Without their father’s strong vision and stern hand, however, the little group has grown fractious. Relationships are tense. Joy is lacking. The original dream is growing as old and tired as the members themselves. 

With the founder’s hundredth birthday a few weeks away, Babette asks if she may prepare the community something special for the occasion. The sisters fear the potential extravagance but consent despite their reservations.

Their fears are well‑founded as all manner of exotic food and wine appears at Babette’s kitchen. The sisters call the community together. They have committed themselves to the denial of earthly pleasures: how can the community honor its founder while engaging in such sensual decadence?

The community shares the sisters’ misgivings, but determines to share in Babette’s feast just the same. The members of the community decide they will simply ignore the taste of the food. “We have no taste buds,” one of them says. The rest agree.

As it turns out, Babette had once been a world‑famous chef in France. The dinner is exquisite: beautiful settings, fine wine–a meal befitting royalty. Despite its initial reluctance, the aging community simply cannot help but enjoy the feast.

As the evening progresses, a subtle change creeps through the fellowship. Barriers begin to break down. Pettiness melts away, and in its place emerge hints of joy, of forgiveness, of love. A visitor who is a guest for the meal says it well: “Mercy and truth have met together.”

Extravagant grace is extended to an unsuspecting, undeserving and ungrateful community of saints through this unexpected and unappreciated meal. The events of the evening work their magic in their little fellowship. An estranged wife kisses her husband. Angry friends bury the hatchet.

A blustery winter evening relaxes into a beautiful moonlit night. The community gathers around the well at the end of the evening. They hold hands, and for the first time in a long time, sing their hymns with heartfelt joy and love. An elderly gentleman lingers when the others leave. His arms extended, he cries, “Hallelujah!”

As I watched the movie, I reflected on the lavish gifts of grace God has poured on me: family, friends, health, forgiveness and hope. It is a feast beyond imagination.

I mused, too, about the frequent joylessness, pettiness and selfishness of my life. I thought how much my world resembled that of those misguided though well meaning saints around the dinner table.

I thought of grace, like Babette’s feast, poured out to me, one so unsuspecting, undeserving, and ungrateful. I hoped–and prayed–it might work some magic in my own life, just as it had for them.

Followers of Jesus, after all, share in a similarly exquisite feast: The Lord’s Supper. In Jesus’ death and resurrection, mercy and truth have met together. Lavish grace, like Babette’s meal, is ours to enjoy. Hallelujah!  Seconds, anyone.