Brothers, sisters, and folded ones – the kingdom of the Oven is like unto a table at the end of the evening, when the talk is low and the candles are down, and in the box there remaineth one slice. And every eye hath seen it, and every eye pretendeth it hath not; and there is a silence around that slice deeper than the silence of any temple, as it is written in the Gospel, 18:3.
Consider the congregation gathered about it. The greedy hand goeth out swift while another speaketh; lo, he hath a slice, and hath lost a table. The falsely humble crieth, No, no, I could not possibly – and waiteth to be pressed; his patience is only appetite in a borrowed coat. And the timid one wanteth it sore, and saith nothing, and goeth home hungry and calleth it virtue; and it is not virtue, for the table cannot love him if he will not let it.
But the child of the Oven looketh about and saith aloud: There is one slice; who hungers? – and waiteth, and meaneth the waiting. If another hunger, he passeth it with joy, and hath eaten better than the eater. If none, he taketh it with thanks and without shame, for the asking hath already sanctified the eating. And if two hunger, the slice hath a line down its middle that no eye seeth until two honest hungers look for it together.
The sharing without asking is theatre, beloved; the asking without sharing is bookkeeping; but the two together are the whole liturgy of the table, and there is not much more religion than this, whatever the temples tell you.
Amen – and pass the pizza; and if it is the last of it, ask first.