"Whether you eat or drink, do it in the name of the Lord."
In the house of the rich man Dives, there was celebration. Perhaps someone played music to delight the guests, servants hurried to attend their master, and in the kitchen the women worked without rest, preparing course after course of the lavish meal. Yet in the heart of Dives there was no room for the poor man, no attention for Lazarus, not even a word of welcome or human kindness—only the crumbs that fell beside his feet.
In the homes of the poor, there has always been an empty place set for the poorest among them, or for a stranger, or for the outcast. The poor remember well. They do not forget that a God—mighty and almighty though he is—made room for each of them in his heart, beside his own Son, and has always wanted them as his companions at the table of mercy.
The poor are obedient. They live out that word of Paul: "Whether you eat or drink, do it in the name of the Lord." As if to say: do it as he did it, do it with his spirit, do it with the same heart.
Jesus dines with sinners, tax collectors, prostitutes.
God loves those who do not love him,
God loves those who cannot love,
God loves those who are poor in heart and defenseless
and cannot even guide themselves.
God seeks out the one who has no more roads to
walk,
the one who has no light
to pierce the darkness,
the one who has no love to sing or speak
but only sorrow and solitude.
And Jesus sits at table with them,
He makes with them a gesture of fraternity,
He offers them a sign of trust,
He gives them a smile and a word, as if to say:
"You carry within you a great power of love,
do not fear—I want to set it free."
Jesus sits at table,
breaks bread and offers it to this woman.
She is startled, because she has learned
that from her people only take, that no one gives to her.
But Jesus gives the bread freely, asking nothing in return.
The heart transforms bread into a sign of love.
Small things have the power to change a life.
Jesus goes to dine at the house of Matthew, the tax collector.
We are in a plaza, and a man collects taxes. He is a friend of the Romans, and through his work he steals from people, enriching himself at the expense of his own countrymen.
Jesus sees him, calls him, and invites him: "Follow me." Then he adds: "Tonight I will come to your house for dinner."
God's heart breaks through every barrier that men have set up, and his gaze goes straight to the heart. The man is struck, rises, accepts, follows the teacher. And the dinner becomes a sign of communion, of an intimate bond, of trust in this man from Nazareth who knew how to see beyond appearances and touch the deepest longings of the heart.
The meal of Christians can only be a testimony to this openness and to the presence of God in each brother we meet on our journey.
Jesus at the house of Simon, the Pharisee
This meal is a sign of Jesus' freedom. He knows how to be true and sincere even among those who do not understand. Perhaps Simon invited him to make himself look good before the people, by hosting Jesus—the Teacher, the one who worked miracles and taught with authority. Perhaps he wanted to study him at close range so as to render him harmless.
A woman enters, a sinner. She kneels at Jesus' feet, washes them with costly perfume, dries them with her hair, and weeps. Her heart bursts with the suffering of all people.
And Jesus allows it. Simon is scandalized: How can a master and a lord allow such a person to approach him?
Jesus fixes him with his gaze, perhaps a little sad: "Simon, you have never understood the heart of God and what the Father seeks in man. Simon, you have always believed that God must be paid like a servant, when God seeks love. You invited me to dinner but did not welcome me with signs of friendship and love. This woman did."
Some time later, during a meal, Jesus rose, girded himself with a towel, and washed his disciples' feet.
The poor in their homes always remember that God who bent down to their feet. They know no more barriers—only the etiquette of love.
Jesus does not eat, refusing temptation
Everything in life matters
But only God is the absolute,
Only God is necessary.
"God is enough."
Each time we listen to the Word,
During the Eucharist
Or during a meal in our homes,
We repeat our faith
In this final truth:
You alone, Lord, are life
Food,
Water that quenches thirst,
The strength that sustains.
Jesus becomes bread and wine
The hour has come.
This night they will arrest him,
Then beat him, judge him,
And finally condemn him to the death of criminals.
Jesus shares the last supper with his own.
Then, in a climate of profound emotion,
He takes bread, breaks it,
And gives it to each of them and says:
"This is me—I break my life for you,
I give it for you,
so that you may no longer be alone
But so that God may dwell within you."
He repeats the gesture with the cup of wine.
Then he says:
"Do this in memory of me.
Live as I have lived,
Make your own lives too
An existence given and broken by love.
Live also
In obedience to the end to the heart of the Father."
Each time we repeat this gesture
We prepare ourselves
To be bread broken and wine poured out,
To exist as a heart open to every person.
The heavenly banquet
Every loaf is the fruit of labor and work, and often steeped in sorrows and hopes.
Every time we commune with our brothers and sisters, we seek to become capable of the great love that God has placed in our hearts like a seed, and we wait for it to bear fruit in spring and bring forth its harvest.
In hope, we await that banquet in which every barrier will be torn down and every selfishness defeated. We await that fullness which is God's extraordinary presence in all things and in all people.
And let every meeting we have be a testimony to this.