Lenten Campaign 2025
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From Eden to the Book of Revelation, the Bible tells its story through meals. Not just food, but the act of eating — shared, offered, forbidden, or even symbolic — shapes the drama of salvation history. Eating, in Scripture, is never just about sustenance. It’s where relationships are forged, covenants are broken or sealed, and the divine draws close.
At the heart of the Christian faith is a meal: the Last Supper. But that moment is part of a larger pattern. Jesus, in the Gospels, is often at a table. He eats with tax collectors and sinners (Matthew 9:10), feeds the hungry crowds with loaves and fishes (Mark 6:41–42), and breaks bread with his disciples at Emmaus after the Resurrection (Luke 24:30–31). Even when glorified, he remains deeply human — asking for something to eat in the upper room, and later grilling fish on the shore for his friends (Luke 24:41–43; John 21:12).
“The Son of Man has come eating and drinking,” Jesus says (Luke 7:34). It was enough to scandalize his critics. But his table habits weren’t random — they revealed the Kingdom. In a world that categorized people by purity, status, and power, Jesus used meals to upend expectations. He didn’t just teach at the table. He healed there, forgave there, even called disciples there.
A Supper, not a Sermon
To eat with someone was, and still is, a form of intimacy. You don’t share a meal with just anyone. But Jesus did. Every meal becomes a form of revelation, a living parable of communion. It’s no accident that the Eucharist is not a sermon or a song, but a supper.
And the Bible doesn’t start with a sermon either — it starts with fruit.
The first to eat in the Hebrew Bible is Eve; the last in the Christian Bible is John. One reaches for fruit from a tree (Genesis 3:6), the other receives a scroll from an angel (Revelation 10:9–10). Eve is tempted by a serpent to eat; John is commanded by an angel. “It tasted sweet as honey,” he says, “but it turned sour in my stomach.” One act ushers humanity into the story of sin; the other concludes the vision of restoration. Eating marks both fall and fulfillment.
In between Eve and John lies a long history of sacred meals: manna in the desert, Elijah’s hearth cake, the Passover lamb, the wedding at Cana, and finally the Bread of Life himself, offered on a hill outside Jerusalem.
Food in Scripture is never a backdrop — it’s a bearer of meaning. It teaches us that God meets us in our hunger. He does not demand we transcend our human need; instead, He enters it. Jesus doesn’t float above the table — He takes bread in His hands. He breaks it. He gives it.
In a world of instant consumption, it’s easy to forget the holiness of meals. But the Bible keeps returning us to the table — not just as a place of nourishment, but of encounter. To eat, in faith, is to remember that heaven is not a retreat from the body, but a feast.
As Revelation promises: “Blessed are those invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb” (Revelation 19:9).

