Eating Suffers Where Community Ends
By Madelyn Knudtson
During the pandemic, one of the activities missed by many is the act of sharing a meal together. A lot of took for granted visiting restaurants and sitting in campus dining halls with friends—and, for those who are not visiting home as often, eating home-cooked meals with family. We can't do all of that in the same way we once could pre-Covid. And yet, as changed as the game has become, eating is still an essential way that we share our humanity. Food is not a sign of our flesh's weakness, but a joy that we partake of with those we love. Meals form community, institute structure into our lives, and give us the strength we need to go about our days.
I really, really miss eating regularly with the people I love.
When I first went home at the end of the past spring semester, I stumbled into some bad eating habits because I could no longer rely on regular meals and time with my friends. Only after I became a summer camp counselor and went to Camp Fontanelle did I start to reform some of that missing structure into my life. And what a beautiful thing it is to cook and eat with others! I had missed it so much. Over halfway into the semester and knee-deep into fall, I've realized how many steps back I've personally taken. I eat by myself, in my room, on my bed, out of a to-go container. The food isn't cooked with heart; I don't have a community to connect with soul-to-soul; it's all become a furtive performance of survival.
Eating was not meant to be a lonely experience. It shouldn't be a dreaded or stressful one, either. Besides the injustice of poor nutrition and lack of resources which plagues our world, I'm hurting for the lost opportunities of gathering. We don't necessarily need to eat together to prove our humanity, but even Jesus made a point of eating with others as an act of service as well as a way to build relationships. After he rises from the dead, he appears to the disciples in Luke 24:36-43 and eats in their presence one last time on earth:
"36 While they were still talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, 'Peace be with you.' 37 They were startled and frightened, thinking they saw a ghost. 38 He said to them, 'Why are you troubled, and why do doubts rise in your minds? 39 Look at my hands and my feet. It is I myself! Touch me and see; a ghost does not have flesh and bones, as you see I have.' 40 When he had said this, he showed them his hands and feet. 41 And while they still did not believe it because of joy and amazement, he asked them, 'Do you have anything here to eat?' 42 They gave him a piece of broiled fish, 43 and he took it and ate in their presence."
Even as the disciples' heads were spinning in amazement, Jesus did a very human thing by asking for some food to eat. It's almost a testament to his life and his very real, very resurrected being. What a strange thing to do in response to joy and disbelief! And yet he could not have found a simpler, more profound way to make himself known to his friends. We eat because we must and because it is enjoyable, yes, but also to share ourselves with others.
I lament the lost freedom of meeting friends and family for meals. But that shouldn't restrict anyone from still engaging with their communities when breakfast, lunch, dinner, or snack time rolls around. It isn't good for us to constantly be alone—and I see the detriment of isolating myself in something as basic as eating. It's proved its negative effects to me on so many occasions within the past seven months or so, reminding me that I, starting now, need to become once more intentional about treating food not as a dreary necessity but as a chance to spend time with others.
So, basically, if you ever want to grab dinner with me . . . just say the word. Something tells me that I could use that community.