When Dinner is More Than Food

Day 10

Tonight was our night to host. Our friends have been so gracious and extraordinarily generous that we were anxious to offer some hospitality as well. There is, in scripture the admonishment to “show hospitality to strangers because you might be entertaining angels unawares.” We were none so ambiguous. We had not known them well before this visit, but upon arriving here a little over a week ago it did not take long to perceive their wings. They have been for us angels extraordinaire.

And so we planned this evening. We considered our limited kitchen and what might be reasonably workable.

First thing this morning we set out to gather supplies. We made a run to Patricia’s vegetable shop for this and that.

We stopped by Giovanna’s bakery for fresh bread.






We struck out along the byways to forage for rosemary, oregano and bay. We stopped by the market to pick up sausage, and the specialty shop for pasta. And late afternoon, we set to work.

And it all turned out fine. But here is the thing: it wasn’t about the food. Sure, we ate — we enjoyed our way through the courses — but the nourishment of the evening had far more to do with the conversation, the reflections, the music and the dancing than about the food.

Which is, when it’s right, always the case.

We lamented global affairs. We pondered matters of the heart. We imagined something better. We toasted the glimpses of “better” already encouraging us on. We listened to stories, and told our own. And we did our best to pay attention…to each other…to here…to now, recognizing that there remains yet much that we are too deaf and blind to see, resolving to continue clearing and sharpening our eyes and ears for the blessed privilege of living.

And we wondered how still to make a difference — even now in a world where gunmen massacre concert goers, where hurricane victims wait weeks for food and water and power, where politicians turn deaf ears and religious figures spout nonsensical absurdities that bastardize the gospel and ignore “the least of these.”

Because “even now” this world matters, despite our lover’s quarrel with it. Because “even now” our frustration and aggravation and lament are b
orn of our prayerful ache for better.

And we got to share the longing together — as the real “main course” of our dinner together. Here in Spello, in this small and somewhat remote village that intuitively and routinely seems to understand and welcome strangers and residents alike into a better way.

Tomorrow we will go and do other things. Tonight, though, as the streetlights popped on and the traffic slowed, we gave ourselves up to the spirit of Spello: laughing, sharing, knowing, lamenting, hoping, and entrusting ourselves to the care of each other.

All that, and then we had dessert.