Have you ever had a meal that has changed your life? Like really rocked your world? A meal that has taught you something—opened up a whole new realm of possibilities—a new way of seeing and being in the world?
When I was about 13 I started teaching myself Danish. It was a weird choice of pastime, and it hasn’t proven particularly useful in the years since. But it exposed me to a story which has been dear to me both as a Christian and a priest, and which resonates deeply with our Gospel today. I used to watch random Danish movies to improve my aural comprehension, and one day I stumbled on a movie from 1987 called Babettes Gæstebud—Babette’s Feast in English.
The movie tells the story of two sisters, the daughters of a Danish pastor who leads an extremely strict Lutheran Pietist sect. Their life is almost brutally austere. In the name of holiness, they reject pretty much every comfort that could possibly be seen as sinful. And they spend what surplus money they have on caring for the poor, the sick, and the elderly in their tiny seaside village. After their father dies, the two sisters continue to shepherd his flock. But as years pass they grow visibly weary, and conflicts and divisions start to arise, as resentments festering under the surface of piety.
Then, through a confluence of unlikely circumstances, the sisters unexpectedly take in a woman named Babette—a refugee from France who asks to serve as their cook in exchange for nothing more room and board. Babette serves the sisters faithfully for years, learning their language and their simple cuisine. She is totally dedicated to them. Her only connection to her previous life is a lottery ticket, which a friend in Parish renews for her each year.
Then one day, Babette gets a letter from France informing her that she won that lottery. The previously penniless cook now suddenly has 10,000 francs to her name. And as an act of gratitude for the sisters’ generosity, she insists on preparing a 7-course French dinner to celebrate the 100th birthday of their late father. The sisters don’t realize it just yet, but prior to her exile, their humble servant had been a gourmet chef—one of the most prestigious in France. And Babette quietly spends her lottery winnings—all 10,000 francs—buying literal boatloads of exotic ingredients to prepare a sumptuous feast fit for the gourmands of Paris that she used to cook for.
But as the day approaches and ingredients pour in, the villagers are increasingly perturbed by how lavish—even sinfully decadent—Babette’s feast is shaping up to be. Never mind the sea turtle and caviar; she bought wine for them to drink! (Scandalous!) Out of politeness they still attend the party, of course, but they resolve not to enjoy themselves one bit.
One problem though: Babette is a true artist, and she hasn’t cooked a meal that just fills the belly. No, she has prepared the kind of meal that changes lives. Like Lady Wisdom in Proverbs, Babette has slaughtered her animals, she has mixed her wine and set her table for her guests, crafting food and drink to nourish body and soul. She has poured all that she has and all that she is into this meal, offering this humble village a priceless gift. And while at first they are scandalized by the extravagance of this offering, as they actually experience the 7-course feast, they come to see it for what it is: an incredible expression of love.
As they receive the feast that Babette has so lovingly prepared—as they eat her food and drink her wine, the villagers’ whole attitude and outlook upon life are changed. They gain new insight into who they are (and who they ought to be) as children of God. They come to know a new freedom and a new happiness. Their eyes are opened to a new way of being, and they begin to lay aside their immature quarreling, instead desiring mercy and seeking after peace. And by the end of the movie, this previously dour and divided group are all dancing together in the village square, united and joyfully singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs. Through a meal, Babette has changed their lives and taught them a new way of living.
Babette’s feast is exactly the kind of meal that Christ offers to us in our Gospel today: a life-changing—life-giving—meal that teaches us a new way of being. In the Eucharist—the Sacrament of the Altar—Jesus offers us his Body and Blood. In the form of bread and wine, he offers us all that he is and all that he has: Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity. It’s no 10,000-franc gourmet dinner—there’s no sea turtle soup or caviar canapés—but this meal is still a scandalous gift.
“Eat my flesh. Drink my blood,” Jesus says. His opponents were offended by this offer, crying out, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?!” Even the disciples gathered around him struggled to accept this difficult teaching. And throughout the Church’s history, many have shied away from Christ’s offer, walking back his claim to be merely symbolic or taming it to fit in philosophical boxes. But the raw, unfiltered truth of the Eucharist is a baffling and mysterious reality, which can honestly be more than a little uncomfortable.
It should be uncomfortable, though! Jesus—God’s Wisdom incarnate—has set a table and laid out a scandalous feast for an equally scandalous purpose. Jesus lays out this feast to offer us life—eternal life. God has never wavered in offering us life and we’ve never stopped hungering for life. But in various ways since the Garden of Eden, humans have refused the sustenance of eternal life, preferring instead to chase after food and drink which require no surrender from us, but which can never satisfy our souls. Whether it’s the literal drunken debauchery that Paul warns the Ephesians about, or the subtler intoxication of Puritanical pride, we so often seek fulfillment in a life of self-will. We make do with the thin gruel of our own finite understanding. Perhaps that’s what we think we deserve.
But Jesus calls us to lay that foolishness aside, beckoning us instead to a hearty feast of true food and true drink. He calls us to eat his flesh and drink his blood, so that our spiritual hunger may truly be satisfied—so that we can learn to live—really live—as God intends: filled with the Spirit, united in love, and giving thanks to God at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.
In a moment, you will take part in a feast even more extravagant than that of Babette. You will eat and drink the Body and Blood of Christ—the Creator of the Universe, who loves you so much that he offers all that he has and all that he is as a banquet to satisfy the hunger of your soul. This is the most precious gift that Jesus can possibly offer, and as you receive it—as you eat and drink the feast he prepares—you will come to abide in him, and he will come to abide in you.
In this intimate exchange of Holy Communion, your sins are forgiven, yes. But you also learn a new way of being. You practice a way of self-giving love, not self-serving willfulness. This feast transforms you into the likeness of our Savior who gives you all that is and all that he has. It knits you together with me and every other member of his Body the Church. That’s why St. Augustine once showed the consecrated Bread to the people and said, “Behold what you are; become what you receive.”
You will receive the Body of Christ. You will chew and swallow the flesh and blood of your Savior. And if you let it, this meal will change your life. Jesus does not ask you to explain this mystery or even to fully understand it. He asks only that you accept this feast with an open, thankful heart, saying, “Amen. Let it be so.”