Thursday, February 12, 2026
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Meatballs
Marc and I had dinner at Biaggi’s, a popular, restful Italian restaurant in Champaign. Marc ordered risotto with scallops, I wanted spaghetti and meatballs in the worst way. Marc had a cucumber martini and I drank water, wishing it was wine. Red wine for the peasant. Marc’s food tasted wonderful, his gourmet choice was perfect for the evening.
My food submitted to my desire for it. It seemed a little hastily prepared. The meat sauce did not taste like it simmered on a stove for eight hours, filling up with flavor, tomatoes opening slowly and turning into the soft sinews that make my mouth water. Not so much.
I brought it home. I’ll eat it when I’m starving, or my need for spaghetti and meatballs returns. I save leftovers. I am a peasant at heart. I love liver with bacon and onions and peas and boiled potatoes. I thought the meatballs would satisfy, as do Margaret’s every time. But it turns out her meatballs are the best I’ve ever eaten and, well, she doesn’t work at Biaggi’s.
Blessed are they who observe what is right,
who do always what is just.
Remember us, O LORD, as you favor your people;
visit us with your saving help.
I claim my peasanthood. Does this peasant follow prophet, priest or king? Must I choose? What merit does each choice provide? Jesus filled all three roles, but still, two thousand years of church history Anno Domini, the three occupations continue to be filled by humans.
They mingled with the nations
and learned their works.
They served their idols,
which became a snare for them.
Prophets receive respect, though often in word only. Priests expect us to bow down, but after the bowing mostly they are ignored. Kings wield power, set the rules, hire police and pay them with the taxes other police collect from the rest of us. Kings want to see themselves as benevolent, but sometimes their benevolence doesn’t feel benign to the rest of us. Roman kings, as Tacitus wrote, “made a desert and called it peace.”
They sacrificed their sons
and their daughters to demons.
And the LORD grew angry with his people,
and abhorred his inheritance.
Remember us, O Lord, as you favor your people.
Jesus brought a new word, a new sacrifice and a new rule. The priests mistook him for a false prophet, the prophets wanted him to lead their army, and the king tried to kill him. His new world, his kingdom of heaven, his voice from God led him away from the city into the country, into the villages, into the homes of the peasants.
Jesus went to the district of Tyre.
He entered a house and wanted no one to know about it,
but he could not escape notice.
I imagine he often ate spaghetti and meatballs. Only rarely did he sit down to risotto and scallops. The cucumber martinis went unmade. He drank water, which in his hands sometimes turned into red wine.
Soon a woman whose daughter had an unclean spirit heard about him.
She came and fell at his feet.
The woman was a Greek, a Syrophoenician by birth,
and she begged him to drive the demon out of her daughter.
He said to her, “Let the children be fed first.
For it is not right to take the food of the children
and throw it to the dogs.”
She replied and said to him,
“Lord, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s scraps.”
Then he said to her, “For saying this, you may go.
The demon has gone out of your daughter.”
When the woman went home, she found the child lying in bed
and the demon gone.
Healings and rumors of healings flew across the country. Violence and rumors of wars took a back seat, although not for long. More than a year, but not so much as five.
Humbly welcome the word that has been planted in you
and is able to save your souls.
Don’t tell a soul, Jesus warned. But they couldn’t help themselves. They told everyone they saw. And among us peasants, Jesus’ reputation for love and healing preceded him everywhere, even to this very day.
(1 Kings 11, Psalm 106, James 1, Mark 7)
(posted at www.davesandel.net)
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