Why didn’t we just call it a potluck?
At 11:30 last night, I was in the kitchen still cleaning chickens and making potato casseroles. Thad was on the couch, cheering me on.
“It’s totally worth it, Lori. Trust me, when the disciples began following Jesus, they were stretched beyond their comfort zones, too. They were uncomfortable. Don’t worry, you’re going to love our Love Feast tomorrow.”
From the kitchen, all I could see were chicken carcasses and potato skins. The clock was rapidly ticking time away and I still had so many things left to do. From Thad’s cushy vantage point on the couch, it was worth it. From my view, things were getting hairy and I only had 11 hours until the church doors swung open wide.
Troy Price arrived at 10:23 with food galore. He was followed by another couple that brought enough food to feed all of my neighbors. The next few families arrived by 10:45 and by 11:00, my kitchen was covered in covered dishes.
I thought we were having a Love Feast, not a potluck. My kitchen looked like a Steel Magnolias’ luncheon complete with buttered rolls. It smelled like casseroles and macaroni and cheese. Tin foil was glistening under the sunlight coming in through the windows. We had green Solo cups and chests of ice and sweet tea and lemonade. Other than in the preparation of food, where was the love in this feast?
I took upwards of 40 pictures trying to capture the love in our feasting and all I captured were open mouths and greasy fingers. Pictures can’t capture the stories of grace that were shared over those buttered rolls and chicken. They don’t give a complete picture of tears shed or the lives changed as a result of Jesus Christ.
And that’s what makes our gathering a Love Feast and not just a potluck.