Turkish Delight

“Save room for dessert!”

That’s a classic refrain at shared meals. And for good reason, particularly on special occasions. I mean, what is Thanksgiving dinner without a slice of pumpkin pie? What’s a birthday party without a piece of cake? What is Easter without a chocolate bunny? For goodness’ sake, save room for dessert!

Unless your meal is the bread of life. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry,” Jesus declares in today’s Gospel from John. If hunger is an image for “the essential human condition,” then the image of bread stands for God’s gracious provision in every arena and at every level of our existence. In other words, Jesus is our “staple food,” God’s sustaining presence in the flesh. He is not “a luxury of excess,”[1] not just a treat to follow a feast of other foods; the bread of life is absolutely necessary for our thriving.

And as it turns out, the bread of life is also sufficient: “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry….” You don’t need to save room for dessert after all. In fact, the author of our second reading from Ephesians warns against it: “Do not make room for the devil…. Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice…. [And] live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us….” Evil wants a place on your plate, beloved, but don’t give it one. Fill up on the bread of life instead.

Of course, that’s easier said than done. The author of Ephesians wouldn’t catalog all those examples of evil if they weren’t such tasty morsels. Bitterness, wrath, anger, wrangling, slander, malice? It’s like a list of ingredients for the average political hit piece on Facebook. And isn’t it gratifying to indulge in a little contempt? Doesn’t spite taste ever so sweet? Never mind that our gleeful antagonism is destructive; never mind that scornful words are often untrue. We take pleasure in them nonetheless.

Have you ever read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe? If not, there’s still time before school starts. The author, C.S. Lewis, understands the power of our cravings. In his classic story, evil isn’t repellant at all, but appealing. Consider Edmund, the second youngest of the four Pevensie children. Following his sister, Lucy, into the famous wardrobe, the passageway to the Land of Narnia, Edmund quickly gets separated and encounters a great lady driving a sled pulled by two reindeer. She introduces herself as the Queen of Narnia, then she begins interrogating him about his origins. And as soon as she learns that he’s arrived from the human world, her stern tone disappears:

[Excerpt from pp.35-8]

Of course, the so-called Queen of Narnia is in fact the White Witch, and she intends to woo Edmund with sweets in order to manipulate him into betraying his siblings. It’s a plot to destroy her adversaries and dominate the Land of Narnia, and it all begins with enchanted Turkish Delight.

That’s an apt metaphor, isn’t it? What are those appetizing bites, those little evils, that satisfy in the moment yet forever leave something to be desired? What are those patterns in your speech or behavior that may appear harmless, yet that tear down community rather than building it up?

What is your Turkish Delight?

Whatever it is, friends, don’t save room for it! Evil wants a place on your plate, but don’t give it one. Fill up on the bread of life instead. “O living Bread from heaven,” writes Johann Rist in the first verse of our Hymn of the Day, “how well you feed your guest! The gifts that you have given have filled my heart with rest. O wondrous food of blessing! O cup that heals our woes! My heart, this gift possessing, in thankful song o’erflows!”[2]

[1] Sundays and Seasons Day Resources for August 11, 2024, members.sundaysandseasons.com/Home/TextsAndResources#resources.

[2] Evangelical Lutheran Worship #542.