Latah Valley

View Scene 8 of Pirates of the Caribbean

Read Luke 24:36–43

 

Somewhere in Connecticut, along a lonely stretch of rural highway, is the Bee & Thistle Inn.   Sheryl and I stayed there for a weekend years ago.   And among the highlights of that restful trip and that special place has to be the absolute best clam chowder of my earthly existence.   I remember the fragrance of the soup as the server whisked it around my left shoulder.   I remember the perfect texture of the creamy broth.   I remember the salty brine of the mollusks themselves and the succulent slivers of supple potato, white onion, celery, bacon.  And I remember how these ingredients mingled and danced upon the taste buds of my tongue and slid effortlessly past my palate.  I’m telling you, each rich spoonful of that chowder constituted a spiritual experience.   In fact, after gorging myself on a second bowl, I felt as if I were having a heart attack.   And, of course, if I had suffered such a trauma at the age of twenty-three presumably my bodiless spirit wouldn’t be able to enjoy clam chowder ever again.  That would be the shame of it.

 

Food is good.   Food happens to be among the many great pleasures that human beings might savor.   And yet, where did we get the idea that all the great food and all the great pleasures of this life are meant only for this life?   Didn’t Jesus famously say that if we seek first “his kingdom and righteousness” that “all these things—including food and drink and clothing and families and friends—will be yours as well (Matthew 6:33; Luke 18:30)?  

You see, I think it’s very curious that after Genesis, chapter one, describes the creation of God (including every fruit of every tree) as “good” and after Acts, chapter ten, permits Peter to “get up, kill and eat” all of these previously forbidden animals, that we don’t look for God in the menu of joys and pleasure which we’ve been given.  

 

Let me clarify.   We tend to think of food nutritionally.  We tend to focus our attention on the ways that people may eat what’s best and to not abuse their bodies.   Or, if we become religious, we tend to think of the food that we might share with the homeless and the poor.   And, of course, each of these perspectives is appropriate and even faithful.  But let’s consider for a moment the mystery of the resurrected Jesus as he asks for and receives “a piece of broiled fish.”  Why does Luke 24:42 provide us with that kind of detail?   And why, in John 21:13, does Jesus return the favor and prepare broiled fillets for his disciples?

 

Believe me when I say that I have tried and I have tried to overly-spiritualize this story.  I have tried to imagine some sort of analogy for the seafood.   But another way of interpreting this passage is to suggest that the resurrected Son of God likes the taste of the fish in his native Galilee.   That is, given the choice between the blue plate special and the catch of the day, Jesus will go for the fish every time.   And that possible interpretation says something about the things that we may enjoy.

 

In his book, Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs, Chuck Klosterman offers this interesting observation. 

He writes: 

“An inordinate number of cereal commercials are based on the premise that a given cereal is so delicious that a fictional creature would want to steal it…  The most obvious is the Trix Rabbit, a tragic figure whose doomed existence is not unlike that of Sisyphus.  Since the cereal’s inception, the rabbit—often marginalized as ‘silly’—has never been allowed to enjoy even one bowl of his favorite foodstuff, and the explanation for this embargo smacks of both age discrimination and racism (we are to accept that Trix is reserved exclusively ‘for kids’).”  (p. 123)

 

Now, what intrigues me about this paragraph is the legendary rabbit’s focus on enjoying his favorite cereal, which ironically the animators drawn him to do, but which he will never be allowed to do.

 

And I guess, Klosterman’s commentary might hit home in our study of the broiled fish in Luke 24.  Is this something that specially meant for Jesus, and not for us?   Are we doomed to always want what we cannot have?

 

In the scene from Pirates of the Caribbean, Captain Barbosa would clearly like to appreciate the taste of an apple.  Unfortunately, because he’s been cursed by the gods of the Aztec gold, the buccaneer can’t really generate the saliva to really enjoy it.  He can’t taste.  He can’t feel.  He can’t suffer pain.  

 

By way of contrast, the risen Christ can taste.  He can feel.  And, although he no longer experiences pain and death, he’s gone through them.  In everything that has been thrown at Jesus by the world, by human history and by the evil one, there is a perfect demonstration of radical openness.    And with that same openness he eats. 

Jesus is no Stoic.  As I understand it, stoics try to detach themselves from the things of this world.   They detach and become indifferent so that whether things go well or not so well, the stoic rides even keel, never quite bottoming out but never quite peaking or becoming excited about anything.     

 

Likewise, Jesus is no Buddha.   Buddhists believe that desire is the cause of all unhappiness.   Therefore, when we want something—even something good—we tend to grab for it.   And when we grab for it we tend to live in fear of losing it.

 

On the other hand, with the risen Christ, we receive the possibility of redemption, and that redemption, includes our bodies (Romans as well as all the human appetites and aptitudes that God has given us.  Everything that we enjoy—everyone that we cherish—every special food, every special drink, every special gift—all of it now in Christ has the possibility of being refined and renewed.

 

Raymond Carver wrote a short story about a little boy, who had been knocked down by a car in traffic.  He got back up and went to school, but later died.   The day that he died had also been his birthday and earlier the boy’s mother had ordered a special cake which she had planned on picking up at the bakery after work.   Anyway, as you might imagine, the mother and the father of this only child had been utterly devastated.   They sat in the waiting room, totally numb.

And when they returned home to their empty house, they couldn’t seem to shed one tear.   The phone rang and the man on the other end of the line spoke with a heavy Italian accent.  He said, “Did you forget Scotty?”   The mother dropped the receiver to the floor.   Her husband hung up the phone.  But the man called back.   The mother and the father then took turns shouting curses and angry threats about calling the police.  But then, they realized who it had been. 

 

The caller, it turned out, had been the baker of their child’s cake.  He’d been calling about the order and wanted to let them know that specially ordered food item had been ready for some time.   That realization, however, only fueled their bitterness even more.   With a vengeance the father of the dead boy grabbed the keys to their car and they drove to the bakery even faster and more recklessly than they had driven to the hospital.   They barged into the store and were immediately overwhelmed with the delicious smells of pastries and pies and there on the counter was the cake.   “My son’s dead!” shouted the mother, sobbing suddenly.   “My son’s dead,” she repeated, stumbling into her husband who held her up.   And just then, a strange expression came over the baker’s face.   He softened and brightened and expressed how sad he was for them.  Then, he tried to speak again and stopped himself.   He invited the couple to sit down and to rest at one of the tables in the back room.   And retrieving some freshly baked rolls from the oven, he fed them.   He fed them soft, warm, delicious bread and they ate it.   Amen.