by Julie K. Aageson

Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to his disciples to set before the people; and he divided the two fish among them all. And all ate and were filled; and they took up twelve baskets full of broken pieces and of the fish. Those who had eaten the loaves numbered five thousand. (Mark 6:41–44)

I find deep pleasure in planning a dinner, carefully choosing favorite recipes, preparing a table with a beautiful cloth and napkins, setting out the best dishes, and serving the finest food I can offer to my friends and family. But it isn’t just the food and the sharing of hospitality that draw me to the table again and again. It’s the larger sense of what the table signifies, the conversations that ensue, how we are nourished by one another, what we find at the table that is life–giving.

In the film "Babette’s Feast," a French cook offers her culinary gifts to an isolated community off the coast of Denmark. To people who have eaten only fish broth and coarse bread all their lives, Babette serves a feast unlike any they have ever seen, much less tasted. In the pleasure of the food and the company around the table, and because of Babette’s generosity, old grudges are buried, rifts are mended, forgiveness is offered, love is shared. It’s a beautiful picture of dining in the kingdom of God. It’s a beautiful picture of five loaves and two fish.

All through Advent, the waiting and hoping that are part of this season may include the promise of well–laid tables and special treats reserved for the celebration of Christ’s coming among us at Christmastime. Dining together is one of the marks of this season. It’s also a season when we’re especially mindful of sharing the loaves and fish.

Can the waiting and hoping of Advent somehow be connected to the longing we all have to eat and be satisfied, to share the loaves and fish so that all may eat and be filled? Can the tables in our homes be connected to the tables where each week we receive Holy Communion? How is it that God comes to us at the table, invites us to participate in the Body of Christ, even to be the Body of Christ?

Dining in the kingdom of God is a way of thinking about the coming of Christ at Christmastime and the presence of Christ all the time. Today, in my visit with a neighbor over a cup of tea, exploring ideas and hearing one another’s concerns, we are dining in the kingdom of God. When my parish takes its turn serving meals at the homeless shelter and we sit at table with those who have no table, we are dining in the kingdom of God. When my friend and I share tears over her recurrence of cancer and what looks like a life that will be cut short, we are dining in the kingdom of God. As I listen to a chaplain who has made it his life’s work to visit patients in an Alzheimer’s unit (including my father–in–law), I know I am dining in the kingdom of God as this compassionate chaplain describes weekly prayer and presence with people who no longer know who they are, much less to whom they belong.

Dining in the kingdom of God is rejoicing with those who rejoice, weeping with those who weep, being with one another, giving voice to one another. Dining in the kingdom of God is waiting for calm in the chaos and for quiet at the end of the day. Dining in the kingdom of God is recognizing God’s presence in the ordinary events of every day. It’s a time of silence with friends when no words are needed. It’s a simple meal each evening with a spouse or a friend when we talk about the events of the day. It’s the joy of children, the wisdom of old age, and the awareness that life is short and must be lived intentionally. It’s feeding one another with food that is more than food and with words that are more than words.

Dining in the kingdom of God is life lived sacramentally, sharing the loaves and the fish, bearing Christ to one another, being Christ for one another. As we set our own tables and prepare the Christmas feasts, let us make room for all who long for Christ’s presence. May we be bearers of hope, menders of brokenness, and messengers calling others to the table. Let our voices and our actions be invitations to dine in the kingdom of God, a place where the Christmas feast is a feast for all.