It had been a long day in Joppa. He sat praying on the rooftop, perhaps annoyed that his body was distracting him from his prayers. God, though, used Peter’s humanity to reach him. What came next wasn’t a meal; it was a vision that would unsettle everything he thought he knew about holiness.
He saw heaven opened.
Descending from above was something like a great sheet, held at its corners, lowered gently to the earth. On it were animals, not only the clean, acceptable ones, but creatures that made his skin crawl. Four-footed beasts, reptiles, birds. The kind of things he had learned to avoid according to the Law. To fear. To judge.
Then, a voice came.
“Get up, Peter. Kill and eat.”
Peter recoiled. Surely not, Lord! He had never defiled himself with such things. He was faithful. He was obedient. He was clean.
But the voice came again, firm and freeing:
“Do not call anything impure that God has made clean.”
Three times the sheet descended. Three times the command was given. And then it was gone.
Peter sat in stunned silence. He didn’t know yet that this vision wasn’t just about food, but about people. The gospel breaks through cultural boundaries and religious pride. It’s about a table that’s wide enough for every tribe and tongue.
This is more than just a story about food; similarly, the dietary fads that have invaded the church today are about more than just food.
Eight centuries before Peter’s rooftop vision, Jonah had turned away from God’s mercy, shaped as much by personal trauma as by cultural pride and spiritual entitlement. The Ninevites weren’t abstract sinners; they were cruel enemies. But Peter, awakened by grace, overcame his fear of Rome’s arm and stepped into love, bearing the Gospel with a heart newly opened.
Peter’s rooftop encounter reminds us that the Gospel dismantles dividing walls, including those built on dietary codes. Yet today, in many churches, food has become a barrier to fellowship and a hammer of legalism used against our own. The MAHA article I authored explores how state-led nutritional mandates risk repeating past failures. The Church must be vigilant not to mirror this trend, substituting gospel fellowship for diet-based identity.
“Then Saul said to Samuel, “I have sinned, for I have violated the command of the LORD and your words, because I feared the people and listened to their voice.” 1 Sam 15:24
Though many won’t admit it, or can’t, because they don’t fully understand it, fad diets often spring from fear. Fear of cancer. Fear of weight. Fear of social rejection. Whether it’s driven by low self-esteem, chronic stress, or desperate hope for healing, both the promoters and the adopters are shaped by fear masquerading as virtue. And it all starts with a kernel of truth.
Gluten, Leaky Gut, and the Misuse of Science
The “gluten causes leaky gut” panic traces back to studies led by Dr. Alessio Fasano. In a 2015 paper, Fasano’s team found that gluten ingestion can increase intestinal permeability in mice, but the most significant effects occurred in individuals with celiac disease. In healthy controls, the permeability response was minimal and quickly reversed by the body’s natural defenses.
This study did not claim that gluten causes lasting damage in healthy individuals, nor did it link gluten to neurological symptoms like “brain fog.” But many media outlets and alternative health figures distorted the findings, suggesting that gluten universally harms gut integrity.
From wellness blogs to pop science articles, the nuance was stripped. Headlines screamed “Gluten Triggers Leaky Gut in Everyone!” and fear took hold. Influencers, armed with shaky science and strong branding, began promoting gluten-free lifestyles as cure-alls for fatigue, anxiety, and poor memory.
The real hysteria isn’t gluten; it’s the belief that gluten is universally toxic. A study designed to illuminate autoimmune pathology was co-opted to justify dietary paranoia. This fear has rippled into the church and wellness communities, where gluten abstinence is now seen as a cure-all. But science doesn’t reward virtue-signaling. It requires discernment, and God has not given us a spirit of fear!
When Eden Becomes a Hammer
Some Christians promote Eden diets or biblical veganism as the purest form of obedience, citing Genesis 1:29 to argue that God’s original design excluded animal consumption. Although the intention may be sincere, aiming for health, holiness, or simplicity, these teachings can become spiritually manipulative when they imply that sickness is caused by dietary impurity or lack of faith.
They Impose a single, supposedly divinely ordained nutritional formula, despite the varied biblical eating practices, such as eating Passover lamb or Jesus grilling fish. Put moral pressure on already vulnerable believers, particularly those struggling with chronic illness, fatigue, or mental health issues, to ‘heal’ themselves through diet.
For the chronically ill, these teachings can induce shame, anxiety, or spiritual doubt. If healing doesn’t come, they’re left wondering whether they’re defiled, disobedient, or faithless.
Instead of comfort, the Church offers correction. Instead of fellowship, food becomes a litmus test of spiritual status. This mirrors the legalism Peter confronted in Acts 10, where purity codes overruled gospel grace.
“So, then we pursue the things which make for peace and the building up of one another. Do not tear down the work of God for the sake of food. All things indeed are clean, but they are evil for the person who eats and causes offense.” Romans 14:19-20
Broken Fellowship
Our culture is increasingly fractured by fear-driven health trends and individualized wellness routines, the Church has a quietly radical tool at its disposal: the shared table. Sociological studies consistently affirm that communal meals forge deeper trust, spark intergenerational mentoring, and reduce the loneliness that plagues modern congregations. Yet these truths aren’t modern discoveries; they echo Scripture’s own portrayal of food as a medium for mission, bonding, and restoration. From the rooftop of Peter’s vision to the Emmaus road, the gospel unfolds through meals, not menus.
Faith+Lead’s Dinner Church model reinvigorates this legacy by weaving discipleship into shared food, while Desiring God reminds us that “mealtimes are God times,” where daily bread becomes a spiritual rhythm. The table, far from being a battleground of dietary purity, should be the gospel’s staging ground, inviting the sick, the skeptical, and the seeker into a fellowship that transcends clean eating codes. It’s not what’s on the plate that sanctifies, but who’s welcomed to it.
God’s Word is Greater Than Our Fears
The Gospel calls us to tables, not dietary tribes. When believers allow food preferences or fear-based restrictions to overshadow hospitality, they risk trading Christ-centered communion for self-selected purity. According to Scripture, the shared meal is a witness to the gospel. Jesus told His disciples in Luke 10:7, “Stay in that house, eating and drinking whatever they give you, for the worker is worthy of his wages. Do not move around from house to house.” Paul reinforced this in 1 Corinthians 10:27, “If an unbeliever invites you to a meal and you want to go, eat whatever is set before you without raising questions of conscience.” These aren’t dietary loopholes—they’re gospel imperatives. When we decline a brother’s hospitality over a carb count, or judge a potluck based on our gut protocol, we distort the Lord’s command. What began as wisdom can become idolatry.
Fellowship fractures when the menu outranks the mission.
Biblical Christianity is not a solo sport. From the first gathering in Acts 2 to Paul’s exhortation in Hebrews 10:25, “not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another”—fellowship is essential. The Body of Christ is designed to function as a whole, not a set of health-conscious hermits. The early church “devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer” (Acts 2:42). This wasn’t just socializing; it was obedience. When believers sideline communal life for dietary discipline, introversion, or convenience, they amputate themselves from the very means of growth, grace, and mission. To refuse fellowship is to refuse the body.
Reclaim the Table, Rekindle the Church
The Gospel does not call us to fads (diet or otherwise), it calls us to each other. In a culture obsessed with optimization, Christ invites imperfection to His table. We were never meant to curate purity through food, but to cultivate unity through grace. From Acts until Christ’s return, the Spirit of God has always moved and will continue to move where meals are shared and hearts are opened.
So Church, it’s time.
Invite without fear. Eat with joy. Don’t decline a neighbor’s casserole out of conscience; instead, accept it graciously. Transform the potluck into a battleground of grace. Not everyone will eat everything. Not everyone can. Everyone must be welcomed, and no one should be left feeling shamed.
Let’s trade restrictive menus for redemptive fellowship. God didn’t come with a diet plan; instead, He came with bread, broken and shared.
Questions to Consider: Has food become a boundary in your faith community? What fears drive your health decisions—and do they align with grace?
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