They shall beat their swords into pie pans

the grace of food

My last piece was about how we tend to underestimate the conspiratorial nature of our faith, sometimes accepting lame substitutes for that promised thrill.

Never one to bowl a straight ball, I thought I’d careen from lane to lane and follow up with a piece on how mundane our faith is. (Mundane=from the Latin mundus, meaning world. I’ll try to get back to that wordliness in a moment.)

I’ve only had three dreams in my life which made enough of a dent in my skull for me to realize they were sent from God. One was a nightmare for me, one was a dream of a nightmare for someone else, but the sweetest dream was about food.

Jesus taught a surprising amount about food. Once, teaching in person, he pointed out that food doesn’t make anyone unclean. (This lesson sailed right over one of his best friend’s heads at the time, so he had to send Peter a dream later on, to knock it into his thick skull.)

Another time, he pointed out (using his ghostwriter, Paul) that the kingdom of God wasn’t about eating and drinking.

Several times, he taught about food without using sermons. Such as the time he fabricated food into existence so that people could listen to him longer. Or, the time, soon after his resurrection into a perfect body, when he cooked some fish on a beach and ate it with his friends.

My favorite of his teachings on food is this one:

Blessed are those servants, whom the lord when he cometh shall find watching: verily I say unto you, that he shall gird himself, and make them to sit down to meat, and will come forth and serve them.

My lovely dream was sent to me during a time of tribulation. As per his M.O., God enabled me to persevere through the trial so that I could be of use to someone who really needed to be served, at great expense to myself. In order to make it through that trial, I had to watch really closely for the Lord.

My dream, as I remember it, was I was in a homey farm house of some kind. I woke up from sleep and shuffled into the kitchen from my bedroom, where there was some quiet bustle and the sound of folks talking. I remember a small friendly crowd of family, I think they were disciples, around the breakfast table. A man was at the stove top, wearing an apron, cooking, with his back turned to me. I grabbed a chair and sat down with some coffee. The man turned around with a skillet of french toast and a smile and asked if I was ready to be served. The man was Christ.

As a mouse who tends to focus a wee bit too much on honor and duty, my tendency is to focus on the strict teachings of my Master. Instructions such as “don’t be haughty; when you get something right, just admit you’re an unworthy servant doing your duty and no more”, or “don’t argue amongst yourselves about who is greater or lesser in heaven”. Yes, sir.

But then he follows with these left hooks out of nowhere, with staggering lines such as “If you lend to the poor, you’re lending to God”, actions such as washing his student’s feet, and… putting on an apron and serving them breakfast.

Okay, there is a dutiful requirement, for sure. Watchfulness is a key component in obtaining that prize winning breakfast. But… I still struggle to believe the creator of the cosmos would love us in such an earthy and familiar way.

Preparing a feast is really what our lives are all about. What is working in the harvest field, if not to provide the makings of a banquet? What is the sweat, if not preparation for a bath, clean linens, fresh oil, and a glass of wine?

Here’s a story of a servant who helped bring down a satanic kingdom, and made friends out of enemies, by furiously cooking sweet potato pies. She wielded her whisk the same way that Christ wields his rod of iron.

In a time when we’re consumed with stories of tanks, drones, and calamity, let’s not forget the power of food.

Okay, I promised to explain the mundanity, or worldliness, of our faith. Christ is creator of the dust, which he commanded to bring forth sweet potatoes. He’s creator of molten lava, which brings forth iron ore for pots and pans. He’s creator of ancient plants and dinosaur bones, which bring forth natural gas which Biden thinks he’s going to ban. He’s king of kings, so all kings kneel to him.

Just your daily reminder that when you whip up a batch of french toast, you’re doing the work of kings and queens. Bon apetit.