What Has Corinth to Do with Us?

In every society, the act of eating transcends an intrinsic need for food and involves, too, a complex web of individual, social, and historical particularities. The presence of food and drink throughout Scripture narrates, in both subtle and powerful ways, how people of faith come together and find themselves in relationship with one another. Instances of Jacob’s stew, manna from heaven, a widow’s everlasting cupboard, Jesus’ transformation of water into wine, and the great supper of the Lamb function to communicate deeper realities, from deception and isolation to God’s enduring faithfulness.

The evolution of the Lord’s Supper in the New Testament stands as one crucial example where the sharing of food and drink conveys a profoundly spiritual dimension. Paul finds it a matter of first importance to write to those Christians in Corinth concerning how they were misconstruing this very special meal. Paul’s corrective teaching in 1 Corinthians 11:17–22 sought to carefully illustrate how the Corinthians’ separatist participation in this meal was in fact contributing to the malnourishment of the body of Christ.

In verses 20–21,  the cause of the Corinthian division comes into view. Here, Paul accuses the congregation of not partaking in the Lord’s Supper but instead of eating individual suppers. Within these verses, Paul’s frustration is generally understood by emphasizing one of the following three interpretive realities.

The first of these options places the most emphasis on “each one” so that the result is a meal characterized by “intense individualism” (Gordon Fee, The Epistle to the Corinthians, 540–541). A second reading underscores Paul’s verb, “goes ahead with,” taking this to mean those of higher status shared in a meal before those of a lower status arrived. With this view, David Garland has suggested that perhaps those arriving late were slaves or from a poor working class who could not adjust their schedules in order to dine with those of a higher status (1 Corinthians, 540). The third view concerning the meals in Corinth focuses on the socially privileged eating “private” meals. Perhaps, similar to the second view, those with a higher social standing arranged for an intentionally early meal to eat the best food and drink in the most comfortable place in the home. Here, archeological evidence and a precedent for this behavior outside of the church are often cited as legitimizing such an approach. A slight modification of this third perspective is sometimes suggested so that all are eating “together,” but only the well-to-do are partaking of the best food. To a certain degree all of these views have merit and could have been witnessed outside of the Corinthian assembly. Each option, though varying in the degree of isolation, stands as an affront to a meal that was intended to unite the body of Christ in mutual thanksgiving, solidarity, and love.

In jumping forward to a contemporary setting, the prevalence of individualism at mealtime still persists as a cultural norm, both inside and outside of Christian communities. Consider a recent excerpt: “Americans rarely eat together anymore. In fact, the average American eats one of every five meals in her car, one in four Americans eats at least one fast food meal every single day and the majority of American families report eating a single meal together less than five days a week. It’s a pity that so many Americans are missing out on what could be meaningful time with their loved ones” (Cody Delistraty, “The Importance of Eating Together,” The Atlantic, 18 July 2014). Should we really be surprised by the findings of psychologists and sociologists who resonate with what Paul asserted so long ago (i.e., time spent together at the table is of inestimable value, and habitual individualism wreaks communal havoc)?

Although 1 Corinthians 11 richly informs our ongoing understanding and praxis of the Lord’s Supper, I’ve also come to appreciate the wisdom of this passage during times of fasting. As we forge together during a time of refraining from food, there is great wisdom in retaining a perspective of solidarity and mutuality. Periods of intentional dispossession are opportune times to reflect on our past priorities while also initiating new and enduring habits. Very practically, what habits can you focus on honing during this window of refrain? I’d encourage you not only to think about what it means to put down your fork and knife, but also about what will have changed when you choose to rejoin the meal.

Jared Wortman