Sunday Dinner
Stories
Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit
Series IV, Cycle B
Sunday Dinner
For I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, "This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me." In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me." For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes. (vv. 23-26)
Remember when "Sunday dinner" was a really big deal? Will Willimon tells of his family's Sunday dinner tradition in the introduction of his book, Sunday Dinner. He reflects that his family would gather after church for Sunday dinner at his grandfather's big, sprawling house. This gathering was not just mother, father, brothers, and sisters. The family that gathered was an entire army of cousins, aunts, uncles -- including some folks whom Willimon was never sure how they were related.
The men gathered in the living room for cigars and arguments. The women assembled in the kitchen for dinner preparation and arguments. The children chased each other up and down the big front porch. They were occasionally interrupted with pleas to keep their Sunday clothes clean and their cousins' skulls intact.
The playing, smoking, and meal preparation went into the mid-afternoon. Sunday dinner was an all-day affair. The meal was of such magnitude that it couldn't be rushed. By late afternoon, all were famished. But it was worth the wait. Willimon's grandmother gathered everyone and seated them around the long, dining room table. She always had firmly fixed in her mind exactly where everyone was to sit: "Mama" was at one end. "Papa" was presiding over the ritual at the other end. Aunts, uncles, and cousins filled the sides in between.
The meal began with a seemingly endless prayer by "Papa." Then, all having been blessed, there was the wild, joyful attacking upon the feast. Voices were silent as the only noise was the tinkling of knives and forks. Then the table talk began. Cousins listened while aunts and uncles thoroughly discussed and argued all matters of importance such as the next county election. There were always lots of stories -- both funny and serious about family exploits and heroics of the past. It was their story.
Because of this Sunday mealtime ritual, no one had to tell Willimon what it meant to be a part of his family. No one had to tell him who he was or instruct him in the proper worldview for the Willimon name. It was a time of informal instruction in appropriate belief and behavior. From the Sunday dinner table, he knew that he belonged and that he was loved.
Willimon wrote, "If someone had asked me, 'Who are your people and what do they stand for?' I would have responded quite honestly, 'My people are those who gather at grandmother's dinner table.' At the table we were initiated, nurtured, and claimed into the family. There we participated in common memory, fellowship, and identity. There we found our place, our name, our story -- at the table."
And so it is at the table of Christ that we grow and learn who we are and whose we are. When we gather for the Lord's Supper, we break the bread and drink the cup that is offered. We engage the gift not of food and drink, but the gift of Christ's sacrificial offering of his life. We learn from Christ our Brother and God our Father that we are loved and that we belong. At Christ's table, we find our place.
(Will Willimon, Sunday Dinner [Nashville: The Upper Room, 1981], pp. 9-10.)
For I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, "This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me." In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me." For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes. (vv. 23-26)
Remember when "Sunday dinner" was a really big deal? Will Willimon tells of his family's Sunday dinner tradition in the introduction of his book, Sunday Dinner. He reflects that his family would gather after church for Sunday dinner at his grandfather's big, sprawling house. This gathering was not just mother, father, brothers, and sisters. The family that gathered was an entire army of cousins, aunts, uncles -- including some folks whom Willimon was never sure how they were related.
The men gathered in the living room for cigars and arguments. The women assembled in the kitchen for dinner preparation and arguments. The children chased each other up and down the big front porch. They were occasionally interrupted with pleas to keep their Sunday clothes clean and their cousins' skulls intact.
The playing, smoking, and meal preparation went into the mid-afternoon. Sunday dinner was an all-day affair. The meal was of such magnitude that it couldn't be rushed. By late afternoon, all were famished. But it was worth the wait. Willimon's grandmother gathered everyone and seated them around the long, dining room table. She always had firmly fixed in her mind exactly where everyone was to sit: "Mama" was at one end. "Papa" was presiding over the ritual at the other end. Aunts, uncles, and cousins filled the sides in between.
The meal began with a seemingly endless prayer by "Papa." Then, all having been blessed, there was the wild, joyful attacking upon the feast. Voices were silent as the only noise was the tinkling of knives and forks. Then the table talk began. Cousins listened while aunts and uncles thoroughly discussed and argued all matters of importance such as the next county election. There were always lots of stories -- both funny and serious about family exploits and heroics of the past. It was their story.
Because of this Sunday mealtime ritual, no one had to tell Willimon what it meant to be a part of his family. No one had to tell him who he was or instruct him in the proper worldview for the Willimon name. It was a time of informal instruction in appropriate belief and behavior. From the Sunday dinner table, he knew that he belonged and that he was loved.
Willimon wrote, "If someone had asked me, 'Who are your people and what do they stand for?' I would have responded quite honestly, 'My people are those who gather at grandmother's dinner table.' At the table we were initiated, nurtured, and claimed into the family. There we participated in common memory, fellowship, and identity. There we found our place, our name, our story -- at the table."
And so it is at the table of Christ that we grow and learn who we are and whose we are. When we gather for the Lord's Supper, we break the bread and drink the cup that is offered. We engage the gift not of food and drink, but the gift of Christ's sacrificial offering of his life. We learn from Christ our Brother and God our Father that we are loved and that we belong. At Christ's table, we find our place.
(Will Willimon, Sunday Dinner [Nashville: The Upper Room, 1981], pp. 9-10.)
