I didn't think we needed to rechew the food that gave the family indigestion.

GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER?

The Family That Dines Together Is Less Likely to Whine Separately

    It all began with one small, demeaning comment that erupted and exploded into everyone else's spirits. I'm not sure who said it or when, but it was clear by the burning, sticky aftermath that it now affected everyone in the family. Or perhaps it came as an ambush, a powerful wave of crankiness that engulfed all of us, at once while we distractedly stood by. However it had initiated, it was clear that we were deep into the Scaperlanda family's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week.
     After one-too-many ugly scenes, where one child said something that deeply offended another one, clearly scarring both of them for life, I called an emergency family meeting.
     We sat in the living room facing each other in very loud and physical silence. Arms crossed faced me on one side of the room; long, sour faces greeted me on the other. I lit a candle. As we said a short prayer, I silently tried to decide what would be the first lecture topic. Then our 15-year-old daughter began, "Can I say something, Mom?" There was nothing ugly or mean in her tone. It was hard not to consent, so I nodded.
     As our teenage lawyer went on to give one or more examples of how we had all failed this week, I began to regret giving her the floor. I didn't think we needed to rechew the food that gave the family indigestion. And I was distracted watching the rest of the family's reaction. Even the dog seemed discontent with stating the obvious.
     But then she added, "We are all disconnected from each other."
     "No one is listening," Anamaría proclaimed simply, raising her eyebrows. "No one is paying attention to anyone else. . ." she paused. "And we haven't had dinner together as a family ONCE this week!"
     Yikes. She was absolutely right, both in her analysis of our actions and in stating an important element of family life that had been missing.
     I can't honestly tell you how it happened that we never sat down together to dinner that week. I CAN tell you that it affects all of us when we don't. Whether a simple and unpopular meal of baked potatoes and salad or the more favored pasta variations, the time that the six of us sit down at the table as a family is critical to our connectedness.
     I think Jesus knew our need for the intimacy of this ordinary setting. The Gospels are full of stories where Jesus "broke bread" with the crowd or with His disciples. It is here that we come to recognize the Bread of Life living amongst us.

    When the children were younger, finding time to eat together meant working around Dad's work schedule and soccer practice. Yet even now, when high school and youth church events overflow our daily calendar, having dinner together means being flexible on when we eat - sometimes early, sometimes late - and being willing to share the food with whomever happens to be over at the given time.
     At times, Michael and I coax and encourage each child to share something about his or her day as we each name the high point or low point, or to tell one thing that we don't already know about the day. Often, however, it happens naturally that we go around the table hearing what's on everyone's mind that evening.
     Don't get me wrong. Eating together does not, on its own, accomplish the larger objective of being and living as a community of faith. And we sometimes get into arguments at the dinner table! But as our daughter wisely pointed out, it is no coincidence that when we do not make time to sit down and break bread together we lose the opportunity to look at each other's eyes and remember what a gift we have in our rowdy and imperfect human family.