Memorable Meals
A Minister’s Message from Rev. Dr. John Regan, Executive Minister
jregan@fccedmond.org 405.341.3544
There's something holy about a good meal. Not just the praying-before-eating kind of holy, but the sacred connection kind that happens when humans gather to celebrate and savor life with food. I treasure these moments: brisket and tomatillo salsa on the banks of the Guadalupe River; Italian pasta feasts with travel-study companions in a Roman piazza; and meeting for Thursday breakfast with three men as we have shared life's joys and sorrows together for 25 years. Sure, these meals filled my stomach, but more than that, they have fed my soul.
Jesus understood this enduring truth. The Passover meal wasn't just dinner; it was deliverance, memory, and hope served on a plate. So, when Jesus needed to leave his disciples something to remember him by, he didn't write a theological treatise. He gave them a revolutionary meal.
Consider this: why would Jesus choose something as ordinary as food to embody his command to "do this in remembrance of me"? Not just to recall his death but also to remember his way of living—feeding the hungry, welcoming outcasts, confronting injustice, and offering grace. I think it's because a meal is a language we all speak fluently. Among seven billion humans, eating together might be our best universal practice. The table becomes a glimpse of the world as it can and should be: reconciled, nourished, healed. It's an act of hope—imperfect now but pointing toward God's vision of justice and peace.
Bread tastes better when torn and shared with someone we love. Wine warms differently when glasses clink in celebration rather than when sipped alone. Think of Jesus, sitting, laughing, and sharing for hours with some of his closest friends and kin over a delicious meal and a great glass of wine (scripture tells us he liked the good stuff). We humans are wonderfully odd this way—finding transcendence in eating together. These meals sustain not just our bodies but our spirits.
Throughout Lent, we're examining how much of Jesus' ministry happened around tables. In Luke's Gospel, Jesus eats his way through the narrative: dining with Pharisees and tax collectors; sitting still as a "sinful woman" anoints his feet during dinner; feeding thousands with loaves and fishes; and sharing that final, poignant meal with his disciples before betrayal.
Sharing meals is among the most revolutionary acts we can perform. In a world obsessed with productivity, choosing to slow down around food is radical. It declares relationships matter more than schedules. That nourishing connection deserves our time. When Jesus ate with tax collectors and sinners, he wasn't just being nice—he was dismantling social barriers that had stood for generations. Each bite challenged the structures of who belonged and who didn't.
Meeting Jesus at the Table during Lent means pulling up a chair, passing the bread, and making room for grace to find us exactly as we are. It's an invitation to humility—to set aside pretenses, admit our hunger for something deeper, and trust that transformation begins in small, honest moments.
I hope you'll join us for one of the many table experiences we are creating this Lent, including our weekly worship series as we continue to meet Jesus where so much of his ministry happened. By Easter, maybe our hearts will be a little softer, our egos gently loosened, and our lives quietly reshaped by the ordinary holiness of gathering at the table with Christ.