Food Matters

Pike Place Market in Seattle

Hi blog readers! Are any of you still out there? It’s been awhile since I’ve been on here; turns out life in the unemployment world can still be pretty busy!

I have wanted to do a series of posts about food movements and what I’ve learned about them. I had been wary about posting too much this summer because the more I learned and read, the more complex my opinions became. But I think I’m at a place where I can hopefully (but not finally) offer some insight and feel I’m standing on solid ground. (This first post is a little long for the blogging world, I know, but it will frame things for future posts so stick with me!) Here it goes:

I wanted to start by addressing a fundamental question:

Why does it matter that we talk about where our food comes from?

I had a good friend in Boston tell me he wouldn’t think about where his food came from. For him, food and ethics didn’t mix. For one thing, if he ate local, his home state would only produce fish and potatoes for him to eat year round. I hung onto his statement as I weeded my way across the country wondering if any of my consternation really mattered.

I think his point was: eating is so fundamental, so basic, if you think too hard about it you’ll ruin the beauty of it. And after living near a Harvard world where every shocking headline or new scientific study became a movement, a revolution, I took his skepticism seriously. Marion Nestle, a nutritionist, writes about her own confusion about why people worry so much about food, “For me, food is one of life’s greatest pleasures…[but] eventually I came to realize that, for many people, food feels nothing at all like a source of pleasure; it feels more like a minefield.”[i] To this point, I think my friend is right. We should not be anxious about our food as Nestle suggests – that only exacerbates the symptoms of our disordered eating. But I get ahead of myself.

After sitting in the weeds with my friend’s question long enough, I feel comfortable saying that ultimately I think he was wrong, for many reasons. These questions are complex, as mentioned above, and hard to make sense of (hence the anxiety Nestle talks about). One thing I have found hard is that no one brings the issues together. Books are written about concern the sustainability of our planet, animal rights, food safety, human health, human mental health, body image, economics, or cultural critiques about how we eat (i.e. fast and from a window or microwave).

So here a few of the reasons why, I think, to answer his question, “it matters.”

• To begin by responding to my friend’s comment about eating being so basic: It is because eating is so fundamental, so intimate, that it matters so much that we pay attention. The more we allow a basic element of life to be warped and abused, the more we ourselves become distorted.

Wendell Berry recognizes this distortion in his essay, “The Body and the Earth”.  In his discussion about the isolation of the body (from soul, earth, community, etc.) he criticizes the fallacy of the separation of body and soul that is often expressed in religion. He writes:

“You cannot devalue the body and value the soul – or value anything else…contempt for the body is invariably manifested in contempt for other bodies…Relationships with all other creatures become competitive and exploitive rather than collaborative and convivial. The world is seen and dealt with, not as an ecological community, but as a stock exchange, the ethics of which are based on the tragically misnamed “law of the jungle”…The body is degraded and saddened by being set in conflict against the Creation itself, of which all bodies are members, therefore members of each other. The body is thus sent to war against itself.”[ii]

If the health of our being (body & soul) is connected, then things connected to our body, namely food and the animals and earth from which it comes, matters. Ultimately we cannot separate ourselves from our bodies, or the earth, or from one another without bringing harm upon ourselves. 

• Americans have a particularly tenuous relationship with food. It is amazing to me the full spectrum of distorted relationships that exist. While many of the food critics out there focus on the ecological problems of food production, many overlook our problems with obesity (and all the health issues related to it), people who struggle with addiction to food (even if they are not overweight), and so many who deprive themselves of nourishment, withholding food for control and distorted body images. Our nation clearly has an eating disorder; perhaps, more then one. 

We have diet plans being born each day with new followers eagerly overthrowing their current eating habits for the next quick fix. There are new products invented to excite the shopper (often the child) like Oreo cereal, and fruit snacks “packed with so much real fruit juice your kids won’t know they’re eating fruit.” There are people who don’t know what a tomato plant looks like or that carrots grow underground.

We have 3,900 calories available to each person each day in our country (nearly twice the amount the average adult needs), and yet families still go hungry.[iii]

In contrast to our food world, there are many cultures (I think first of French, Italian, Indian and Latin) that savor the beauty and gift of food, and know how to both create it and enjoy eating it. And there are impoverished countries that know the necessity of food and the limitations of growing it.

My goal in this post and in the ones to come is not to frame these statements in a condemning way that suggests all our food realities are wrong, but rather that something has been lost. Somehow in this place, we have lost sight of both ends of that spectrum.

• Most of us are far enough removed from agricultural ancestors that we don’t know what cows and pigs are supposed to eat, nor what they’re fed now, or how to slaughter and clean an animal for our consumption. Wendell Berry might encourage us to look into this and ask us what that does to our bodies, the earth, and our community. Michael Pollan may ask us to forage our own mushrooms and hunt our own boar. But another voice recognizes the reality that these things are not possible for all of us, and we do have a world of 7 billion people to feed!

James McWilliams is a professor who was first a “locavore” and has written about the failings of the movement. He is still someone who believes that “the quest for sustainable methods of global food production cannot wait,” but he also has some harsh criticisms of the popular food movements that are trying to do just that. In contrast to Berry, Pollan and others who write with nostalgia about the history of agriculture and the woes of industrial farming, McWilliams wants to point out that farming, period, is destruction of the natural state of the ecosystem, and yet at this point a necessary evil.

“No matter how rhapsodic one waxes about the process of wresting edible plants and tamed animals from the sprawling vagaries of nature, there’s a timeless, unwavering truth espoused by those who worked the land for ages: no matter how responsible agriculture is, it is essentially about achieving the lesser of evils. To work the land is to change the land, to shape it to benefit one species over another, and thus necessarily to tame what is wild. Our task should be to deliver our blows gently.”[iv] In short: “domestication reinvents the rules of nature…cultivated plants are nature’s misfits…farming is, at its historical essence, the art of strategizing against the natural world.”[v]

And so you can begin to see, even among those who are searching for sustainable agriculture, among those who recognize there is a problem with the way we do food now, they are divided in their approach.  There are those who want to work with nature, to return to it and the wisdom it provides, and there are those who say this is fundamentally impossible.

So it is with the realities of the world of fast-food and industrial farming, the realities the organic, local, slow, vegetarian, vegan, family-farm, sustainable living, permaculture, and raw food movements, and with the reality that we must feed a nation, a world, whose population has long been exploding, I enter into questions about food – because whether or not I’ve settled for one food movement, or worked out all the details about what I think our priorities should be in food production, I did solidify one thing on my journey, it indeed, does matter.  It matters because it is not only an ecological issue, but it is a health issue for us, a mental health issue, and a spiritual issue that has long needed to be addressed as such.

And hopefully rather than convert you to any one movement, or convince you to start up your own farm and slaughter your own chickens (a misconception of readers from an earlier post), I can at least convince you to pay attention to not only where your food comes from, but how you eat, and ask yourself which pieces you think matter most to the earth, your health, your mental health, the health of your community, and your spirituality.

---

[i] Marion Nestle, What to Eat (New York: North Point Press, 2006), p. 3-4.

[ii] Norman Wirzba, Ed., The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays of Wendell Berry (Berkley: Counterpoint, 2002), 101.

[iii] Nestle, 11.

[iv] James McWilliams, Just Food (New York: Back Bay Books, 2009), 9.

[v] McWilliams, 7.

Food Blogger Wannabe

I know this is beginning to look like a food blog, but I had to share these classic cupcakes with y'all! And in fact, I will be finally talking more about what I've gathered about food and all the proverbial movements that accompany our grub these days  - so stay tuned!

My sister-in-law turns 21 this week, and we made a huge Mexican-themed family dinner last night to celebrate - complete with vanilla and chocolate cupcakes at the request of the birthday princess.

Other than the recipe - I wanted to share some insights I had while whipping the pound of butter that went into these cups (they don't call it buttercream for nothin', kids).

So first: Here is the recipe. I hadn't used this food blog before, but the cake was so good with that buttermilk in it, and the frosting an excellent consistency (and without the finicky mess of egg whites).

I realized how much Daniel and I had been cooking since we've been with family these last couple weeks, often to celebrate something (birthday, being home, August produce, etc.). For me, this means cooking the best food I can both dream up and successfully pull off in the kitchen. Food is often central to our festivities in life, it's a marker that something special is happening, a marker of special time (sometimes sabbath perhaps?)

So as I labored for hours over just the cupcakes (not to mention the chicken mole, homemade salsa, green rice, beans, or fried green tomatoes), I thought about all the short cuts we've given ourselves to accomplish such meals:

• boxed cake mix and frosting in a tube
• salsa in a jar
• quick rice in just 15 minutes!

...not to mention the prepared food we can buy for such occasions.

I get that people are in a hurry.
And I know a lot of people don't like to cook.
But I think there is something fundamental about spending a day in the kitchen, making what you are able, spending time on the preparation and savoring the basic ingredients that go into each dish. Eating is necessary. Thus, preparing food is necessary. The more we take ourselves away from that process, the more time we create for things that are perhaps not so necessary, not so nourishing, and definitely don't taste as good. Because cupcakes just aren't the same when all you do is "add water and egg."

Blueberry Awesomeness

To celebrate our return, what we learned on the farm, and thank my parents for their support, we cooked a huge dinner to celebrate! We bought most of our goodies from the Midland farmers market - it's finally tomato season!!! Yum.

Here was the menu :)

Homemade Farmer's Bread (here's the recipe)
Pork Shoulder with Peach Sauce (local pork, the cut was ironically a Boston Butt)
Purple, Yellow & Green Bean Medley with citrus sauce and candied pecans
Creamed Corn (Tennessee style with Peaches and Cream Fresh Corn)
And finally, a Blueberry Almond Honey Tart (made with honey from our first farm)
We also opened the meal with a silent Quaker prayer we practiced on the farm in Minnesota; a splendid way to start a meal!

So good to make fine food from scratch and celebrate together!

Home

A few days ago, we left Tess, Brent, and Chicago to drive our last leg on this summer journey. It’s strange that it’s all coming to a close, and even stranger to be returning to a place I call home but haven’t lived in for nine years.

In some ways I was nervous about heading back to Midland. I was one of those kids who grew up in small town America dreaming of bigger and better things and one who swore I’d never look back when I left for college. Midland was a great place to grow up, but never a place to live as an adult. I was a girl from a small Midwestern town, bound for the modern city lifestyle.

But I have missed family, and I have missed the familiarity of the region in which I grew up, and the identity and history it offers me. And yet at the same time, I still swoon at the city lights, and I am tickled by the seemingly boundless opportunities for experiencing new people, cultures, food, ritual.

Wendell Berry made a choice to return home to Kentucky after he had “successfully made it out.” He had established himself as a writer, was working as faculty at NYU, and living in one of the largest and richest cultural centers of our country. He writes about the conversation he had with his colleague who was trying to talk him out of the move.

“His argument [Berry’s colleague's] was based on the belief that once one had attained the metropolis, the literary capital, the worth of one’s origins was canceled out; there simply could be nothing worth going back to. What lay behind one had ceased to be a part of life, and had become 'subject matter'…that a place such as I came from could be returned to only at the price of intellectual death; cut off from the cultural springs of the metropolis…Finally, there was the assumption that the life of the metropolis is the experience, the modern experience, and that the life of the rural towns, the farms, the wilderness places is not only irrelevant to our time, but archaic as well…”1

I too have feared as I look for work that if I moved to Nowhere, Indiana, my life would end. Even as we toured the countryside, I battled with the tension between the deep peace I found in the open sky and intimate communities against my desire for being a part of a diverse community and for good Indian food.

But one thing has given me hope. This time, in Chicago, I didn’t get excited about the city as we drove in, and I didn’t long to spend the day exploring the sites. I missed the open sky, the pasture, and the spirit of the rural communities. I will always love the city, whether I live there or visit, but as Berry says about his move to Kentucky, wherever I am, I will not be there because of circumstance, but because I chose to be there. And with time, hopefully, I will become a part of the very fabric of the place, it’s history and rhythms. 

For now, I am home, in a place rich with its own history, and full of people who showed me love and care as I grew up. And if I’ve learned anything this summer, my hunch is that my life will not end, but instead has circled upon itself, offering me an opportunity to again commune with family and the Midwest, even if just for a short time.

1. The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays of Wendell Berry. Ed: Norman Wirzba, (Berkley, CA: Counterpoint), 2002, p. 6-7.

Trouble with Grace

Today my husband, Daniel, is guest-posting about some of his experiences this summer, and some of his reflections on our reading of Wendell Berry. This summer would have been much less rich without him, and I am grateful for his companionship and his intentionality about reflecting on our experience together.

I have not formally asked any one to guest post before, but I would love for others to contribute to this blog! If you have something to say about sabbath, farms, food, travel, life, chickens...you get the idea, please let me know! I'd love to continue this even though we've almost made it back home.

*  *  *

I’ve always had trouble with grace. As a child, I sang about it often in hymns like ‘Amazing Grace’ and ‘Grace Greater Than Our Sin’, but it wasn’t preached or talked about nearly enough for me to truly understand the feeling of grace. When I was baptized as a teenager, no great sensation swept over me, as I had hoped it might. Throughout my life, I have believed in and known God’s love and even God’s forgiveness in various ways. But grace has always been a little bit more elusive.

In a way, I’ve always felt that I’m somehow missing out on something that a lot of other people seem to experience with a degree of ease. I’d love to have one of those dramatic ‘see the light’ or ‘come to Jesus’ moments that certain Christian people have had. And growing up in a church where folks talked about salvation and piety a lot more than grace only intensified my disappointment that I never found myself in the middle of such an experience. Alas, I’ve had to ‘settle’ for subtle moments of beauty, truth, and clarity instead.

You might wonder what any of this has to do with our farm work and sabbath journeys this summer. Well as I look back over the past few months, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve been looking for the wrong kind of grace. My work and time on farms this summer was filled with blessings. The simplicity of the lifestyle, the connection to the land, meals that were healthy and fresh from the garden, and being able to spend all day outside in the sun – all of these things filled me with a subtle but deep feeling of gladness and contentment. I’ve hoped to encounter God’s grace as an all-consuming redemption and perhaps as a mystical relationship with the Divine. Ultimately, I’ve wanted grace to be something overwhelming, something of which I’m clearly conscious. But I suspect that through our work and sabbath time I have experienced grace at a very unconscious level.

In The Art of the Commonplace Wendell Berry writes, “The distinction between the physical and the spiritual is, I believe, false. A much more valid distinction, and one that we need urgently to make, is that between the organic and the mechanical” (p. 147). He’s talking about the tendency in Christian theology of drawing a sharp boundary between flesh and spirit, between body and mind. It is this division that fuels the expectation of an entirely conscious experience of grace. I believe that Berry is suggesting that the subtle pleasures, simultaneously spiritual and physical, of living and working within the flow of creation’s rhythms are as true an experience of God’s grace as any dramatic altar call.

I’m learning how to embrace and enjoy this grace. As our summer ends and we return to a more normal routine, I wonder how we might maintain an ability to dwell in those graceful rhythms.

~ Daniel 

Maya Angelou on Sabbath

This short Angelou piece is from her book Wouldn't Take Nothing For My Journey Now.

"A Day Away"

We often think that our affairs, great or small, must be tended continuously and in detail, or our world will disintegrate, and we will lose our places in the universe. That is not true, or if it is true, then our situations were so temporary that they would have collapsed anyway.

Once a year or so I give myself a day away. On the eve of my day of absence, I begin to unwrap the bonds which hold me in harness. I inform housemates, my family and close friends that I will not be reachable for 24 hours; then I disengage the telephone. I turn the radio dial to an all-music station, preferably one which plays the soothing golden oldies. I sit for at least an hour in a very hot tub; then I lay out my clothes in preparation for my morning escape, and knowing that nothing will disturb me, I sleep the sleep of the just.

On the morning I wake naturally, for I will have set no clock, nor informed my body time piece when it should alarm. I dress in comfortable shoes and casual clothes and leave my house going no place. If I am living in a city, I wander streets, window-shop, or gaze at buildings. I enter and leave public parks, libraries, the lobbies of skyscrapers, and movie houses. I stay in no place for very long.

On the getaway day I try for amnesia. I do not want to know my name, where I live, or how many dire responsibilities rest on my shoulders. I detest encountering even the closest friend, for then I am reminded for who I am. And the circumstances of my life, which I want to forget for awhile.

Every person needs to take one day away. A day in which one consciously separates the past from the future. Jobs, lovers, family, employers and friends can exist one day without any one of us, and if our egos permit us to confess, they could exist eternally in our absence.

Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us. We need hours of aimless wandering or spates of time sitting on park benches, observing the mysterious world of ants and the canopy of treetops.

If we step away for a time, we are not, as many may think and some will accuse, being irresponsible, but rather we are preparing ourselves to more ably perform our duties and discharge our obligations.

When I return home, I am always surprised to find some questions I sought to evade had been answered and some entanglements I had hoped to flee had become unraveled in my absence.

A day away acts as a spring tonic. It can dispel rancor, transform indecision, and renew the spirit.

Family

Cousins Sally & Bob and their kids Jack and Andrew

I had the opportunity to reconnect with family while out west. I have cousins and an uncle in Oregon and Washington whom I haven't seen in years. Our entire trip has been a mix of farms and staying with friends/family inbetween, but this time I was truly (re)developing relationships with people I don't really know.

Columbia River

Part of Sabbath is time spent with family, and my time at home in MI, with my sister, and with close friends surely counts as family time. I wasn't sure how or if I would get to see my cousins. Both graciously offered to host us in their home cities of Portland and Seattle, and both spent time getting to know me and D. As we made the turn back east, I realized driving away that this was some of the best "family" Sabbath time yet - the kind that is perhaps intended most.

My cousin Mike and I in the canyon hike

We took a trip up the gorge and to Mt. Hood with Mike and "played", a good Sabbath practice. And we shared stories with both sets. Some were warm memories of loved ones no longer with us, and others stories of pain and shame.

Falls on our hike hear the gorge

Sitting in the spot where cousin Mike proposed to his wife Lucy (family history at its best!)

Even though I barely know these cousins, I was connected to them in so many ways, and connected to a larger story. Though in the company of practical strangers, I was somehow able to tap into love and truth that can be so heavily guarded and scary with other people who would have been just as unknown, but not family.  It was amazing to me that even though they have always felt distant (due to age differences, geography, and sometimes family tension), I realized that there is not really that much distance between family no matter how far they are. The shared stories and histories forever bind you together. Though they can be hard stories at times, it's comforting to know others not only know about them, but have experienced them too.

Estranged by Distance

Estranged by distance, he relearns 

The way to quiet not his own, 

The light at rest on tree and stone,

The high leaves falling their turns,

Spiraling through the air made gold

By their slow fall. Bright on the ground, 

They wait their darkening, commend

To coming light the light they hold.

His own long comedown from the air

Complete, safe home again, absence

Withdrawing from him tense by tense

In presence of the resting year.

Blessing and blessed in this result

Of times not blessed, now he has risen.

He walks in quiet beyond division

In surcease of his own tumult. 

Wendell Berry, A Timbered Choir

The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997: 1984, 5.

Oregonia

Catching up on some Oregon pics! Washington to come soon...

Crater Lake - the amazing blue is from the depth of the lake

Oregon Coast at Bandon Beach

Ah... officially arrived from coast to coast

Myrtle Glen Farm

Elephant Garlic

They had several Llama...

...and aliens. 

My first attempt at milking. Turns out I don't care for the flavor of goat's milk much, I prefer the cheese variety. It was also raw...but that's for another post.

Community Intentions

One week. We weren’t sure we were going to make it this long at Myrtle Glen Farm. After some last minute scrambling to set up an Oregon farm, we confirmed our stay for 10 days believing we were headed toward an old family farm that was no longer doing business. I was looking forward to getting to know a wise old man as we helped out on his property that was now up for sale.

As we drove up to the house (a good 20+ minutes from the nearest small (read: miniscule) town), we were greeted by a small crowd eating dinner on the patio of the gorgeous custom built farmhouse. Hearing names, where people were from, and how long they’d been here, we learned that indeed this was no family farm but more of a make-shift (and relatively transient) intentional community.

I quickly adjusted my expectations and thought to myself how neat of an experience this might be; I’ve always been interested in living in such a community. But the more I began to settle in, the more uncomfortable I got.

At first, it was the shifty looks of which we were the object that bothered me most. It was clear, to be sure, that we were the most “mainstream,” what with our Honda Accord, actual luggage, and yes, clean clothes.

Each individual did warm up to us, and we got to know people better. It’s amazing how time and a willingness to be in uncomfortable situations can really make people learn to dwell with each other more harmoniously.

There was a mix of ultra self-consciousness on my part but also newfound space to fully embrace my quirks and failings more publicly. My self-consciousness was interestingly not about my body, which is often the case in the “real-world.” This time it was about what I believe or how my opinions might be different.

In one way I felt liberated from worries about being stinky, exposing cellulite, or temple grease in the hair. No instead I was worried that my anxiety about drinking raw milk would be discovered, or my opinion that the government can actually accomplish good things (everything was a conspiracy theory here). On the one hand, there was an affirming community that saw beauty and righteousness in each person. On the other hand, should one stray too far from shared values and beliefs, one would be considered misguided at best, evil at worst.

This made living here as a “mainstream-shower taking-leg shaving-I like my electronic coffee maker –and don’t hang out my aluminum foil to dry” individual challenging, to say the least. Yet, as I describe the community here, both the wholeness and brokenness of it, I realize it’s not that different from any other community that creates space for diversity in particular ways but also shuns others for particular ideas or practices. Every community makes choices about such categories and guidelines.

I think the more shocking thing perhaps, is that despite it's transience it was a community, something we sometimes fail to achieve in the so-called “mainstream” (I definitely lacked one while living in Boston). And yes, community is messy at best, but it is sometimes that messiness, the step you take deep into the shit and realize "damn this is hard," that you realize you are in fact truly, intentionally, communing with others. 

Brewed for Thought

While I was in Idaho, I had the opportunity to participate in a conversation with Southminster Pres members and friends who get together once a month for “Brewed for Thought.” Each meeting they gather for dinner, drinks and discussion; recently, they have been reading the Social Creed for the 21st Century, which I was excited to be introduced to.

Our discussion that evening centered on food production, consumption, and the local movement. D. and I had the opportunity to share a bit of our summer’s education with others.

There were too many topics and questions raised to recap them all here, so I will just mention two.

(1) After several specific questions raised (many of which we couldn’t really answer fully), the group began talking about how to make decisions about how to buy/consume food when we hear so many conflicting pieces of data from a myriad of sources. Ultimately, we turned to the question, “What do you value?” And then how can you let those values inform your inquiries and your purchases?

Some people may value chemical/natural production concerns and turn toward organic, others local, some may value special diet needs such as non-dairy, gluten-free, vegan/vegetarian). Ultimately, knowing what practices of food production most concern you and knowing what your priorities are will help you know what questions to ask, and where to put your money. (I also believe we should think beyond the concerns/priorities of only ourselves and also ask about the larger community and maybe world since Americans tend to lose that perspective easily.)

(2) The second observation I want to share was a personal one. After spending so much time with farm families and people who are hyper-conscious about sustainability, it was good for me to attempt to communicate my experiences and ‘the message’ of those I worked with to representatives of a more general population.

D. and I have been grateful for our really unintended back and forth between farm and friends. Not only has it provided respite mentally, emotionally, and physically, but it has allowed us to stay grounded in the reality of how distinctly different the communities we have participated in are from the way most of the population lives. While I believe what these sustainable communities do is beyond admirable, necessary perhaps, the depressing truth is that so many people are so far from this lifestyle. I can’t help but ask, how do we bridge that gap? 

(Re)Creating Sabbath

Someone recently passed this article on to me from the New York Times written by Judith Shulevitz. It wasn't until I finished the article that I realized the author was the same woman whose book I just finished on sabbath: The Sabbath World: Glimpses of a Different Order of Time.


The book did a good job of talking about histories of Sabbath in both the Jewish and Christian traditions as well as lesser known groups such as the Hutterites or Sabbatarians; she also draws from Abraham Heschel who I've mentioned in previous posts. Her mix of history and personal writing was a little scattered for me, she never really seemed to say anything at the end of the day. She claims Sabbath is a completely dead practice, and I would also challenge her on this point. I liked her article better. 


She begins by asking the reader how you would recreate the Sabbath, and then describes a few fellow New Yorkers who do so. 


I like the intentional taking of time set aside and time with family that the therapist from Brooklyn Heights is careful about. I like that she is not threatened as a confident capable professional woman who also affirms the masculinity of her husband through a traditional family blessing. Since when have you seen someone so comfortable in the particularity of gender roles?


I have a harder time separating my theology from Sabbath as does the Israeli novelist. Why call it Sabbath then? Why not just have personal time that you take to set aside each week. Perhaps it is his Jewish heritage that provides meaning for him, but even that heritage was a focus on time rather than a practice as he claims. He doesn't like the rules, but the rules come from defining Sabbath as practice rather than as time.


Finally, the professor asks my favorite question. Most people who are trying to reclaim Sabbath, do so alone, often during moments during their week when they can fit it in. Sabbath is about time first, not just "time when you can fit it in." And she asks about how we can move away from the individual spirituality of Sabbath back into a communal framework. 


Check it out:  
Creating Sabbath Peace Amid the Noise
...and let me know how you would/do (re)claim Sabbath today.

Note: Why is an article on Sabbath in the "Fashion & Style" section, and then listed under "cultural studies"? Is this perhaps another cultural critique on our anxiety about taking time out? Will we go out of style? Be in bad fashion?

Worm Food

Even though we are not on a farm while in Boise, we have still been able to continue our theme of exploring food production. On Saturday, we went to the Boise farmer's market in downtown and indulged in those yummy mini donuts you get fried for you on the spot, but also some local cherries, elk, dried fruits, cheese curds, and local Idaho potato chips. That night we made yummy elk burgers with a side salad dressed with local dressing and fresh grilled beets, turnips and onion.

Last night, however, we indulged in a meal out at the Bittercreek AleHouse. This downtown pub and it's sister restaurant, The Red Feather Lounge, are two purveyors of all things local. They try to buy as much of their food and drink from as local a farm as they can find, and even list their drink menu from least to most miles traveled. This does make indulging in a good Belgium beer difficult when you see it's been shipped 5,000 miles. (O, Brick Store, how I still love thee!)

As someone traveling in the area, it's nice to get a sense of what is unique to Idaho and the surrounding region. I can buy a hamburger or a salad anywhere. But what kinds of burgers, what kinds of fish and veggies are they using to dress their sandwiches and salads are seasonal and regional for this place? I had a smoked trout plate with local goat cheese, flatbread, capers, and roasted garlic along with a Butterleaf Wedge salad with leeks, tomato, and parmesan. Daniel had the cheesesteak made with grass-fed roast beef.

The restaurant also has a "Low Power Happy Hour" during the week from 4-6 in which they offer you deals on their fare in exchange for a darker atmosphere. They do not turn on the dining room lights until 6pm. In fact, they wondered how much they would save on their electricity bill if they simply turned off their neon pub signs, and they discovered a 30% decline! Needless to say, we didn't see any flashing Pabst signs on our visit.

Finally, the restaurant prints their menus on paper, and shreds them to create worm food when they reprint. Wait, worm food? That's right, perhaps the most intriguing part of the restaurant is the two vats of compost we toured in the basement each holding 200 lbs. of worms and all the food and paper compost the restaurant could feed them. Surprisingly, the basement didn't smell at all (they don't compost their meat/dairy products down there), and the worms were creating compost that would go back into the soil to grow veggies and flowers for the restaurant owner's garden.

All in all, it was one of the best meals I've had on the road. Cheers!

Montucky

Native Sunflower to Montana

I thought I'd catch up on some pictures from Montana (or Montucky as Bryce from Native Ideals calls it). On this trip I'll be visiting several new states on my checklist, but this one has won my heart so far.

First, some pictures from the farm: Native Ideals.

Though this poofball is a weed for the farm, it is pretty in the light. :)

The southern side of the farm with Mt. McCloud in the background. 

I'm forgetting - but I think the Cutleaf Daisy (?) - we weeded the younger version.

Rows of wildflowers. 

Scarlet Gilia

Deerhorn Clarkia - the one annual they currently sell.

While we were at the farm, we went to the PowWow (an annual celebration of the local tribes that happens right in Arlee). Part of the celebration is the rodeo, which seemed to be more of a European American event in reality. I'd never been to one, and thought the 4th of July was an appropriate day to start, but I walked away a little unsure about the practice.

Horse

Bull

Finally, we had the chance to go see the National Bison Range, a few miles from Arlee. The range has bison, but also Elk, Deer, Antelope, Black Bear, lots of birds and marmots. Native Ideals actually does some contract work with the refuge. The bison are enormous; they can easily weigh one ton! Here's a few favorite shots. 

The Missions are in the background

Female Elk with a little one down slope.

White Tailed Deer on the move

There are somewhere between 300-500 on the range. We probably saw a total of 100 driving around. 

Antelope 

A storm rolling in. The sky is amazing from the valley. 

A Sabbath Sermon

I am currently in the company of some good seminary friends in Boise, ID, and Marci graciously invited me to preach at her church, Southminster Presbyterian, this morning. I couldn't seem to help but preach, of course, about Sabbath. So here it is.
Gen 2:1-4

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all heir multitude. And on the seventh day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested form all the work that he had done in creation. These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created.

Luke 10:25-37

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into that hands of robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

 ***

Who is my neighbor? That is often the question we hinge on from this familiar gospel story. We’ve each probably heard a half a dozen sermons about the Good Samaritan, many no doubt asking us important questions about how we treat those around us, and who we consider to be neighbors, or maybe even why we should show people kindness. But I’d like to take us in a different direction this morning.

Some of you may have heard about a study conducted in 1973 by a couple of psychologists who used the story of The Good Samaritan as their template. Their intention was to look at personality factors that affected whether or not people would stop to help another person in distress. Interestingly, they recruited seminary students (of the Presbyterian variety, from Princeton) as their participants, and instructed each of them to travel from one building to another where they would give a talk. They had a few variables, half the students were asked to talk about job prospects in that talk, the other half were asking to preach a sermon on the Good Samaritan. Then each of those two groups were broken into thirds, one third was told to hurry over to the next building, they were going to be late! The second was told they were on time, but not to dilly dally, the final group was told the program was running late and but they could go ahead and make their way over. Every student passed an actor playing a homeless man who was in health distress on their way to the second building to talk.

The researchers were hoping to find that these benevolent seminary students would differ in their responses mostly based on personality, but what they found was that the biggest factor in whether someone stopped to help was whether or not they were in a hurry. Those who stopped the most, were those who had been told the program was running late and had extra time to spare.

When was the last time you were in a hurry? Maybe Friday afternoon, rushing to get out of the office and beat weekend rush hour traffic? Perhaps it was yesterday as you made your way to a meeting or the kids practice. Or was it this morning as you left the house in a flurry to make it to church on time?

Being busy is a status symbol in our culture today. It is a compliment of sorts to hear, “Wow, you must really be busy” and reply with a non-chalant, “nah, not really.” Being too busy is the number one reason why people say they can’t vote; half of people who don’t attend church say it’s because they’re too busy. We have twitter because we’re too busy to read an entire letter or e-mail about how our friends are doing, we’ve got blackberries because we’re too busy to remember what comes in the next hour, we’ve got 8-minute ab workouts because we’re too busy to find time to be active outdoors doing something we actually enjoy that is good for our bodies.

Thomas Merton talks about this business as a kind of violence; he says:

“To allow oneself to be carried away by the multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of our activism neutralizes our work for peace, [because] it destroys our own inner capacity for peace.”

And indeed, when we look at the story of The Good Samaritan and the priest and Levite who both passed by, or the study in which even budding do-gooder pastors walk by the homeless man, we begin to see how this busy life might in fact deliver violence in our world.

So how do we respond to this life? How to we resist the status of a full calendar, and find time to rest, to nurture ourselves, those around us, and our relationship with God?

I had the opportunity to think more deeply about this in seminary. I found myself at the end of two full years of studying and interning, and realized I didn’t have it in me to do another summer of work; Clinical Pastoral Education was next on the docket. So I went to one of my professors to talk it over with him, and said I just needed to take a break, I was overwhelmed and so emotionally dry that I couldn’t begin to imagine serving as a chaplain for the summer. He supported my decision to postpone CPE, but corrected my description of it, telling me that I was not merely “taking a break”, but instead practicing Sabbath.

I think this ancient faith practice, one that we only vaguely recognize as Christians today, is one way we can respond to our hurried culture. When you hear the word Sabbath, many of you might first think about Judaism, or even Seventh Day Adventists, and indeed they are two traditions that prioritize the Sabbath.

Jews have several texts that inform their practice of Sabbath, but there are two that seem particularly foundational, and Christians also hold these passages in high esteem. One of these texts was our first scripture reading from this morning in Genesis, in which God creates the seventh day, rested, and hallowed it. But this alone, might seem like not enough of a reason that we should deserve a weekly rest, creating the world must have been harder work than anything we could have ever possibly participated in. So look then to the Decalogue, the ten commandments. We generally attempt to follow these basic laws right? We’re all familiar with thou shall not steal, murder, or covet your neighbor. You shall honor your father and mother, and not make false idols.

But we often forget the fourth commandment; can you name what it is?

“Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work.”

You may be wondering what is the Sabbath, or how do we practice it? Certainly we go to church on Sundays, and you may have heard about other traditions like Judaism in which they refrain from labor and work, but also cooking, or use of light or transportation, and eat traditional meals with family. It may even conjure up memories of the old blue laws which prohibit the sale of liquor, gambling, bingo, labor, or recreational sports on Sundays depending on which state you are in.

But Sabbath is not about restrictions or rules, nor is it about idle rest. It is an active cessation of work, a rest in motion. Sabbath is not a time intended for us to make it as far as we get until we collapse into a desperate repose in which we can do nothing for our exhaustion.  Instead it is an intentional time to regularly tend to God, to community and self, to celebrate life. In fact it is less a particular practice and more an observance of a particular time.

Let’s turn to the Genesis passage again. Throughout the entire story, God has created each portion of creation, declaring each good at the end of the day. But what happens on the seventh day is unique. God creates another day, another portion of time, and then God rests and blesses that time. The Hebrew is qadosh, which means holy, or to make holy. It is the first appearance of that word in the Bible, and notice it is not used for creation, not on the Earth, the waters, the animals, nor even us. God makes time, a particular time, holy. And then God dwells in that time, and later invites us to do so too.

Abraham Heschel was a rabbi born in Germany, but came to the US just before WWII. He was adjusting to his new life here with fellow Jews who were trying to figure out what it meant to be American. His book, The Sabbath, was written largely in response to what he saw happening to the Jewish Sabbath. I quote his daughter’s introduction of the book, “The Sabbath appeared at a time when American Jews were assimilating radically and when many were embarrassed by public expressions of Jewishness…For them, the Sabbath interfered with jobs, socializing, shopping, and simply being American.”

Heschel talks about how we have lost the distinction of time. Time has become a commodity, a thing that can be traded and measured. He contrasts time to space, arguing that space is the real commodity we’re after, and we use time to gain more space (more property, more things, more power, more cubic feet). Hence the phrase, time is money.

But try as we might, we really cannot conquer or dominate time, it does seem to march on incessantly no matter how hard we try to contain it. And whether we like it or not, time is not as uniform as we may think. We do not consider being five minutes late to a dinner party the same as being five minutes late to work. Nor do we consider a 10 minute traffic delay the same as a ten minute delay spent catching up with friends. Or consider the nine long months of pregnancy compared to the first nine months of your child’s life. There is work time, vacation time, chore time. In our faith we have Ordinary Time, Lenten Time, Advent Time, and Christmas and Easter time. Sabbath is another particular time, one that happens weekly. And it is time that has been made holy by God first.

When I began to think about Sabbath more intentionally, I realized that part of the purpose of Sabbath was to participate in sanctification (or the making holy) of myself and of the world. And I thought that if I could just get the right practices down, and spend time dedicated to those practices, I would be on the right track. But then I realized it is the time itself that is holy, not the practice. And it isn’t until I submit to that time, not until I dwell in it, revel in it, celebrate that time, that I too experience the holy.

The Sabbath is a sanctuary from the world as we know it, from the time we battle during the week, from the labor and work we are required to do, from the reality of this world. It is a day for praise, a day for the celebration of life. It is a day where we stop thinking about space, and think about time in a new way. It is a day to stop thinking about what we need to do, or what needs to get done, and rest in a time meant for God, for community, and for self.

What is on your to do list for this afternoon? Mow the lawn? Do the budget? Read those documents from work you didn’t get to on Friday afternoon? What would happen if you didn’t get to that list?

I mentioned that Sabbath is more an observance of time than it is a practice, but that doesn’t mean that certain practices can’t help you transition into that time. Certainly coming to worship with your faith community is a good place to start. Simply being with others who are attempting to enter into that time collectively can help any one individual resist the temptations to succumb to another six or seven day work week. Worship can set the tone for the joyous celebration of the day of resurrection that we observe as Christians on the Lord’s Day. It can be a time where the community swells with life. But what happens after church? What will help you find that different mode of time, and let go of the anxieties and to do lists? What will help you create a sanctuary in time?

Maybe you turn your cell phone off for the day, or refrain from using the internet. Perhaps you do house chores on Saturday and spend the day enjoying your garden or lawn by playing games or sitting and reading in it. Maybe you extend your time with community by sharing a meal. Perhaps you journal, run, sit in silence, sing loud, or dance. Maybe each week you do something new, or you might develop a regular practice. Whatever it is, it should take you away from those spatial comforts Heschel talks about, and draw you nearer to the people you love, nearer to God, and nearer to self. It should not just be a distraction from you work, but a delight in life and rest. It should feel like a different time, so that when step out of it, you feel somehow lighter, you feel fed, more alive.

The poem on your bulletin this morning I think summarizes how Sabbath should feel quite well. Wendell Berry is a writer, and lives on his farm in Kentucky. Part of his Sunday Sabbath is to walk through his property, often in silence, and sometimes he writes (he writes poetry though, which is intentionally different from his day job). This poem is one of his Sabbath poems, and I’m just going to read you the end of it:

The mind that comes to rest is tended

In ways that it cannot intend:

Is borne, preserved, and comprehended

By what it cannot comprehend.

Your Sabbath, Lord, thus keeps us by

Your will, not ours. And it is fit

Our only choice should be to die

Into that rest, or out of it.

May we walk away from this sanctuary, but remain in a sanctuary of time where our mind and our hearts are tended, where community is nurtured, and out of that rest is born life. Our own lives, the life of our community, and life that extends beyond us; life that reminds us to be the Samaritan who will stop, and maybe even take a step out of our daily time, even on a Tuesday.

Amen.