A Moveable Feast

If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”

― Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

There is a feast availed to us that is beyond the pallid dullness of our daily course. What seems extravagant to us now, is simply adding salt to gruel. Gruel is only nourishment; it is certainly not ebullient. The body is regarded as merely functional, and so are its needs. Life does not surge here. Within this realm, wounds stay wounds, the blind stay blind, the deaf stay deaf, and the lame hardly move. All senses are suppressed and our hearts lament our plight. Envy and hostility wither our tree. Communities must suffer the hurts we inflict upon ourselves and one another. Without fully functioning senses, the body is resigned to become wounded. This is our existence and we expect nothing more from it. But what if these senses were brought into full bloom? After all, the senses do not merely give joy, but they give life, and protection. What if the narrow spectrum of darkness exploded into the spectrum of light, a prism, a rainbow? What if, in being healed, in tasting and seeing goodness, we heal and elevate others? Is it possible for hostility and hurts to vanish and for all to be made well?

A moveable feast is a feast with no fixed date on the calendar. Religious holidays like Easter and Passover, for example, do not occur on an exact date, but are determined based upon astronomical events and other factors. Ernest Hemingway is largely credited with the more secular application of this phrase. What did he mean by it? The experience of Paris while young is savory; it is succulent. Its flavor excites your palate for the rest of your days. In your old age, you can close your eyes as one does when a meal is especially exquisite. Wherever you go, you need only remember, and you are seated at the joyous table once again. It is an enduring bliss.

Isak Dinesen, the nom’ de plume of Karen Bixen, tells the story of a small, austere religious community of Danish Protestants in Berlevaag, which sits at the base of a fjord in Norway, set in the mid-19th century. Two sisters, Martine and Philipa, carry on the traditions of their deceased father, the religious leader of the town. As young women, the father challenged them to a life of simplicity and piety, spurning the allurements of this world.  The implied philosophy is one of a dualism that rejects the sensual to obtain the spiritual.

A young army officer named Lorens Loewenhielm was sent to their village by his father. In essence, he was banished there to cure him of his vices. While there, he fell in love with Martine. Another visitor, Achille Papin arrived and sought Philipa’s hand; he was a baritone from the Paris opera on respite. The two men desired the young girls to marry and travel the world with them. The father imposed other plans, and his daughters remained in this isolated community. They chose self denial as a religious obligation rather than the enticements of the pleasures of the flesh. The small ascetic community would continue unchallenged in its traditions. Life would be sustained but not enjoyed.

Fifteen years later, Babette Hersant arrives unannounced with a letter from Achille. She is a refugee from the revolution in Paris. She is very different from them. She only speaks French, is Catholic, and a bit mysterious. Achille’s letter requests they welcome her and he recommends her as a cook. They cannot pay her, but she is content to work for her keep in that capacity for the next 14 years.

The food of the village was simple and bland, in keeping with their denial of sensual pleasures. The community was struggling financially and ongoing disputes accentuated the coldness of their home. Babette’s aptitude added flavor to the food and wisely improved their financial plight. Their meals, however, continue to be marred with discord. Babette’s presence begins to change the community in salubrious ways.

Communal meals are as much filled with grumbling and verbal sparring as they are with prayers and hymns. However, “their bickering always stops when Babette enters the room to serve [them]. A disapproving glance or a clearing of the throat is enough to bring shame and silence. Her mere presence is a rebuke to unworthy words or thoughts.”

- Curry, Thomas J. (2012) "Babette's Feast and the Goodness of God," Journal of Religion & Film: Vol. 16 : Iss. 2 , Article 10.

Coinciding with preparations for the one-hundredth birthday of Martine’s and Philipa’s father, Babette receives notice that she has won the sum of 10,000 francs from a lottery in Paris. Babette requests the honor of preparing a celebratory dinner for the group at a her own expense. Her offer of an authentic French meal is met with reservation, but accepted. An extravagant, flavorful meal runs counter to their entire way of life. Secretly, they decide to allow the meal, but to take no notice of it. It is only nourishment for the body, nothing more.

She returns to Paris to purchase the victuals. The puritanical village is unnerved by the arrival of such things as strange bottles and an enormous live turtle. Fears of witchery surface and they begin to question their decision. Out of love for Babette, they allow the meal to continue, but reinforce the commitment to deny sensual acknowledgement. Once again, the food is only sustenance for the body, nothing more.

Another guest arrives to join in the dinner, General Lorens Loewenhielm, bringing the total to twelve. He is now married to a member of the Queen’s court, but comes alone at the invitation of his aunt, a member of the congregation. He is successful, but unhappy. He ponders what he rejected when he left Martine and this life. Surely, this is a moment of deep reflection for Martine as well. Seeing him, she undoubtedly wonders what might have been. Would she have had children? Would she have traveled the world? Would they have been happy together? He arrives, dressed in formal military attire fitting for such a memorial, but anticipates a peasant meal.

.

They all gather in a parlor room to await the presentation of the dinner. The warmth of the unusual occasion seems highlighted by the candles in the room. Their plan seems in jeopardy from the very start. Philippa plays the piano and the music changes the atmosphere. The contentious group begins to greet one another. An aged married couple affectionately hold hands, look upon one another in quiet delight, and gently kiss. Their eyes betray them- they enjoy each other’s company; the relationship is not merely functional. Does the suppression of gastronomic pleasure stand a chance? If not, how will it affect this stoic community?

Unaware of the intent on abstemious participation, the General regales the experience. Of all those at the table, only he is qualified to speak of these delicacies. Only his cosmopolitan palate and knowledge is suitable to commend the exquisite quality of what is set before them. This is no simple dinner. This is a moveable feast, an epicurean ecstasy from Paris returning to him in Jutland.

Instead, what is served is elegant fare: potage á la tortue; caviar blinis; and a chef-d'œuvre of Babette’s own creation, Caille en Sarcophage. Each course is complemented by the finest amontillado, champagne Veuve Clicquot, and burgundy from the Cistercian vineyard Clos de Vougeot, respectively

-- Curry, Thomas J. (2012) "Babette's Feast and the Goodness of God," Journal of Religion & Film: Vol. 16 : Iss. 2 , Article 10.

By way of “close attention to facial expression, eye-movement, and gesture . . . [the] film records the shift from the community's initial resolve to think nothing of the food . . . through their unavoidable enjoyment of food, drink, and general conviviality, to a newfound enjoyment of each other, via a process of healing and reconciliation of the wounds of scarred relationships between them.”

This community, as reflected in the film, had long closed itself off to one another in meaningful ways. They were faithful, but cold. The colors in the film reflect this as well. The transition from gray hues to the emergence of the bold primary colors in the General’s dress uniform and the  noticeable flush to the cheeks as they consume the wine. Coldness yields to warmth. Darkness yields to light. Parsimony gives way to generosity- not just in taste, but in sight (Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!). Closed hearts open up once again in the way flowers turn to the sun and open up receptively. Memories are welcomed and the eyes are both open and closed with delight.

Man, in his foolishness and shortsightedness, believes he must make choices in this life. He trembles at the risks he takes. We all know fear. But no. Our choice is of no importance. The moment comes when our eyes are opened and we see and realize that grace is infinite. We need only await it in confidence and acknowledge it in gratitude. Grace makes no conditions. And see! That which we have chosen is given us, and that which we have refused is also granted us. Yes, that which we rejected is granted us. Mercy and truth have met together. Righteousness and bliss shall kiss one another.

The contrasts throughout the story seem of such grave implications. The choice of worldly life or a life of abasement, the choice of marriage or singleness, the choice of tradition or change, the choice of being closed or open,…all these choices! Which way is the right way? Did rejecting the sensual have efficacy in bringing them closer to the love of God and each other? Was the choice of abasement due to its import or their fear? To this, the General says “but, no.” Our posturing is one of gratitude of all that comes, in its fullness and as its is.

Indeed, Grace makes no conditions! John Barclay, in Paul and the Gift, describes the “gift-culture”, which is remarkably different than an economy culture. While the gift of God is unconditional, it is not unconditioned. In such a culture, to receive a gift from someone of a higher rank, a gift that you could not reciprocate, a gift that you were in no position to initiate, is to receive a gift that confers honor and relationship. The gift, in essence, inaugurates you into a new contract of relationship and righteousness. The life of right relations is a life of bliss made possible by mercy. “How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity! (Psalm 133)” The extravagance of Babette’s meal honors the participants as kings and dignitaries, a designation only the General fully comprehends. This reversal from a pauper’s meal to a royal feast is a baptism into a relationship of Grace.

Such Grace is aware of pain and disparity of worth. Yet, the magnitude of the Grace does not bring sorrow, it brings unparalleled joy! The experience at the table flavors their relationships with this Grace. The General and Martine address one another, after all these years apart. The General’s toast undoubtedly touches upon his reflections of being back in this community and with Martine. What of her rejection of him? What of his moving on without her? They went in two different directions. Together again, what is to be said of the past? His toast responds to this. He also answers these questions directly to Martine:

I have been with you every day of my life. You know, do you not, that is has been so? And, I shall be with you every day that is left to me. Every evening I shall sit down, if not in flesh, which means nothing, in spirit, which is all, to dine with you, just like tonight. For tonight I have learned that in this world anything is possible.”

― Isak Dinesen, Babette's Feast

The words of Christ are laced in his words. Jesus animates our relationships, both present and past, as He sits to dine with us. Dining together in spirit, that is the thing. People can eat together, but their spirits can be miles apart, and yet those spirits can still join in a moveable feast. A pauper’s meal or a king’s meal, it does not matter. Together in Grace and Mercy, we are united and all is well. And, as the film depicts, after the meal we do not just wander home as before. We are changed. We dance and sing, we hold hands, we can kiss… all of our relationships are changed by this experience of the senses awakening the spirit to what has always been there.

Babette’s loss is left as a mystery in the film. However, she has endured much suffering. She lost her husband and a child during the uprising. She was exiled from her homeland. She lives in a land devoid all the refinements she knew before. Even her language is taken from her in this place. Her life as a head chef at Cafe Anglais, preparing banquets for dignitaries, is no more. This barren place is her home now. Yet, she has tasted and seen more than they can imagine. Bringing the moveable feast to them is the gift of herself to them. So much loss and pain, yet she is fully aware of what has also been given.

Taste and see that the Lord is good. Mercy and Truth have met together; Righteousness and Bliss have kissed. Grace has been given for the giving of Grace.

By treating each other with kindness and understanding, the women learn that their differences do not prevent them from achieving emotional intimacy. This closeness is hinted at earlier in the story, when the sisters took Babette into their home and got acquainted. Dinesen reveals: "She had appeared to be a beggar; she turned out to be a conqueror." This transformed impression is the result of the sisters’ openness to receiving Babette as an act of mercy. It was not self-denial that transformed her appearance, it was Grace. This reflects the image of Christ so well. He came in the appearance of a humble servant, yet He emerged as the Conqueror over the powers that reduce man to dull creatures. His Grace transformed all relationships to jars of clay overflowing with Grace and Mercy. He took our gruel and gave us a banquet of love; He took our water and gave us choice wine.

He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.

-Song of Songs 2:4

The Feasts of the Lord awaken the senses to their Maker. Our eyes drink in the textures, the colors, the artful arrangement of the meal lovingly prepared and set before us. We smell the scent of citrus and the bouquet fo the wine. In the Feasts, food symbolically elevates the story. The citron of Sukkot stands out for its lemon scent and bright yellow hue. The Passover offers cups of wine, bitter herbs, and accoutrements to retell the story of God’s faithful love. The goodness of God informs us that we are not ascetic dualistic creatures, but beings created to experience the lavish sensuality presented to us in right relation with the Maker and one another. To be alive is to fully feel. These senses are not arbitrary or merely functional. The delights of community, music, and dining are from God for one another.

There is a table where we gather together for a feast that exceeds our imagination and perceptions. It is to be a crowded table where Truth and Mercy meet. There is music so alive that the dead regions of our heart wake up. This feast does not feed the sensual desires that would gratify self, but rather elevates the senses as a communal union. The flesh and spirit unite to heal and bind. Festering wounds close over, blind eyes see clearly, deaf ears hear music and voice, lame legs dance around the fountain, for life has come to the feast. Once we taste and see, the feast itself becomes a moveable feast, never leaving us. We never hunger for anything more. We never thirst for something more satisfying. As the General says to Martine, the Bridegroom says to us: “Every night, I dine with you in spirit.” This is the table of reconciliation and life- a moveable feast.

Psalm 85

Steadfast love and faithfulness meet;
    righteousness and peace kiss each other.
11 Faithfulness springs up from the ground,
    and righteousness looks down from the sky.
12 Yes, the Lord will give what is good,
    and our land will yield its increase.