“It will never work,” I told him.
My husband kept talking, pointing out all the ways a weekly meal after church on Sundays would benefit our efforts at building community. After corporate worship, he wanted the church to gather for a meal together before splitting into groups to discuss the sermon. Every week.
“Even if it worked at first, it won’t last.” I continued my doubtful argument. “No one will want to be at church for Sunday school, corporate worship, and then another two hours of food and small groups. Who’s gonna stay for all that?” I’m not exactly a “glass-half-full” kind of girl. I’m not even a “half-empty” girl. In my mind, there’s rarely ever a glass. (This does not make me the best pastor’s wife.)
Nevertheless, my pastor-husband pressed forward with his plans for a weekly meal. It seemed to me like a plan destined for failure. People would complain, people would burn out, people would get tired of making and bringing food every single Sunday. I was certain everything would fizzle out in a few weeks.
It’s been eight months, and I’m so glad to have been wrong about everything.
Weekly meals together are now a part of the fabric of our church.
On Sundays, we eat.
There’s a biblical precedent for this, you know. My husband wasn’t just reaching for a random way to grow our family affections for one another (see. Rom 12:10). We see the early church in Acts gathering together for teaching, worship, and prayer, and to break bread together. It’s likely that “breaking bread” encompassed both the Lord’s Supper and sharing a meal (see Acts 2:42-27). Every Sunday, our little church gathers for all of the above. We gather for teaching, prayer, worship, and we break bread together both at the communion table and the long, plastic tables covered in casseroles and fried chicken.
It makes a lot of sense, now that we’re used to moving from spiritual food to physical food each week. We come to hear the words of the Lord proclaimed, hoping that we swallow them down deep, hoping that we’ll be changed by them, hoping that when we get in our cars and leave the church parking lot, the words will go with us and transcend the dividing line between sacred and secular. To help us hold on to them, at the end of each worship service, we pass the cup and the bread, and we swallow them down to remember that Christ is the reason any of us are seated in a pew in the first place. He is the reason we hear the Word and understand it, the reason that formerly dead souls are living again. We take the bread and the cup, and we examine the work of Jesus at the cross in light of every passage of Scripture that’s preached. We remember that the broken body of Jesus has paid for our sins, that His blood was enough to cover it all. On Sundays, we eat.
Our hearts nourished with spiritual food, we move to the fellowship tables—the ones that fill up with casseroles or pasta dishes, depending on what the weekly theme might be. It’s always a loud, noisy affair. The crowd last Sunday was as full as the first one eight months ago. Children run everywhere; my three-year-old is usually caught sneaking cookies from the dessert table. This is where we remember we’re all family, carrying the love of Christ in our hearts, knowing we all share an eternal inheritance together. We catch up on life as we move through the lines, fill our plates, and enjoy physical food together. On Sundays, we eat.
When our bellies are full and the conversations still flow, we break into groups for directed discussion. Here, we come back to the food of the Word that we heard proclaimed and read that morning. We discuss it together, working out the practical applications in community. I’m never disappointed in these discussions. I listen to church members share what God is teaching them, how they’re applying the gospel throughout the week, how they need prayer. Surely in these moments of family affection the Lord is driving His words down deep into our hearts. On Sundays, we eat.
I worry about Christians who are reluctant to dive into church community. I worry about what they’re missing and what they’re putting in place of spiritual food. We often go to Hebrews 10:25 as an admonishment to avoid breaking fellowship, and rightly so. There is a lot of safety and oversight built into regularly meeting together. But that verse is both corrective and encouraging when we read it in context.
“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” (Heb. 10:23-25)
This habit of meeting together isn’t just a habit. It is a way of life. Christians should build their lives around meeting together with a body of believers for the church is one of the means God has given us to hold on to our confession of faith in Christ. It’s a weekly encouragement to hold on to Jesus a little more each day. I’m much less likely to give myself to sin regularly if I’m sitting across the table from my fellow church members every Sunday to discuss what God is teaching me about obedience to the Word. I’m less likely to keep my suffering to myself when other believers are looking me in the eye over plates of spaghetti or tacos, asking me what my week has been like and expecting a truthful answer. I’m not going to slip through the cracks of fellowship if I know that every Sunday involves both physical and spiritual food. I will hold on more tightly to Jesus throughout the week when I’m certain that on Sunday, I’ll be fed all over again and it will be life and rest for my soul.
Is it extra work to make and take food to church every Sunday morning? Yeah, it is. Doesn’t it make for a long day? Yes, sometimes it feels really long. Is it worth all the early morning preparation and afternoon clean up? More than I can say.
On Sundays, we eat.
I will hold on more tightly to Jesus throughout the week when I’m certain that on Sunday, I’ll be fed all over again and it will be life and rest for my soul. On Sundays, we eat. Share on X
Photo by Joyce Romero on Unsplash
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.
Read Cook Devour says
This is such a sweet picture of your sabbath. Thank you for sharing this, it is so motivating and encouraging. It truly is sacrifice isn’t? I was just studying Romans 11-12 and that is exactly the heart behind Paul’s instruction to “practice hospitality”… we are to “offer [our] bodies as living sacrifices”! This is how we grow in costly love; this is how we imitate Christ! As you said, all the work and the mess and chaos is worth it.