Eat what's set before you

Several years ago, one of my former parishioners brought me a casserole. It was one of those moments when kindness arrives in a glass dish covered with aluminum foil, still warm from the oven. But as I peeled back the corner and saw the green beans—my least favorite vegetable—swimming in cream of mushroom soup, my first instinct was disappointment. I smiled, thanked her profusely, and then stood in my kitchen wondering if I could somehow pass this along to someone else who might "appreciate it more."

With Christmas arriving this week, many of us are preparing to sit at tables that we did not personally curate. Holiday meals are often the ultimate test of our receptivity; we navigate the eccentricities of family recipes, the well-meaning but heavy side dishes of relatives, and the social pressure to appear delighted by every offering. In the rush of the season, it is easy to view these moments through the lens of our own preferences, judging the holiday by how well it matches our expectations of the perfect feast.

That is when the ancient wisdom of St. Benedict whispers its challenge: "Eat what is set before you."

Benedict’s Rule commands that monks "be content with the poorest and meanest of everything" (Rule of Benedict, Chapter 7) and elsewhere instructs that "if any brother is given any kind of gift... he must not presume to receive it unless he has first told the abbot" (Rule of Benedict, Chapter 54). This simple monastic principle, tucked away in a sixth-century rule for monks, carries a profound truth that extends far beyond dietary preferences. It speaks to something fundamental about the human condition—our endless quest for control, our addiction to preferences, and our struggle to receive life as it comes rather than as we wish it would come.

 

The Tyranny of Preferences

We live in an age of infinite customization. Your coffee can be ordered with seventeen different modifications. Your news feed learns what you like and serves you more of the same. Your music streaming service knows your taste better than you do. We have built an entire economy around catering to individual preferences, and in many ways, this represents progress and freedom.

Yet Benedict's rule suggests something countercultural: that there is a spiritual danger in always getting what we want, and a corresponding grace in receiving what we are given.

The Desert Fathers, those early Christian monastics who influenced Benedict, understood this deeply. Abba Poemen once said, "Do not give your heart to that which does not satisfy your heart" (The Sayings of the Desert Fathers, translated by Benedicta Ward, 1975, p. 178). At first glance, this might seem to contradict Benedict's principle—shouldn't we avoid what does not satisfy? But Poemen was warning against the endless pursuit of preferences, the constant searching for the perfect thing that will finally make us content. The Desert Fathers knew that this search itself becomes the source of our dissatisfaction.

 

The Biblical Foundation of Receptivity

Scripture repeatedly emphasizes the spiritual discipline of receptivity over selectivity. When Jesus sends out the seventy-two disciples, he gives them peculiar instructions: "Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house" (Luke 10:7, NRSV).

The Greek word Jesus uses here, esthiontes (ἐσθίοντες), is a present participle suggesting continuous action—keep on eating what is set before you. This is not merely practical advice about not being picky dinner guests. Jesus is teaching something about the kingdom of God itself: it comes to us not on our terms but on God's terms. We receive it as gift, not as consumer choice.

Paul echoes this principle in his letter to the Corinthians when discussing food offered to idols: "Eat whatever is sold in the meat market without raising any question on the ground of conscience" (1 Corinthians 10:25, NRSV). Later, he adds, "If an unbeliever invites you to a meal and you are disposed to go, eat whatever is set before you without raising any question on the ground of conscience" (1 Corinthians 10:27, NRSV).

The phrase "whatever is set before you" (πᾶν τὸ παρατιθέμενον ὑμῖν) uses the verb paratithemi, which means to place beside or to serve. It is the same verb used when Jesus "set before" the crowds the loaves and fishes (Mark 6:41). There is something sacramental happening here—what is set before us becomes an opportunity for grace.

 

The Manna Principle

Perhaps nowhere in Scripture is this principle more powerfully illustrated than in the story of manna in the wilderness. Here, the Israelites receive their daily bread quite literally from heaven, but it comes with strict instructions: gather only what you need for today (except on the day before the Sabbath), and eat what is provided.

"The Israelites did so, some gathering more, some less. But when they measured it with an omer, those who gathered much had nothing over, and those who gathered little had no shortage; they gathered as much as each of them needed" (Exodus 16:17-18, NRSV).

The manna story reveals several crucial truths about "eating what is set before you."

First, it teaches dependence. The Israelites could not stockpile manna (it would rot), could not plant it for future harvest, and could not trade it for something they liked better. Each day, they had to receive anew God's provision.

Second, it teaches equality. Regardless of how much each person gathered, everyone ended up with what they needed. The economy of grace does not operate according to our meritocracy or our preferences.

Third, it teaches gratitude for the ordinary. After the initial excitement, the Israelites grew tired of manna. "We remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt for nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic; but now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at" (Numbers 11:5-6, NRSV). They wanted variety, flavor, and choice. But God was teaching them something more important than culinary satisfaction.

 

The Eucharistic Pattern

The early church fathers saw in this "eating what is set before you" a eucharistic pattern. John Chrysostom, in his Homilies on Matthew, writes: "For nothing so becomes a Christian, as to be thankful" (Homily 25 on Matthew). The Greek word for Eucharist, eucharistia (εὐχαριστία), means thanksgiving. Every meal becomes a small Eucharist when we receive it with gratitude rather than complaint.

This eucharistic vision transforms how we see not just food but all of life's circumstances. Augustine of Hippo observed, "For in this world we are guests... and what does a guest do, but acknowledge the kindness of the host?" (Sermon 21). His Commentary on Psalm 34 (33 in the Vulgate) emphasizes that "blessing the Lord at all times" means praising Him in both prosperity and adversity. When we "eat what is set before us" in life—accepting the job we have rather than the one we wanted, embracing the family we are born into rather than the one we imagine, receiving the opportunities that come rather than the ones we planned—we participate in this eucharistic pattern of reception and thanksgiving.

 

The Wisdom of Limitations

Modern psychology has begun to confirm what monastic wisdom has long known: too many choices can make us miserable. Barry Schwartz, in The Paradox of Choice (2004), documents how the proliferation of options in modern life correlates with increased anxiety and decreased satisfaction. We suffer from what researchers call "anticipated regret"—the fear that whatever we choose, we might be missing out on something better.

Benedict's rule cuts through this paralysis with beautiful simplicity: eat what is set before you. Accept the limitation. Receive the gift. Move on with life.

This does not mean we become passive or never exercise legitimate choices. Benedict himself makes provisions for genuine needs and weaknesses. But it means we recognize that our preferences are not the center of the universe, and our happiness does not depend on getting exactly what we want.

 

Beyond Food: Life as Reception

The principle extends far beyond the dinner table. Consider how it might apply to various areas of life.

Relationships: We do not choose our families, and even in friendships and marriages, we discover that people are not customizable to our preferences. The person before us is not a project to be perfected but a gift to be received. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote in Life Together: "He who loves his dream of a community more than the Christian community itself becomes a destroyer of the latter, even though his personal intentions may be ever so honest and earnest and sacrificial" (1954, p. 27).

Circumstances: The job you have, not the one you dreamed of. The body you inhabit, with its particular strengths and limitations. The historical moment you are born into. These are what is "set before you." Fighting against them is like the Israelites longing for Egyptian leeks while manna falls from heaven.

Spiritual Experiences: We might prefer dramatic conversions, mystical experiences, or clear divine guidance. But often God "sets before us" ordinary means of grace: daily prayer that feels dry, Scripture that seems familiar, and sacraments that work slowly and invisibly. Teresa of Ávila spent nearly twenty years in spiritual dryness, yet in The Interior Castle, she notes in her Life that "the Lord gives when He desires" and we must be content to "serve for nothing" (The Life of Teresa of Jesus, Chapter 11).

 

The Practice of Grateful Reception

How do we cultivate this spiritual discipline of "eating what is set before us"?

Start with actual food. Practice receiving meals without complaint or modification when you are a guest. If you have dietary restrictions for health reasons, handle them quietly and gratefully. But challenge yourself to expand your receptivity where possible.

Practice the "prayer of indifference." Ignatius of Loyola taught a prayer of becoming indifferent (in the best sense) to all created things—not apathetic, but free from disordered attachments. "We should make ourselves indifferent to all created things... so that we do not for our part wish rather for health than for sickness, for wealth rather than poverty, for honor rather than dishonor, for a long life rather than a short one" (Spiritual Exercises, First Principle and Foundation).

Develop a "theology of interruptions." When your plans are disrupted, instead of immediately seeing it as a problem to be solved, ask: "What is God setting before me in this moment?" The interruption might be the meal.

Practice gratitude before preference. Before evaluating whether something suits your taste, practice giving thanks for it. Gratitude changes our perception. What seemed insufficient might reveal itself as exactly what we needed.

Fast occasionally from customization. For a week, order your coffee the simplest way possible. Listen to the radio instead of your curated playlist. Read the newspaper instead of your personalized news feed. Notice how this affects your spirit.

 

The Freedom of Acceptance

Paradoxically, there is enormous freedom in "eating what is set before you." It frees us from the exhausting work of constantly curating our experience. It frees us from the anxiety of missing out. It frees us from the ingratitude that comes from comparing what we have with what we think we deserve.

Most importantly, it opens us to surprise. When we stop insisting on our preferences, we might discover that green bean casserole from a neighbor tastes like love. That the job we did not want develops skills we did not know we needed. That the person who irritates us becomes the one who teaches us patience.

As Thomas Merton wrote, "We cannot be happy if we expect to live all the time at the highest peak of intensity. Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance and order and rhythm and harmony" (No Man Is an Island, 1955, p. 127). Eating what is set before us creates this rhythm—a dance between our will and God's providence, our preferences and reality's offerings.

The next time life sets something before you that you did not order—a difficulty, a limitation, an unwanted responsibility, or yes, even a green bean casserole—remember Benedict's wisdom. Remember the manna. Remember that the kingdom of God itself comes to us not as consumer choice but as gift, not according to our preferences but according to grace.

Eat what is set before you. In that simple act of reception, you might find not just peace, not just gratitude, but the very presence of God, who so often comes to us disguised as our life.

 

God Bless,

Judah