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SOUP STORY
“Grace is the most evergreen reason that people become Christians,
and it is the most compelling reason for remaining one.”
-David Zahl in The Big Relief
In a society that puts a high value on performance and making a good impression, it’s good to know that our worth and value as human beings is ultimately found in God’s unconditional and undeserved love. The following story is a reflection I came across in Alive Now magazine which reinforces this idea in the context of sharing soup during the season of Lent.
“HEARTY FISH SOUP” has a solid Christian ring to it, so when it came my turn to fix soup for the Wednesday night Lenten suppers, that’s the recipe I chose. I chopped and sauteed onion and celery, crushed and stirred in garlic cloves, added two big cans of diced tomatoes, sprinkled parsley and thyme, twisted a grind or two of black pepper, poured in a cup of white wine, and voila. The base was ready to simmer.
Next, the fish-slicing and counter-slicing half frozen orange roughy, spooning cubes of fish into the pot. When the soup was bubbling and the fish flaky, I tasted.
Mmmmm. Sure hit. Better take a few copies of the recipe for inevitable requests.
With the pleased sense of bearing the golden egg, I placed my soup in a nest of potholders on the back seat and took off. After parking next to the church, I climbed out, circled the car, opened the door, and lifted out the pot of boiling hot soup. Then I stepped back onto the sloping wet grass, slipped—Oh!—scrambled—No!—slipped again—eek!—and realized I was going all the way down.
For the next few seconds I tried to live life to the fullest. Trying not to get parboiled, I also devoted myself to saving that soup. If I could keep the soup pot horizontal throughout my decent to earth, I didn’t care how else I came down or landed.
Couldn’t do it. By the time I stopped moving, the soup stopped moving, and the ground stopped moving, I’d witnessed more than half my hearty fish soup−onion, celery, garlic, parsley, thyme, black pepper, white wine, and orange roughy−erupt from the pot and land in the gutter. On the plus side, not a drop touched me.
I picked myself up. Resisting the urge to scoop up all available soup from the gutter and back into the pot, I carried the remains to the parish hall, left my three-quarters-empty pot on the stove next to two full soup pots that others had brought, and went to Evensong.
The church was warm. People smiled at me. I started to feel better. Singing the first hymn, I slowly became aware of all the voices around me each with its own unique beauty, each part of the whole. By the last note, I felt much better. I’d made soup, brought soup, spilled soup, and the world rolled serenely on, with me it. After evensong, we ate in the parish hall and had plenty-more than enough. I sampled all three offerings. And each and every bowl held the best soup I’d ever tasted in my life. No one asked for my recipe, but then, no one got more than a mouthful of my soup.
Conversation revolved around favorite hymns from childhood. I went home with an empty pot, a full soul, and the taste of God’s kingdom in my mouth.
Would that all of us experience something of the profound insight Margaret McGee experienced when she lost her footing one evening on her way to her churches soup supper.
Bowled Over by God’s Amazing Grace,
Pastor Greg
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