A LESSON IN EATING
By Greg Speltz
It was some twelve years ago that I received instructions in proper dining from a Mexican lady. It is an instruction that has always remained with me. Sadly, I have not put it into practice.
While living in Alabama, I was part of a delegation to a sister parish in Temascalapa, Mexico and had occasion to accompany a catechist to a home in a rural wasteland. The catechist carried a book of prayers and basket of food. What I remember distinctly were small loaves of bread, tortillas wrapped in corn husks and some kind of fruit.
Outside an old adobe hut, we found an old couple, husband and wife both in their nineties, sitting beneath a tree on the dust-carpeted earth. As we approached, they struggled to their feet and bent with age greeted us as most honored guests. They supported each other to two broken chairs and offered us chairs opposite.
The catechist put the basket in the lady's lap. I recall a reference to their not having eaten for more than a day.
Reverently, the woman laid back the cloth that covered the food. Taking one of the loaves in both hands, she raised it and her eyes heavenward in a sacramental gesture. Then, as if it were the most ordinary thing to do, she raised her voice in song of blessing and thanksgiving. The language was foreign, its message was clear. The drama of it all escaped her.
Then, lowering the loaf, she offered - no, insisted - that we join in their eating. We did so with mixed emotions of admiration and humility.
And when we finished, she directed us to take the corn husks to the small and patient burrow tethered to a tree in a nearby grove. And it seemed that before he ate, he bowed in reverence, grateful to his creator for this great favor.
It is all still present to me as I write, as clear as the day I sat there. It is perhaps the most deeply experienced Eucharist I have known. It is the greatest unspoken homily I've been privileged to hear.
To some degree, this may well be how we should regard the food we eat. It is the poor who may teach us.
