Food, feeding and eating

As my girth and sermon illustrations make obvious, I enjoy food: growing food, buying food, reading and talking about food, preparing and comparing food, and, most of all, eating food. As much as I enjoy food, everything tastes better when at table with my bride. Breakfast with Nancy is the best part of the day. Breaking bread with members of our family is even better, as lively conversation, memories remembered, and memories made make simple meals feasts. Dinner parties with good friends, new friends, and strangers throw light on the distinctions that make us unique and illumine the depth and breadth of what we share. It's hard to hide at table, and easy to be vulnerable enough for wonders to emerge.

My love of food could lead to gluttony. If eating were an end in itself, excess could turn table fellowship into competition and transform gustatory joy into lewd gorging. Avoiding those sins is not simply a matter of good physical health; it is a spiritual and moral issue as well. Wendell Berry stated this clearly three decades ago in his essay, "The Gift of the Good Land":

To live, we must daily break the body and shed the blood of Creation. When we do this knowingly, lovingly, skillfully, reverently, it is a sacrament. When we do it ignorantly, greedily, clumsily, destructively, it is a desecration. In such desecration we condemn ourselves to moral loneliness, and others to want.

When I eat without knowing something about my kindred creatures who died in making my repast or sacrificed in bringing it to me, I fail to recognize my dependency on others. When I eat without respect for the labor and love that provide my feast, hubris separates me from the deepest blessings of the meal. Increasing my consciousness of the wonders that transpire each time I eat can deepen my gratitude for my blessings and help me to commit to helping others share similar gifts of God and grace.

In many ways, our signature ministry of feeding the hungry begins at our own tables. How much of the bounty we eat comes from soil near us? As we support local food producers, we save energy, help small farms, and connect more fully with the ground on which we walk and the air we breathe. As we enjoy more vegetables and fruits and relatively fewer meats, we conserve water and energy and help to purify the air, while also making it easier not to add girth. As we pay attention to the conditions faced by the migrant and third world workers who harvest much of what we eat and to the impact of farm-raised fish and mass marketed livestock, we put ourselves in a position to take more responsible and moral actions. The aim is not to feel guilty about what we have, but to deepen our desire to allow other creatures to thrive.

How much food do we waste? I'm not talking about my mother's demand that I clean my plate because of starving children in China. How much food do we throw away because we purchased it so inexpensively that we feel little remorse when disposing of it? Most of us pass a produce or grocery store several times each week. Purchasing food more often could increase the freshness of what we eat, allow us to purchase smaller amounts, and leave us with less on hand to spoil. With a little practice, it could also help us to add more seasonal foods to our diet, possibly expanding our palates. Farmers markets and an increasing number of organizations that deliver locally produced foods to our doorsteps can have the same impact. Despite being raised in a modest household, I did not discover turnips until this fall. I saw them on sale at my favorite produce store, looked up a few recipes, and now have another favorite dish to prepare.

What's the point? By becoming more aware of what I eat and trying to eat more natural foods, I find God more present at our table. And, as theologian Norman Wirzba notes in Food and Faith: A Theology of Eating, "To eat with God at the table is to eat with the aim of healing and celebrating the memberships of creation." I have a lot to learn about eating with God at the table, but each lesson makes me more alive.

            Bon Appétit,

               LP

Fondness for cold winter days

I have a fondness for cold winter days. I can say that relatively easily since my job does not expose me to the elements for prolonged periods and I do not live on the street. I pray for those most cruelly subjected to the elements, and, from my position of warmth and comfort, I give thanks for the blessings of uncomfortably crisp winter days.

On days of deep chill the air seems clearer and sound seems to travel with greater intelligibility. As Blake, our Doberman Pinscher, bounds across the field during his morning run, the frozen grass crunches beneath his strides, reaching us not only directly from the impact of his paws but also in echoes from the surrounding woods and homes. The sunrise seems brighter - not harsh but more white than rose and reflecting more than refracting, bringing often missed details to view. The nuances and contexts of ministry, theology, and relationships rarely know such clarity. Thanks be to God for both: for the unmistakable and for that which requires the effort of discernment. The former provides security and a way forward; the latter offers hope for what can become and assurance of our need for each other.

When the air stings cheek and lungs and seems cold enough to grasp, appreciation for the warmth too often take for granted yields thoughts and words of gratitude. As a child I gathered my clothes and rushed to dress before the single Warm Morning stove that heated our home. Now I shower, shave, and take my time selecting what I will wear. No small benefit comes in remembering that many deem my morning routine a fantasy. Nancy and I set our thermostat lower than most folks we know, but the coldest of days force me to give thanks for the warmth of my home (both in temperature and in affection) and to renew my intent to use my blessings in ways that extend them to others.

When the temperature falls into single digits, my marvel at nature rises. Whereas it takes me five extra minutes to prepare for our morning walk, Blake is ready as quickly as any other morning. He runs and sniffs with apparent disregard, while I shiver and shake. Who's the more highly evolved? The birds land on our feeders with no complaint. Spring mornings offer more song, but on winter mornings life resounds with each chirp. Beneath the iron hard earth, bulbs wait patiently without dying, roots gather nourishment, and plant and insect life prepare for new life. Without the rest that comes with winter's cold, we could not know the joys found only in climates with distinct seasons. Some prefer sun and sand. I give thanks for cycle even, perhaps especially, when it chills my bones.

I cannot call winter my favorite season, but it has its own beauty. I have a fondness for cold winter days and their reminder that fallowness and fecundity have a place, that contrasts can bring clarity, and that difficulties often point toward deeper dreams and loftier hopes. Perhaps one day I'll become a snowbird, but today I'll don a favorite sweater and give thanks.

            Grace and Peace,

            LP

Scripture usually depicts the opposite of faith as fear

During last Sunday's sermon I noted that scripture usually depicts the opposite of faith as fear. That prompted numerous comments, including a request to say a little more about that in this item. 

 

An Epiphany prayer in The Book of Common Prayer includes this petition: "preserve us from faithless fears and worldly anxieties, that no clouds of mortal life may hide us from the light of your immortal love." When fear swells into anxiety it removes our trust that new beginnings can emerge and that light can break through the darkness. Such fear makes our problems larger than any other reality, including God. Faithless fears pull the curtain that makes the darkness within as deep as the darkness without.

Yes, Psalm 111:10 declares, "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." The psalmist refers, however, not to anxiety or dread but to reverence. The thought of being in the presence of God and of being accountable to God should make us pause, but awe, reverence, and veneration do not debilitate us. They awaken us more fully and call for our best.

Only a fool has no fear, but when our fears define us, we become less open to relationships (with God and others), more defensive, and less alive. When trust defines us, we seek deeper relationships with others and God. That makes us vulnerable, but vulnerability makes us more capable of loving and living.

Anyone battling a serious disease has reason to fear pain and debilitation. If that fear dominates us, the disease begins to define who we are. When we trust that as we battle the disease family and friends will support us, the medical team will offer helpful treatment, grace and goodness will break in along the way, and we are not alone, our hopes, relationships, and faith define who we are. Trust cannot guarantee that all will end as we most desire, but it blesses the road we travel. In the midst of a life-threatening illness, one saint remarked, "I would trade away the disease in a heartbeat, but I wouldn't trade the experience for anything." His trust pushed his fears into a manageable corner and filled the space fear wanted to occupy with friendship, hope, light, and warmth.

In his speech at the Lincoln Memorial, immediately prior to his famous words about his "dream deeply rooted in the American dream," Martin Luther King, Jr. reminded the crowd of the need for trust: "The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers (sic) ... have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny..." King and the freedom marchers had ample reason to fear, but trust compelled them toward the dream of freedom for all.

Regardless of the challenge or issue we face, when fear defines us, we circle the wagons, keep most others out, and depend primarily on ourselves. When trust defines us, we open our eyes and hearts to what remains possible and to the unexpected, we invite others to accompany and support us, and we depend on power, presence, and goodness beyond our own. We cannot choose everything, but we can choose what we want to allow to define us. Fear makes us smaller. Trust draws us to the fullness God intends.

           

Grace and Peace,

LP

Facts Worth Pondering: According to the most recent FBI data available, in 2011, guns were used to murder 8,583 people living in the U.S. 565 of them were under the age of 18 and 119 were children ages 12 or younger. These figures refer only to homicides.

Firearms...

I think Wayne LaPierre meant it when he said, "The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun." At least a few people whom I respect agree with him. I cannot imagine disagreeing more completely.

I do not think that increasing the number and availability of guns will make our world or country safer. Increasing the number and availability of guns will place more of us in more situations in which we will need to make potentially life-changing decisions. The Archbishop of Canterbury said it this way in an address shortly before Christmas:

People use guns. But in a sense guns use people, too. When we have the technology for violence easily at hand, our choices are skewed and we are more vulnerable to being manipulated into violent action.

One good person, who has exercised his right to qualify for a concealed carry license, said he cannot imagine ever using his handgun. Even if he cannot imagine it, a situation beyond his imagination may force him to decide. Even revealing his firearm will make the situation more volatile. He may choose not to use it, but its presence will affect the decisions made by those around him. I cannot imagine feeling safer anywhere because most of the people around me were armed.

Mr. LaPierre and others argue that increasing the number of available firearms reduces violence. To the contrary, increasing the number and availability of guns increases our capacity for violence. An analysis conducted last year by the Violence Policy Center discovered that states with lower rates of gun ownership and stronger gun laws report the lowest number of gun deaths, whereas states with weak gun laws and higher gun ownership rates had much higher firearm-related deaths. The difference becomes even starker when we count not only deaths but also shootings.

Mr. LaPierre and others argue that training makes it possible for people to discharge firearms safely. I much prefer that those with firearms be trained than untrained, but even excellent training cannot eliminate the risks that come from discharging a gun. Last fall police officers in New York found it necessary to open fire on a gunman outside the Empire State Building. Despite their training and caution, they wounded nine bystanders while killing the gunman. I shudder to think how much worse the tragic shooting spree in a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, would have been if even a few of the other movie-goers had returned fire in the dark and chaos of those moments. When we add to such situations the rapid fire weapons, large magazines, and damaging bullets currently available, the potential for carnage escalates.

In 1967, Black Panther leader Huey P. Newton declared, "The gun is the only thing that will free us." After Black Panthers marched through the streets of Sacramento with raised and loaded weapons, legislators brought a strict gun control law to Governor Ronald Reagan. Reagan did not eliminate gun violence by signing it, but he did something much better than raising a weapon of his own to combat it.

Even if it were possible, I do not favor the elimination of firearms. I do, however, intend with vigor to work for stricter regulation of what kinds of firearms and munitions are made available, of the process of purchasing them, and of who may purchase them. That will not eliminate firearm violence or mass shootings; but each time we beat our swords into plowshares we step closer toward the wholeness to which God calls us all. Guns for sport, hunting, and protection have a place in our society, but that place is not everywhere. Let's work together to identify that place and find our way to it.

         

          Grace and Peace,

          LP