Speak to Me Sunday: Sustenance

Once Upon a Time, we were traveling with my parents in southern Italy. One day we took the train from Naples to Sorrento, then a boat to the island of Capri where we spent several hours enjoying that very hilly island. When we made the return trip, we decided to stop in Sorrento to explore. For some reason, my dad had not been privy to that decision and therefore got a little grumpy about even more walking. So, we did the only thing that would remedy the situation: we settled him in a pizzeria, ordered him a pizza, and all was right with the world.

I was reminded of this story during church last weekend. The reading was about Elijah, sitting under a broom tree, essentially telling God that he was tired and did not want to go on. So, what did God do? He sent an angel to deliver a hearth cake and a jug of water. Elijah ate, then took a nap, after which the angel woke him up and told him to eat again. After two meals and a good nap, Elijah then walked 40 days and 40 nights.

I love these Biblical glimpses of human shortcomings—not the kind due to sin, but to the simple fact that we are limited by bodies that get tired, thirsty, and hungry. Both the Old and New Testaments provide instances when God, or an angel, or a Good Samaritan saw to a person’s physical needs. Often, food or drink were provided before a miracle or a spiritual lesson. When Jesus heals Jarius’ daughter, he tells her parents to give her something to eat (Mark 5:40-43). At his mother’s request for more wine, Jesus performs his first miracle in Cana. The story of Martha and Mary juxtaposes human nourishment (Martha) with that of spiritual fulfillment (Mary). And Jesus' compassion for the multitude of people coming to hear him speak results in the miracle of the multiplication of loaves and fishes, and with their physical needs met the next day Jesus gives them his Bread of Life Discourse.

Hospitality, kindness, fellowship, compassion can all be made manifest by the offering of food and drink. Eat to live, or live to eat? I believe the two go hand-in-hand because food is so much more than sustenance. We eat to celebrate and to mourn. We toast a new bride and groom. We bring meals to a neighbor and send care packages to a college student. We light candles on a birthday cake and bake cookies for a fundraiser.

All this to say that food is a Love Language, one which has taken on new significance in light of my father’s cancer journey. My father (praise God!) has finished his cancer treatments, but for a while he will continue to experience the effects of the weekly radiation and chemotherapy treatments; namely, loss of appetite and a throat that is incredibly raw. For some time, he has been unable to eat anything. All the things that one would ordinarily do for someone who is ill—the chicken noodle soup, homemade bread, nourishing meals, vanilla milkshakes—have been removed from the equation, and we have had to re-think how to fill that gap.

It is harder than you would think to offer comfort, distraction, and sustenance in ways which do not involve food. We have had to think beyond the kitchen table. So, we make movie suggestions and bring my parents interesting magazines or books. We visit. My dad paints and draws, my mom goes through old photos and notebooks, and they both take a morning walk. My mom makes a big production of labeling the syringes of protein my dad takes as “appetizer” or “entrée” or “dessert” because laughter helps. They go to Mass, sitting quietly in the back to limit contact. We still gather every Sunday, but not for a meal; instead, we play cards.

Sustenance, but not from food, and if we are being honest there is a little spark of joy missing. We miss sharing a meal together, we miss seeing the grin on my father’s face as he enjoys a grilled steak, we miss the clinking of forks and knives and the hustle and bustle in the kitchen as we prepare a meal. My dad misses ALL food, but when asked about what he is most looking forward to eating once this is over, he replies, “Popeye’s fried chicken.”  

Okay, then.

Leaning against the wall in my parents’ kitchen is a bulletin board calendar with the days in June, July, and August marked off with large X’s, each one representing a day of treatment. The footprints of those red X’s highlight how far my father has come. It has been hard, but not impossible. And my father, who once grumbled about “more walking” while on a vacation in Sorrento, will soon get his pizza.

Except this time, it will be Popeye’s fried chicken.