A Bowl of Beans

“Why don’t ya go get you some of them beans, boy,” Saunders asked me as I had just finished eating a delicious cheeseburger prepared for me. I sat on an old but very comfortable couch while Saunders sat in a large, dark-blue recliner in the corner adjacent to me, his usual place. We were in a living room at the bottom of an awkward five-story house with rooms stacked on top of each other. The first time I had entered and toured up into the house I couldn’t help but think that I was ascending the steps of some swaying and unbalanced tower of Pisa considering that one careless step might send the whole thing toppling over.
“Were they good, man?” I asked him, stuffed and pretty content with my cheeseburger and fried potatoes.
“Yeah, boy. Go in there and get you some,” Saunders persisted with his eyes remaining fixed on the television watching Steve McQueen escape from prison in Mexico. This had been my third time to hang out with Saunders, each time we would sit and watch television together. Saunders was a very tall man maybe in his late fifties or early sixties who I rarely saw leave his recliner chair. Saunders found a strange sort of freedom in that chair with the television in front of him, and he did not like to be bothered one bit. I remember in our first time together, when he quite frankly wanted nothing to do with me, we were (with his eyes still firmly gazing at the television) making small talk during the commercial break of an intense re-run of “Law and Order.” When the commercial break ended and I was in the middle of a sentence, he slowly raised his hand and quietly said, “Okay, okay, I’m done witchya.” I understood. I wasn’t offended. The man wanted to watch his show, and it wasn’t my place at that time to interfere.
“They were really good beans, huh?” I asked again still quite content with the hearty cheeseburger I had just eaten. To be honest, I didn’t want any beans. On the one hand, a bowl of beans didn’t sound good to me at this time. In fact, it kind of sounded gross. I was full and the last thing I wanted to do was to eat some beans. On the other hand, I was content with just remaining on the couch, watching “Papillion,” and making small talk during the commercial breaks.
“They’re right in there. Go in there and get you some. There’s bowls in there,” he said a third time.
It was at this point that something stirred inside of me. Something began to tell me that this was no ordinary exchange. There was no bright light in the sky and no mighty voice from heaven, but I soon felt a tremendous urging to answer Saunders’ request and make myself a bowl of beans. Suddenly I knew that this would not be just any bowl of beans. This was not simply a recommendation like urging someone to try your favorite dish at your favorite Italian restaurant. Saunders was offering me much more than beans. He was offering an opportunity, a gift. Saunders knew that we came from very different places with different experiences. Perhaps Saunders also knew that I was there to build a relationship with him. He would be right. I was there asking God to cultivate a relationship between me, him, and the other men living in that house praying that the truth of Christ might penetrate their hearts through our fellowship together. No, this was no ordinary bowl of beans. This was a piece of Saunders himself, a part of his life from his side of the tracks. Saunders was asking me to eat what he eats, to join him in his life, which was very different from mine. I was in the mission field and that bowl of beans was like an exotic and uncomfortable food placed in front of me. I had to eat. I recalled Jesus’ table ministry in that moment and the importance He placed on eating what was offered by those who hosted Him. The Lord was offering me an opportunity to sacrifice my individual desire this moment so that He would have an avenue by which He might begin to harvest a relationship between Saunders and I.
I silently and with a great deal of new-found urgency went into the other room, got myself a bowl of white beans, came back in and sat down on the couch next to Saunders still gazing at the television screen. Nothing incredibly powerful happened after that that I could see. But I could sense a change in our relationship. Suddenly, as our conversation began to open up more I realized that we had moved farther from casual conversation to the realm of friends. Another brick in the bridge had been laid by a not so ordinary bowl of beans, which by the way actually turned out to be quite tasty.
“These are good beans,” I turned and said to Saunders.
“Yeah, boy. Them beans is real good,” he quietly said with his eyes still rigidly fixed on Steve McQueen.