur rock collector on Tingley Lake Road, there's something we need to get as best we can, and that's a God who sent his son not so that we'd perish, but so we'd have a better life here on earth, and there—wherever there is—in the next life.
Admit in your own theology and in your own belief system that, like the text of the bible, there are gaps. There are some fuzzy places—and I'm not talking about the forbidden fruit being fuzzy like a peach. There is much we both understand and experience in our spiritual lives, yes, yet there are still places that aren't quite flushed out, that aren't quite finished.
Don't be too comfortable this morning. Instead, trust. Rather than display too much confidence or think you have too much clout in biblical knowledge, realize everything isn't quite clear. We joked about ghosts being see-through, but our understanding, like those of the disciples, isn't as solid as we sometimes tend to think it is.
This morning, perhaps for the first time in a long time, open yourself to what truly is ignorance. Open yourself up to not quite understanding it all.
Most of us, when it comes to religion and most especially to our spiritually, want to get it right. This is important, if not crucial. We're deeply invested in this church, to its continued wellbeing, and to our understanding and our practice of our faith. At the least, we don't want to mess our relationship with the trinity up, so yes, we take this seriously. We strive to practice. We seek to put things in place. With conviction, patience and heart, we search for truth and for meaning, so to bring a piece of the puzzle onto the table that makes us aware that we don't quite understand it all is not easy.
But leave something open this week. Open yourself to what you thought you understood. Perhaps it's something in nature, like the unsettled questions of meiosis or mitosis, or maybe it's a church doctrine you accept and believe since you learned it long ago as a child in Sunday school—whatever understanding you purport to having—look at it again through new or fresh eyes. With awe and wonder and appreciation, wonder what is real in the realm of God. What is touchable? What is edible?
Take this lesson home today. It's okay not to know everything. It's okay not to be so certain. It doesn't mean we're giving up, it doesn't mean we stop trying; it just merely puts us in a place where perhaps we can gain even greater understanding. Consider this. Aren't we further along if we own a piece of ignorance, rather than ignoring that it's a part of who we are?
Again, we tend to have a handle on things, or at least we think we do. When we first heard this story about Jesus eating broiled fish this morning, some of us may have thought this is just a little simple for us. After all, we have an understanding of what exactly happened in the days immediately following the empty tomb and the resurrection.
Well, the days immediately following the empty tomb and the resurrection are here now as we follow the calendar. We are still in Easter time. Instead of thinking this lesson is simplistic, let's all respond to the living Jesus as those first disciples responded to the living Jesus, and that wasn't with understanding, no, it was with shock and awe.
Even the best, most learned theologians admit ignorance. They are still open to questions that don't—won't—have answers in our lifetime. Like those scholars, be open. Accept the shock and the awe and the joy and wonder with a Jesus with nail holes in his hands and feet, standing before us, eating, of all things, broiled fish.
Broiled fish...from what and when to eat, to how much to eat, we're a nation saturated with info on food. Most of us are diet savvy, even those who don't have weight or health issues. Yet if we spent as much time per day thinking of God as we do on food, or, if we included God while planning our next snack or our next meal, if we let the Spirit into more than just grace before meals but allow His presence to companion and guide our thoughts through the meal, if we, like the disciples, see Christ with awe and with wonder, wouldn't that be something? Just food for thought.