Table of Plenty
Some remarks on the film Babette's Feast

S. Joel Garver

I assume that everyone has already seen Babette's Feast, for it is a remarkable film. It's been some time since I last watched this 1987 Danish film, directed by Gabriel Axel and based upon the short story by Isak Dinesen. But even on my fifth or sixth viewing, the film still holds its stark charm and engaging power. Two themes--both centered on the abundance of divine grace--strike me as I watch it again: the redemption of both the General's internal struggle to come to terms with his life-choices and of the community's descent into a brittle and divisive piety.

As we grow older we all begin to face regrets, question the choices we made when we were younger, and wonder if our lives will evidence any final meaningfulness. The General faces this as he cross-examines his younger self while dressing to travel to the feast, and he faces it with some despair. He had left the village many years before, saying to the sister he loved, "I shall never, never see you again! For I have learned here that Fate is hard, and that in this world there are things which are impossible!" He then embarked upon a military career in which he pursued wealth, reputation, and power, with much success. And yet, in the eve of his life he calls it all into question.

The remarkable feast that Babette prepares, however, changes everything. He knows that such a meal is impossible in a remote village in Jutland and is, in itself, a miracle of grace. At the end of the meal he stands and reflects,

We tremble before making our choice in life, and after having made it again tremble in fear of having chosen wrong. But the moment comes when our eyes are opened, and we see and realize that grace is infinite...See! That which we have chosen is given us, and that which we have refused is, also and at the same time, granted us...

Thus he concludes, "in this beautiful world all things are possible." Even his once impossible love for the sister is redeemed and as he departs he tells her "you have been with me every day of my life.... And I shall be with you every day that is left to me." The beauty and artistry of the meal has become of means of God's redeeming love. But this is not mere aestheticism. There is also the larger context of community.

With regard to the community, it seems that in the years since the Minister's death their strict Lutheran pietism has begun to breed pettiness, quarrels, and an inability fully to experience the kind of love and forgiveness that God extends to them and in light of which they should extend love and forgiveness to one another. This is not surprising, I suppose, given a piety that, despite its positive seriousness and devotion, seems to be focus mostly upon renunciation and discipline with little room for joy and taking pleasure in God's good creation. While spiritual disciplines and ascetic practices have their place, in the case of this tiny community in the midst of the barren heaths of Jutland, their spirituality has become stagnant even while they still recite phrases regarding reconciliation ("Mercy and truth have met together. Righteousness and bliss shall kiss one another.") and sing about peace and joy in Jerusalem--another world to which such pleasures are postponed ("Jerusalem, my happy home!/Name ever dear to me;/When shall my labors have an end,/In joy, and peace, and thee?").

When the twelve gather around a table, however, in celebration of the memory of their teacher and master, they are transformed by a material sign of God's overflowing love and forgiveness: the lavish feast prepared by a refugee French chef who could "transform a dinner into a kind of love affair." Through the sharing of that feast old rivalries were melted, sins forgiven, the community knit into one body, and faith renewed. The Jerusalem for which they hoped and the reconciliation of which they spoke became a present reality, filling them with joy and putting them at peace, not only with one another, but with the inevitability of their own deaths, so that their bent and frail bodies once again can dance. The infusion of a Catholic sacramentality--a eucharistic festivity--has restored their faith and renewed their view of the world. "The stars have come nearer," says Phillipa after the feast. "They will come every night," says Martine.