Sun 22 Jan wk21: Feasting on grace...WMRBW

1st READING: Mark 1:21-28
2nd READING: John 2:1-12

SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the
meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight,
O Lord our strength and our redeemer, Amen.

It is a windswept, dreary, one-horse,
no-one-ever-wants-to-go-there, kind of place.
The landscape is flat.
The sky is perpetually grey.
The roads are always muddy.
The few houses that there are, seem turned in on themselves.
Overall, there’s the sense that this is a forgotten, impoverished place,
where life is hard, cheerless, and unrelenting.
Many years back, a church had been founded by a widowed minister,
who’d been left to raise his two daughters on his own.
His was an austere form of religion, that seemed to fit with the generally grim setting of the village.
All worldly pleasures – such as you could find in that place – had been renounced.
Life was a serious matter, and this was reflected in the clothing - which was all black -
and in the food - boiled cod and a thin gruel, eaten day in, and day out.
Heavenly pleasures, on the other hand, found their expression in
Sunday worship through the singing of hymns such as
‘Jerusalem, my happy home, name ever dear to me.’
In the meantime, life on earth was to be tolerated, and spent in doing
good works while awaiting arrival into that heavenly Jerusalem, that happy home.

As they grew up, the minister’s daughters, Martine and Philippa,
named after Protestant reformation heroes Martin Luther and Philip Melanchthon,
were beauties – and despite the severity of their clothing, their radiance shone through, undimmed.
Approaching marriageable age, they saw off many suitors.
Two suitors stood out especially.
Martine had been courted by a handsome cavalry officer,
while Philippa had caught the eye, or rather the ear, of a visiting opera singer,
Achille Papin, a Frenchman who had come to the area in the hope that the
sea air would be good for his health. Martine had such a gift for singing,
that those in the church who heard her, were almost transported to heaven when she sang
the weekly hymns. Papin wanted to take her back to Paris, to sing in the great opera houses.
Although the suitors of both girls promised, and could have delivered, them riches and fame,
the girls resisted the temptation: dutifully, they stayed at home, looking after their father.

Many years passed.
The minister died, leaving behind his now middle-aged unmarried daughters to continue
his mission in the church – for there’d be no minister coming to this quiet backwater.
However, without the stern hand of the minister, the church began to splinter
as different members fell out with one another, or spread rumours, or refused to
speak to one another at various times. Numbers dwindled, but the sisters remained faithful,
and kept the church running, alongside doing kind deeds for the elderly in the village.

Life was ordered, predictable, and a little bit dull. Until the night of a great rainstorm.
Sheltered in their house from the worst of the storm, the sisters heard a great thumping on the door. As they opened it, a woman entered, fainting at their feet.
The sisters tended to her, and when she’d sufficiently recovered, they discovered
that she didn’t speak their language. Instead, she handed them a letter of introduction...
from Martine’s long-ago suitor Achille Papin.
The woman’s name was Babette, her husband and son had been killed in the civil war in France.
She was fleeing for her life, and Papin had come to her rescue, booking her passage
on a ship to the village, hoping that the villagers would take her in.
The letter stated that she could cook.
And so, after much deliberation, the sisters took her in, and,
in exchange for room and board, she did the household chores.
However, given how stern their religion was, there was to be no fancy French cooking.
Dutifully, Babette boiled the cod and made the gruel every day, uncomplaining.

Life settled back into a routine, and twelve years passed.
Babette became a useful member of the community, feeding the poor folk of the village,
helping to organise the church services, and doing all the sisters’ household chores.
All agreed that she’d brought life and vitality into the tired old village.
Given that she never talked of her life back in France, nor had she ever had
any communication with others, the whole village was astonished on the day
that Babette received a letter.
She read it, and told the watching sisters that she’d just won 10 000 francs:
seemingly, every year, a friend in Paris renewed her number in the lottery
and this was her year to win. The sisters congratulated her, but in their heart of hearts,
felt that it wouldn’t be long until she left to return home.
But then she did a most surprising thing:
observing that the 100th anniversary of the founding of the church was fast approaching,
instead, Babette begged of the sisters one thing: to prepare a real French dinner for the
anniversary service.
She had never asked a favour before, and so the sisters gave in,
despite their misgivings about fancy French food –
what on earth would she serve them, they wondered...frog’s legs?
Yuck.

In order to prepare for the meal, Babette went away for several days to get items ordered.
In the weeks after her return, strange and exotic items arrived for the meal:
crates of small birds, cases of champagne, truffles, pheasants, even a turtle,
appeared and headed into the kitchen.
The sisters grew rather alarmed, but couldn’t go back on their word to Babette.
And so it was that Martine and Phillippa met with the other members of the church –
now reduced to eleven in number, and wondered what to do about this grand French meal.
Eventually after much discussion, the group agreed that the only course of action
was to proceed with the dinner, however, to avoid vanity and pride,
and to ensure Babette would not get the wrong idea, they would talk of anything else,
but not the actual food:
After all, tongues were meant for praising God, not for indulging in exotic meals.

The day of the founder’s feast arrived, along with an unexpected guest:
the nephew of one of the oldest members of the church, and who just happened
to be the cavalry officer who had tried to win the heart of Martine many years before.
The years had been good to him, and now he was a distinguished general.
Somehow, Babette had managed to track down the necessary amount of
china, silver, and crystal needed for the guests.
The table was dressed, and the room beautifully decorated.
The guests were suitably impressed, but, when the meal began, they
remembered their agreement and sat quietly, not commenting on the food.
The General, on the other hand, was in raptures –
he was astonished by the high quality of the food:
‘Incredible!’ he said, as he tasted the turtle soup.
‘Veuvre Cliquot? Here?’ Unbelievable!’ as he drained his glass...
As each course arrived, he was voluble in his praise.
At one point, Babette’s signature dish is served:
and the surprised General knows exactly where he’s eaten this food before:
the famous Café Anglais in Paris.
Still the villagers made no comment on the food...
and yet, over the course of the meal, the ungracious villagers began to relax:
old arguments were settled, and brothers reconciled;
the two who’d not spoken to each other for years forgot that they’d not been speaking,
so distracted by the feast had they become.
Although the villagers found themselves talking of many things,
still they held to the agreement:
they would not talk of the meal – even though the General could speak of nothing else.
Moved to make a toast, the General praised God for the abundant talent and skill of the cook,
and for all good things...
a gracious toast about blessing,
about grace.

Eventually, the wondrous feast ended.
The small group left for their homes, under a glorious, star-filled sky, and found,
to their surprise, that joy had so overcome them and filled their hearts,
that they gathered by the fountain, joined hands, and cheerfully sang the old songs of their faith.
‘Babette’s feast opened the gate and grace stole in’ 
                                    [Philip Yancey, What’s so amazing about grace?]
Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Babette sat, spent from all her magnificent labours.
It was then that the sisters realised that all of the church members had been faithful
to the agreement: not one had mentioned the dinner.
Hesitantly, Martine nodded
‘It was quite a nice dinner.’
Eventually, Babette looked at the sisters and confessed:
‘I was once cook at the Café Anglais’.
In the end, the sisters discover that Babette has spent the whole of her lottery winnings
on this great feast: for that is what a proper dinner for twelve would have cost at the Café Anglais.
Babette will not be returning to France – she has given all that she had:
the meal was an offering of grace – costing everything for the giver
and nothing for those who received.

The story of Babette’s feast shows the transforming power of joy and celebration:
even in spite of themselves, the villagers are moved by the great abundance and
very wonder of the meal. Hardened hearts are softened,
grudges are healed, and, as the meal unfolds
and the wonderfulness of it begins to creep into their very being,
and into their senses, long buttoned-down,
their enjoyment and pleasure leads them to a deeper appreciation
and enjoyment of God:
grim faces are replaced by joy-filled ones –
and they become a deeply thankful people.
‘Grace came to’ the village ‘as it always comes:
free of charge, no strings attached, on the house.’
                                                                       [Philip Yancey]

These graceless ones find grace overflowing,
just as the guests at the wedding feast in Cana
found themselves startled by the best wine,
served last, by Jesus, who has become the unexpected, and grace-filled host.
The miracle at Cana shows the hearer of that story, of grace in abundance –
of grace overflowing.
It gives us a glimpse of the kingdom of God, in the midst of the everyday:
not buttoned-down and grim, but rather, a celebration of all of God’s good gifts:
a joy-filled place:
of both the joy of heaven and joy on earth. 
May we celebrate, and seek, more of that joy in our communities
and around our tables and open our hearts to wonder and surprise. Amen.

*If you've never read the short story, or seen the film: 'Babette's Feast', 

do yourself a favour. It's a fabulous parable of grace. The above is based upon a

chapter in Philip Yancey's most excellent book 'What's so amazing about Grace?'