I heard the story of a sharecropper’s wife, who was so flustered by the thought that her husband’s boss was coming to their table for supper that she salted the beans twice. As beans were all she had to serve, and there was no time to cook more, she put them on the table, and sat down, mortified at what she knew would unfold.
After saying the blessing, the boss was served his over-salted beans, along with the others at the table. When he took his first spoonful, he realized in an instant what had occurred, and the embarrassment of his humble hosts.
He swallowed the spoonful, then said, “Please pass the salt.” He applied the shaker generously, then finished his meal.
Got to say, when I heard that story, I said, “That’s my idea of health reform! People’s dignity and their feelings are more important than a few spoonfuls of pretty much anything.”
While I’m a fourth generation vegetarian, in situations where accepting table hospitality is essential to gaining the confidence of those I’m working to win to Christ and Bible truth, I’ll make an exception, and eat the clean meats mentioned in Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14.
One occasion where this came up was on a visit to a woman who was not an Adventist, was estranged from her own pastor, and whose husband had just died. She asked me to come and tell her and her son about what the Bible says occurs when you die, what heaven is like, and how to be saved. Also, she wanted her oldest son to speak to me, who was unsure about whether there could be a God with his Dad dying. Her own pastor had refused to come to her home, as a sign of his protest against something he believed she was doing wrong. As she worked in our Adventist Community Services Center as an interpreter, she asked her friends to send me to her family instead of contacting her own pastor.
“I have one question to ask,” she said as we sat in her front room. “About a month ago, my husband was reading some Bible studies from your church. He came to me and said, ‘Marcela, please don’t make me any more pork. You can make it for yourself and the children, but please don’t make any more for me.’ Why did he do that?” I opened my Bible to the passages in Leviticus and Deuteronomy and explained the Bible’s prohibition against eating unclean meats, but that eating those animals with split hooves that chewed the cud was acceptable.
Then we began answering the questions about death, heaven, salvation, and how one can know there is a God. What I didn’t see was that Marcela’s sister had been listening in, and had heard that cows were good to eat. So while I sat and studied, she went to the kitchen and cooked up a wonderful bowl of Spanish soup with spoonfuls of beef in it.
Meanwhile, out in the living room, I began telling Marcela’s son about how one can know there is a God and that the Bible is a book of more than human origins on the basis of the evidence of fulfilled prophecies of Jesus as the Messiah. I walked him down through those century old predictions that identify Jesus of Nazareth as the promised Sin Bearer.
As I did so, I noticed Marcela rubbing under her eye and a silverish, glowing drop slide across her cheek. She said, “Its gone! Its gone!” I said, “What is gone, Marcela?” She said, “I have had an ugly growth under my eye that has been growing over the past two years. In our culture, having someone touch your head is not done, unless the person is very close to you. I wouldn’t even let my sisters touch my face or hair, much less go to an unknown stranger doctor for the growth to be removed. My husband told me, ‘Marcela, I will take a hair from your head and tie around the growth. It will soon fall off. You have beautiful eyes!’
“But he was killed before he had a chance to keep his promise to me. Now, while you were speaking to my son, the growth has disappeared.”
I recalled that strange glowing tear drop I’d seen her slide across her cheek. I had been so intent on telling her son not only of the evidences from the Bible for a God, but also from the experiences of my own life, that I hadn’t stopped to check out that peculiar sight that was occurring with Marcela seated close by.
God had stepped into Marcela’s life and touched her in a way to comfort her wounded heart.
I said, “Marcela, God has done this for you for two reasons: First, to confirm to you the truth of what I have told you about what happens when your husband dies, and of heaven, and the other truths of the Bible I have shown you today. The second reason is that the Bible says that God is husband to the widow. He has become so to you, in place of your husband, and had done for you what your husband promised, but didn’t have a chance to do before he was killed in the accident.”
We looked at the place where the growth had been. Not only was the ugly disfigurement gone, but her skin was as smooth as a baby’s. There was no sign of a mark where the growth had been. And her husband was right: Marcela’s eyes were beautiful.
This supernatural minor cosmetic surgery frightened Marcela’s son so greatly that he leaped from his chair and bolted from the room. But just then, Marcela’s sister came from the kitchen with a big bowl of beef soup. “I know you don’t eat pork,” she said, “but would you favor us with eating a bowl of beef stew? I have made it for you just now.”
I ate that stew, and asked for a second helping. It was very good, especially with the squeezed in fresh lime juice that enhanced the flavors.
That was about 8 years ago now, and I haven’t eaten beef stew again since. I’m a customary, not invariable, vegetarian. I do that because of passages such as Genesis 1:29 and the first chapter of Daniel, and my desire to have as healthy of a diet as possible to honor my Creator.
But when I would offend someone who has made me a bowl of beef stew, after I’ve told them why the Bible forbids the use of pork, there is no way in the world my customary health choices suggested by, not commanded by, the Scriptures are more important than the people I’m working with God to win to the truths of His Word.
God performed the miracle. I ate beef, just like the pre-incarnate Jesus did at Abraham’s tent before He was ever born in Bethlehem. (See Genesis 18.) I would have salted it, too, if I’d needed to. Twice, if necessary.
~Skip Johnson
Note: Marcela gave me her permission later to tell her story of what occurred that day. Last I heard, she is still our primary Spanish translator at our Seventh-day Adventist Church Community Service Center in Payette, Idaho, where I was pastoring at the time.
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