The title to this commentary may sound like an altered derivative of the slogan uttered 34 years ago by a political campaign manager in a presidential election season (James Carville, working with Bill Clinton). Yet it seems to still resonate with a lot of American voters, pollsters and speculators in yet another, upcoming midterm election season these many years later.
If you think this reads like a political editorial -- instead of yet another reflection on the “good news” at the heart of a gospel tradition from two millennia ago -- I suggest we consider the similarities and differences between those two fundamental ways people have always sought to sort out and seek some semblance of order in the world we create for ourselves. The recurrent rise of something nowadays referred to as Christian Nationalism is just the latest example of that ethereal, thin line between what is otherwise claimed to be a separation of something loosely called ‘church’ and our (political) state.
Just consider: The Galilean peasant sage – otherwise known as the historical Jesus -- lived in an era of political domination and religious division; as well as physical violence, turf wars and cultural/ethnic intolerance. There were the rich and poor, friend and foe, the outsider, and the outcast. ICE troops and autocratic narcissists are just two of the recurrent cadre of characters in a weary, repetitious story line that would have sounded just as familiar to those crowds outside some ancient temple gates, palace walls, or that counter-message on a preacher’s hillside mount.
But after many of those listener’s from long ago had wandered back home to their humble abodes, they may have sat down at their kitchen tables, with their cupboards nearly bare. The emperor’s new clothes, a ballroom escapade, or dreams of a gilded victory arch were of secondary concern.
All this re-occurred to me when I remembered barely passing Econ. 101 in my under-grad studies a half-century ago. But even now -- as then, and seemingly always -- there’s that fundamental economic principle entitled “guns and butter.” In other words, it’s the economy, stupid.
But then there’s that nagging counter-message found in just about every faith tradition that is about something one might describe in a single word: hospitality. Originally, that word is said to have had a double meaning. Hospes (Latin) referred to the relationship between one who gave, and the one who received. Originally from the word, hostis, it meant “stranger” or “foreigner.” But it later evolved (or devolved) to the term hostile, or enemy.
The Other Kitchen Table Question
In the Christian faith tradition, the theme of hospitality shown the stranger as neighbor is recurrent; beginning with the Hebraic tale of Abraham and Sarah welcoming three strangers; only to find out they brought the good news that she would bear new life (Gen. 18).
The Jewish faith tradition has numerous other examples of the ritual of setting an extra seat at the table for the hungry, or an extra cup for those who thirst. It is hardly surprising then that there are stories told by Jesus about lavish banquets, and those who ultimately end up at the feast.
In Luke’s gospel, there are those who are too busy to recognize the true purpose for a lavish banquet, so the host has his servants scour the streets and countryside for anyone; in order to fill the empty seats he’s prepared (Lk. 114:16-21). Then there is the oft-repeated message that you never know if the stranger at table could either be an indigent of some sort or other, an angel, or the divine themself.
But, it’s not just a simple matter of putting bread on the table; or offering a morsel to the hungry for one more meal. Like any good story that can be understood metaphorically, and then practically applied, it’s not merely about extending an invitation to the other; but a transformative message to one who can see the underlying moral imperative or themselves beyond more than just an open kitchen door.
The Last Supper and the Next Supper? Casting More Than Your Bet
As mentioned, nowadays we all hear and read the daily news broadcasts and headlines; filled with political pollsters and commentators, each casting their bets on which party will entice the most guests to attend their banquet. And, of course, with their own version of a lavish feast in exchange for their own favor.
Seemingly absent is that command of bread and wine, given for the sake of another. But it’s not simply about the next meal, but rather about a moral or ethical question that is seemingly typically missing from the usual political debate that hedges their bets on those “guns and butter” kitchen table issues.
But then recently, in one such televised debate with some reporters and interviewees, episode concluded with an historical footnote I’d never known before: “In 1591, Pope Gregory XIV made betting on papal elections illegal and punishable by excommunication.” (PBS NewsHour, 9-23-2026)
“In 1591, Pope Gregory XIV made betting on papal elections illegal and punishable by excommunication.”
Why did the Holy Father impose such a papal ban? Was it because he was trying to assure the spirit would be unhindered to do its will in a human electoral process? Or was he trying to sway an election, so the smoke rising from the Vatican’s chimney stack would appear to be white, not black? Or perhaps he knew such perpetual, political gambling could lead to addictive behavior!
Or, was it because that bread and wine of comm-union was to be the reminder that both our political and religious orders (or dis-order) ought to be about our deeper relationships with the other.
In every age, the political or electoral teeter-totter seems to always come down to the individual’s kitchen table issues. But hospitality is to be interpreted and understood more than just literally. Meaning, the story known in the synoptic gospels as the Last Supper was about more than the final communal gathering between Jesus and his followers.
The bread that was broken, and the cup that was shared, was delivered with a simple command, given by the one whom they would bear allegiance and call Lord: “Do this, to remember me.” That is, remember all the things I have taught by word and deed. It is meant to be for far more than a kitchen-table meal, but a lifetime. What is truly sacred is to be found in both the remembrance and subsequent living out of his words and deeds.
© 2026 by John William Bennison, Rel.D. All rights reserved.
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