My dinner with Jesus.

One of the loveliest passages in the New Testament occurs in John's gospel. It is after the Resurrection, and several of the apostles have gone out fishing. After working all night and catching nothing, they are about to give up when a man calls to them from shore to try casting their net on the right of the boat. When the net is so full that they can hardly pull it in, they realize that the man is Jesus. Overcome with joy, Peter plunges into the sea to swim to shore and arrives to find that Jesus has prepared their breakfast.

Prepared their breakfast? Jesus did many far more momentous things in his time on earth but none, perhaps, as moving. There is something so tender and specific about this particular action, especially when one sees it in counterpoint to the Meal he had offered them only a few days earlier. Like most scripture, it enlarges the more one studies it. But unlike most of what Jesus did, it seems (unless I am very obtuse) simple and unambiguous--no two-edged sword here. Jesus saw his friends out at sea. He knew they were still grieving over his death, and he wanted to make them happy. Like children who bring their parents breakfast in bed, his first thoughts turned to food.

As one whose mind is similarly occupied (I manage a large, hungry household), I am fascinated by this "domestic" Jesus. Going through the gospels, I keep discovering a man concerned about food. Indeed, Jesus' disciples were known as the ones who were "always eating and drinking"--unlike John the Baptist's who were always fasting and praying. When the multitudes came to hear him preach, he never forgot that they needed physical as well as spiritual sustenance. Jesus was "moved to pity" for the crowds who, in their own eagerness to hear him, had neglected to bring any food for the trip.

When Zaccheus needed to be acknowledged, Jesus invited himself to Zaccheus' house to share a meal; and in the glow of such unconditional acceptance, the tax collector, despised by the people, was able to change his life.

Throughout the gospels, Jesus uses the sharing of food to break barriers and create community. And this was hardly easy. The relatively classless society that Americans inhabit makes it difficult to imagine how rigid the rules were in Jesus' time. I live in India, where caste consciousness is still extremely high, and I have some sense of how things were then. I can only marvel at the simplicity of Jesus' rejection of that reality.

Jesus didn't talk about equality or the inclusive nature of God's love, he lived it. He went into people's homes and ate with them--whatever they were eating and however they were eating it. This was unheard of in a culture where every bite one took was governed by immutable and divine law.

In India, a girl told me how she had once asked for a drink of water in a house where she worked as a maid. Rather than give it to her in a glass (which would "pollute" it), the woman of the house made her cup her hands over the sink as she poured the water into them and had her drink that way. Most orthodox upper-caste families keep a chipped and grungy cup and plate for the servant--it is kept separately and never used by anyone else.

Given the Pharisees' excessive concern over ritual pollution and things that can make one "unclean," I would only guess that a similar system prevailed during Jesus' time. Their constant complaint about Jesus was that he "ate with sinners." In one of his more memorable rebukes, Jesus said, "Woe upon you, you scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites that scour the outside of cup and dish, while all within is running with avarice and violence ... Scour the inside of cup and dish first, thou blind Pharisee, that the outside may become clean, too."

Jesus' use of food as a metaphor works as elegantly as it does because it works through reality. Jesus' preference to eat with sinners was a symbol of God's love for all people, and it was also actual love. Jesus' living of this actual love was not a spiritual exercise--it was physical and material.

When Jesus fed the 5,000, it was a real meal, and he did not neglect the dishes--baskets were sent around to collect all the leftovers so that "nothing should be wasted." And the miracle of the loaves and fishes notwithstanding, he knew that most meals are not produced out of thin air. When Jesus wanted to celebrate Passover with his disciples, he sent two of them ahead to make all the necessary preparations.

The life Jesus offers us in the eucharistic meal is dramatically enacted in several other passages in the gospels. His encounter with the disciples on the road to Emmaus can be seen as the model for the Mass we celebrate today. Before the disciples recognized Jesus, he spoke with them at length about the scriptures, showing them how many of the Old Testament passages that puzzled them were in fact referring to him.

In the Mass, in the Liturgy of the Word, we, too, dwell on scripture and try to make sense of it in the light of what we believe through Christ. But in a very real sense, this kind of understanding is one dimensional. We, like the disciples at Emmaus, need the physical act of sharing in the meal to open our eyes. The disciples recognized him in the "breaking of the bread," a phrase that according to biblical scholar Roger Karban, implies an "action instead of a thing." This is hardly new, given the tremendous importance the church has always given to regular participation in the Mass, but it takes on added depth when considered in light of all the other meals Jesus shared with people during his ministry.

Another of my favorite gospel passages occurs just after the encounter near Emmaus. The two disciples who met him rushed immediately to Jerusalem to share the news with the apostles. As they were speaking of it, Jesus himself appeared in their midst. After calming their initial shock and terror, "while they were still doubtful, and bewildered with joy, he asked them, |Have you anything here to eat?'"

There is something so down-to-earth, so reassuring, and even funny about this--here they are trying to fathom the Resurrection and Jesus invites them to share a meal.

Many things can be learned from this small exchange. One is the tremendous importance Jesus gave to this most basic requirement of life. If he had just wanted a symbol, after all, he could have chosen ritual bathing or a fire ceremony. That Jesus chose food--which is impossible to do without--implies both that it (meaning the Eucharist) is not a symbol at all and that the ordinary meals we share every day have a significance we need to be aware of in a conscious way.

After that memorable breakfast on the banks of the sea of Tiberias, Jesus asked Peter three times whether he loved him. Each time, when Peter answered in the affirmative, Jesus replied, "Feed my lambs." Just as the recognition of Jesus in the breaking of the bread is an action, not a thing, the love of God implies action, not just feelings or meditation.

Feeding people is probably the most concrete way we have of serving God, and most cultures the world over recognize this. In India, there is a saying that "the guest is God," and no guest is allowed to leave without being fed. Irish wakes are famous for the food they inspire, Jewish mothers cure everything with chicken soup, and no Italian family could get together without eating.

We all do it. Because we are human, we communicate, we comfort, and we celebrate with food. Although at times it seems depressingly routine and even boring, the task of feeding each other is our chance to participate in one of the divine mysteries.

But before we get carried away with the metaphysical delights of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, it would be wise to remember Jesus' encounter with Mary and Martha. Martha had invited him to her home for a meal. And while she busied herself preparing it, Mary sat by Jesus' feet to listen to his words. Martha, "distracted by so many needs," asked Jesus to send Mary into help her. But Jesus answered, "Martha, Martha, how many cares and troubles you have! But only one thing is necessary; and Mary has chosen for herself the best part of all, that which shall never be taken away from her."

The message is obvious: if the choice is between the kitchen and the guest, consider cheese sandwiches.

Jo McGowan is a writer who lives in Dehra Doon, India with her husband and their three children.