It was a Wednesday night in the late winter or early spring. Our church hosted a soup supper before the midweek Lent worship service. We typically had three or four different soups each week.
One week, as I was ladling some delicious looking vegetable soup into a bowl, Ann (the cook) said, “I don’t think it’s very good.”
I replied, “You mean like ‘death in the pot’ stew?” When she gave me a puzzled look, I told the bible story of a concoction made from wild gourds in 2 Kings 4 that prompted the response, “There is death in the pot!” (2 Kings 4:40).
Fortunately, her soup was delicious, and the “Death in the pot” soup recipe merited a place in a church cookbook published a few years later.
In the scripture, Elisha tosses some flour in the soup to make it edible. A miracle? I suppose.
I like to think of myself as a decent cook. However, I’ve prepared a few dishes that needed prophetic intervention. I didn’t even like some of them.
As a pastor, some of my congregation members would prepare some food for me when I went to visit them. Not every meal or snack was palatable. I especially remember the time one homebound member graciously shared a meals-on-wheels with me. I didn’t get a chance to see the label on the microwavable tray before she heated it up, so I really don’t know what kind of meat I ate that day. With a polite smile, I ate what I think was mashed turnips along with the mystery meat. By the grace of God, she offered me a Klondike bar for dessert (what would you do for a Klondike bar?) and all was good.
No, they didn’t teach me this at seminary. Smile, nod your head, and mumble, “Mmmm. Good.”
Waite for it... 