James 24:7

I've just completed a summer sermon series called "Dining with Jesus."  During that series we explored those times in scripture when Jesus went home with people and/or sat down and ate with them.

During the series I limited the study to actual "eating meetings", although I did fudge a bit (no pun) when I included the story of Zacchaeus.  The text doesn't say he actually ate with him but that he intended to go home with him. ( I also preached one that involved the criticism made of Jesus that he welcomed sinnners and ate with them. )

Yesterday, I looked back on those sermons and made some observations that I think are relevant to the discussion of the "life well-lived."

This week I will write about some of those observations.

One question that intrigued me throughout this series of sermons is the question of why it was important for the writers of scripture to tell us so many stories about Jesus eating with people.

I suggest that part of the reason may have been in the fact that the whole practice of eating together is a highly patternized, regulated and predictable affair.  (Unless you have 3 children under the age of 8!)

We know how to select our chair, where to sit, when to sit, how to ask for food, how to pass it, which fork to use and when, what to say, and what not to say.   (You can find some pretty interesting things when you "Google" the phrase "Table Manners.")

As far as I know, all cultures see the practice of eating together as a regulated, socially patterned, rule-governed affair.

I like to think that Jesus breached those rule-governed affairs as a way to open some space to teach.  (Whether that's what he was aiming to do or not, that was often what happened when folks sat down to eat with Jesus)

Here's Jesus going home with tax collectors and eating with them.   Here's Jesus healing a man on the Sabbath at the table while dining with Pharisees.  Here's Jesus allowing a woman of ill-repute to wash his feet with her tears while he reclined at the table.  Here's Jesus calling out the scribes and the Pharisees at the table.

In almost every instance Jesus breaks the rules, disrupts the patterns, and creates these wonderful "teachable moments."

Now, this is just me thinking about these matters.  However, it seems to me that what happens whenever our mind-numbing social patterns are broken we become intensely aware.

Perhaps Jesus did the things he did and said the things he said to create these moments of supreme awareness. 

Maybe one thing we can learn from Jesus about the "life well-lived" is that we must become aware. We must wake up. We must see.  We must hear. We must smell. We must feel.

Here's a quick and dirty take on how the great American psychologist William James understood awareness:  James believed that we all go through life on automatic pilot- that we sort of drift along on cruise control, unaware, barely consious, operating on habit, our minds drifting in la-la land.

Then some surprising event happens and we wake up, we become conscious, we become aware.  (Now, that's a quick take on a more complicated theory.)

Remember the days following 9/11?  Remember how conscious we became?  Remember how we suddenly noticed our neighbors and even found ourselves caring about them?  Remember how American we suddenly became?

The day before, if I remember correctly, we yawned as we watched the news about shark attacks on the coast of Florida.  Then on 9/11, the towers fell and we all became "aware."   (I later saw a cartoon: a family is dozing on the couch in front of the TV.  Then the 9/11 event is broadcast and their faces show terror and their hair stands straight up.  Then after 9/11 they sit there with the same terrified looks and their hair standing straight up but napping again.)

When Jesus did or said what he did or said at the table people suddenly became aware.  Perhaps they felt uncomfortable, perhaps they felt offended, perhaps they were elated.

What they were not was asleep!

In the presence of Jesus- this sometimes shocking Jesus- folks became aware.

I would suggest that part of "the life well-lived" is to live in conscious awareness: to look at what you are doing, to see who is crossing your path, to observe the looks in eyes and the down-turned corners of mouths.

Do this: decide that one day this week you are going to be aware.  You are going to see what (or who) is there in front of you.  You are going to notice them.

Ah, make it even simpler.  Go to the supermarket and this time actually look at the cashier.  Make a note of his or her name. Call her by name.   Note what you might surmise by the look in his eye.  See him.  Take her in. 

When you sit down at a restaurant actually look up at the waiter when he says, "Hi, I'm Bob. I'll be your server."  Maybe even speak to him and say, "Hi Bob.  I'm (insert name) and this is my (wife, husband, friend) (insert name).  It is nice to meet you."

These are just little things.  But then maybe the "life well-lived" consists of a million little things.

After all, before Jesus could call Matthew the Tax Collector he had to see him.  Before he could go home with the wee man, Zacchaeus, he had to lift his eyes toward the sycamore tree.  Before he could teach the Pharisees about how to invite people to a party, he had to notice all the wealth and power that grappled for the best seat at the table.

To become whole, to live the "life well-lived" we must become conscious. 

We must become aware.