The Stars Have Come Nearer
In the Lenten journey we ask, Can we really trust God? From the film Babette’s Feast we draw inspiration. Sermon recorded at Zion United Church in Armstrong BC Canada.
So I want to talk with you today about my favourite film. It’s a bit of an unusual one—it’s a Danish film with English subtitles, and it won the Oscar for the Best Foreign Language Film when it came out in 1987. It’s called Babette’s Feast, and I have to thank my husband Don for introducing it to me.
The story takes place in a tiny, remote village on the windswept coast of Denmark in the 19th century. It’s basically in the middle of nowhere. But as in many good stories, things get interesting when a variety of strangers arrive on shore.
The wonderful thing about this film is that you can enjoy it on many levels. On one level, you can enjoy it gastronomically—the climax of the film is an extraordinary feast prepared by the French chef Babette, thus the title of the film, Babette’s Feast. Throughout the film, food is a kind of symbol of life, and of joy. So if you’re a foodie, you can really enjoy the film on that level.
On another level, the story the film tells is a romance, as the two beautiful daughters of a elderly Protestant pastor, Martine and Philippa, are each courted by handsome strangers from the great wide world beyond the village.
On yet another level, the story is something of a tragedy as both sisters in turn reject their suitors and, it turns out, their only chance for romantic happiness, and choose to devote themselves to assisting their father in his ministry.
When their father dies, the sisters assume the leadership of his small flock that gathers regularly in their home, and they continue to devote themselves to acts of charity. In one of their acts of charity, they take in a French refugee woman named Babette, who becomes their cook and housekeeper.
With all these themes and currents, the film is a kind of meditation on life, and the choices we make, what guiding star we follow in our lives, what passions we choose to pursue—whether that be the passion of a culinary artist seeking to create the perfect meal; or the more ordinary passion of romantic love; or the yet more common pursuit of personal ambition and a life of material success.
And then there is another choice—the choice the sisters make. The choice to deny themselves and take up their cross, and to devote their lives to service, to their vision of following God’s call. The film makes clear that this is a really costly choice, for everyone involved.
Actually all of the various choices that the characters in the film make are costly, each in their own way.
But running throughout the film is this central choice of whether we take up our cross and follow God, or whether we go our own way, and the impact that can have on our lives.
I’ve been thinking about Babette’s Feast this week as I considered our Scripture readings for today—both the psalm and the Gospel reading. This whole idea of the choices we make, and the costs involved.
Last week, I spoke about Lent as a time in which we can follow the pattern of Jesus’ choices, the choices he made when confronted by the devil in the wilderness. How that pattern of choices was about deepening our trust in, and our reliance on, God.
This week I want to explore that idea a little further, because I think this is really the essential choice we face in Lent: Do we choose to rely wholeheartedly on God, to put our lives in God’s hands, to rest under the shelter of God’s wings; or do we choose to go it alone, to rely on other things—ourselves, our own resources, our own strength, our own money, our own plans for our future security.
In the Gospel passage, Jesus utters a lament over the city of Jerusalem: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”
Jesus laments that Jerusalem has chosen to set itself against God, killing the prophets and attacking the messengers that God has sent to it, the messengers that God has sent to call the people to repentance, to call the people back into relationship with God.
And that wonderful maternal image: ‘I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings’—a place of shelter, comfort, love, safety—‘but you were not willing.’ God offers shelter, comfort, and love, and the people refuse it.
Now, in our own lives, we don’t routinely kill prophets or stone those sent to us by God—not literally, anyway. But are there other ways that we cast aside God’s mothering care and wise counsel, and choose instead to follow our own way?
In the movie Babette’s Feast there are many examples of how we choose to go our own way, and reject God’s way. One of the rejected suitors seeks a life of glory and success as a military officer, and rises to the rank of General; the other seeks solace in the applause of the crowds on the opera stages of Paris.
And even amongst the villagers, the little flock that gathers in the sisters’ home, things are not always what they seem. They are outwardly devout Christians, regularly gathering for worship, but we learn that under the surface, their relationships are marred by petty jealousies and old grievances, that have grown up like brambles between them. So, they too, have strayed from God’s ways.
We all know how this can happen, even for us as church-attending Christians. We pray each week that “Thy will be done,” not my will—but on a day to day basis, faced with the circumstances we face in our lives, that’s often really hard for us to put into practice. The temptation to be in control of our lives, to chart our own course is strong.
We also pray weekly, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” The idea of wiping the slate clean, being forgiven for our sins and releasing the debt of anyone who has sinned against us. But again there are some debts that we may be reluctant to forgive.
Can we really trust God with our lives? Can we rely on God to guide us in all the decisions that we face? The big ones, like what are we meant to do with our lives; as well as the smaller ones, like what should I do about about that relationship in my life that I’ve been struggling with?
Can we trust in God; can we trust God with our lives, with the whole of our lives? The short answer is, Yes. Yes we can. That’s what our faith tells us. It tells us that it is a safer bet to trust in God’s guidance than to try and go our own way. And that choosing our own way, with all its attractions, ultimately leads to a smaller, less enriching life than trusting wholeheartedly in God. But still we struggle to believe that.
I mentioned last week the parable of the Prodigal Son, which Wendy will be reflecting on with us in a couple of weeks. But I think it’s a helpful illustration of what I am talking about here. That our choosing to go our own way often lands us in trouble, in unnecessary trouble, before we come to our senses and return home to the waiting Father, who welcomes us in a tender embrace.
Jesus’ lament in today’s Gospel passage reminds us that even when we reject God, God does not give up on us, that God still waits for us, and still longs for our return.
The climax of the movie Babette’s Feast is a speech given by the General at the feast. He was the one who as a young man was rejected by the elder sister, Martine, and had thrown himself into the pursuit of a glittering military career. Now all these years later, he finds himself at the sisters’ dinner table in their little village, alongside the members of the little flock that gathers regularly in their home.
The meal that Babette serves is out of this world: turtle soup, and caviar, and quails with truffles and foie gras, exotic salads, fruits, cakes and cheeses, all washed down by the finest French wines. It turns out that she before she had arrived in the village as a refugee, she had been the most famous chef in Paris.
The General, swept away by the sumptuous delights of the feast served up by Babette, has a sudden burst of insight and he rises to speak. All at once it has occurred to him that despite the years of charting his own course, and rising to the rank of General, the one thing that has remained true all his life has been his love for Martine. He reflects on the choice he had made to devote himself to a life of ambition, and seemingly turning away from God.
And yet he now sees that no matter how far he has travelled from God, no matter how fiercely he has turned away from God, God has all the while been bounding his life, sheltering him under God’s wings. All at once, the General sees that despite his rejection of God, God’s grace and mercy has come to him anyway, has sought him out.
The General’s speech inspires the villagers gathered around the table to realize that they, too, have been blessed by God’s care, despite their turning away from God and descending into petty squabbles. They turn toward one another offering forgiveness and mercy.
The feast becomes an experience of God’s grace and mercy, and it gives everyone at the table not so much a foretaste of Heaven, but an experience of Heaven in the here and now. As the villagers leave their house, one of the sisters looks up at the night sky and says, ‘The stars have come nearer.’
And this is really the promise of the Gospel: the more we draw near to God, the more we allow God to draw near to us, the more of God’s grace, and mercy, and peace we will experience in our own lives; the more we too will experience glimpses of eternity in the here and now.
May the Holy presence of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit draw near and enfold you this Lent and always. Amen.
Rev Dr Jeff Seaton