Let's talk about food: Practicing the Presence

[Jordaens, The Supper at Emmaus, 1645]

And now back to food as sacrament--what we'll be talking about this Sunday at St Barnabas. In Monday's post I wrote, "A sacrament points to something beyond itself, but it is more than a sign. It has multiple layers of meaning, but it is more than the religious version of a symbol. A sacrament is a special kind of symbol that actually makes present the reality it evokes." The sacrament of bread and wine, then, in some way makes Jesus Christ present.

How does that work?

Catholics still use a medieval explanation called "transubstantiation." Lutherans speak of  "sacramental union." Calvinists talk about "spiritual presence." Other Protestants use terms like "holy mystery" or "real presence." Orthodox Christians like the word "mystery" and, as far as I know, don't try too hard to explain it. Many evangelical Christians celebrate the Lord's Supper but don't really believe in sacraments at all (my husband once referred to their theology as the "real absence"). Anglicans, as John Cleese wittily pointed out in his "Consumers Guide to Religion," have a democratic spirit--"if you want transubstantiation, you can have transubstantiation. If you don't want transubstantiation, you don't have to have transubstantiation. All you do is go down the road to another Church of England church and not have it."

I'm not going to argue for or against any of these positions. I rather like the quatrain that probably originated with John Donne but is usually attributed to Elizabeth I:

’Twas God the word that spake it,
He took the bread and brake it,
And what the word did make it,
That I believe and take it.

Whatever our theology about sacraments, most Christians agree that

• eating together fosters community
• the Christian community is "the body of Christ" (1 Corinthians 12:27)

The earliest Christians "devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers" (Acts 2:42). Somehow when they broke bread together, Jesus was present with them and in them, and they were present in him.

Bread and wine are dynamic symbols. Sharing bread and wine is a powerful sacramental act. All explanations inevitably fall short, as the disciples on the Emmaus Road discovered. Only when they broke bread with the stranger did they realize who he was.
_______________________________

This is part of a series of short posts especially for people who attend St Barnabas Episcopal Church in Glen Ellyn, IL, where I'm leading conversations about food on September 22, September 29, and October 6. I'll post about food every weekday between September 16 and October 4.

Five days to Harry Potter 7, part 2

Before our grandchildren could read, they listened to Harry Potter books. Their parents read to them. We read to them. Stephen Fry, narrator of the British audiobooks, read to them over and over.

Monday evening our now-16-year-old granddaughter arrives for a four-day visit. At one minute past midnight this coming Thursday, she will be with us at the grand opening of the final Harry Potter film.

As the preview says, "Every moment he's lived has led to this."

Fellow and sister Harry Potter fans - especially those of you who, like me, would rather read the books than analyze them - here are two intelligent articles about the books you might surprise yourself by enjoying:

• Episcopal priest, theologian, life coach, and scuba diver Danielle Tumminio, author of God and Harry Potter at Yale, offers an unusual but persuasive interpretation of God- and Christ-figures in "Harry Potter and Christian Theology"  (The Huffington Post)

• Former Marine, former Latin teacher, current Hogwarts Professor, and  "dean of Harry Potter scholars" John Granger (no relation to Hermione), author of a whole pile of books about Harry Potter, explores the series' classic literary structure in "Harry Is Here to Stay" (Christianity Today)

On my other blog, The Neff Review, I just reviewed Peggy Orenstein's Cinderella Ate My Daughter. Parents, give thanks: there are no princesses in Harry Potter.

A different idea for Ground Zero

Here's an idea for people who are unhappy about having an Islamic Center near the site of the World Trade Center, especially if those people are Bible-believing Christians and/or defenders of the U.S. Constitution. What if American Christians got together and offered to build an interfaith memorial instead?

Since we follow someone who suggested loving our enemies and forgiving seventy times seven (which we tend to ignore when we rant against the Islamic center), this would allow us to be more literal about our faith. And since believe in our Constitutional rights of religious liberty and freedom to assemble (which we might jeopardize by refusing to allow the Islamic center to be built), this would allow us to be more traditional about our politics as well - all without making the Muslims pay for the building.

See, we could pay for it ourselves. It would be cheap: only 50 cents from every American Christian would do it. We probably wouldn't want to call it Córdoba, since that brings to mind a city where medieval Muslims gave a fair amount of religious liberty to Christians (something Christians at the time were not doing for Muslims in neighboring cities). But we might call it something like The Reconciliation Center - a very biblical term that evangelicals should like.

We could include separate worship rooms for Christians, Muslims, Jews, and every other faith held by victims of the 9/11 attacks. We could also include a multifaith meditation room for everybody, with pictures of the deceased and symbols of hope and peace.

Just as important, we could use the memorial to bring the community together now and in the future. I don't know what the neighborhood needs - apparently it's rather rich in strip clubs and sex toys - but how about a gym where kids of all faiths could play together? A food pantry staffed by and serving all people? A library with great works from many traditions? An auditorium where speakers, films, and concerts promoting reconciliation could be featured? A clinic offering free medical care for the homeless?

The only drawback I can think of in building such a center is that terrorists would absolutely hate it. They're already upset at Sufi Muslims such as Feisal Abdul Rauf, the man behind the Córdoba Initiative.Think how mad they would get if Christians co-opted his idea, improved it, and invited him to join them. They might even bomb the place!

But as Jesus said, "Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake."

Harrowing hell, and the hell of Alzheimer's

Holy Saturday--Jesus may have rested, but everyone in DuPage County is out buying groceries. Jesus may have been busy too. According to ancient tradition, he spent his down time in hell, or the world of the dead, or wherever Adam and Eve were hanging out in hopes that he'd show up. Orthodox icons show him lifting them out of the depths, offering them back the life they so badly messed up the first time.

I've been thinking a lot lately about a variation of hell--the living death that is Alzheimer's disease. My mother, my father, my mother-in-law, and my best friend's mother all died of it, so when I learned that two new novels feature a main character with Alzheimer's, and that both books tell the story from the point of view of the person with Alzheimer's--an almost impossible task, I thought--I felt driven to read them.

And then this week while I was writing a review of the two books, I heard from my friend Evelyn Bence, who has just posted "Receive My Memory" on the Image blog. I love her beautiful essay about visiting her dear friend John Breslin, SJ, a brilliant man whose memories are leaking away.

I'm not going to post my review here unless the magazine I'm writing for decides not to accept it. I'll just direct you to two realistic, emotionally shattering stories, both by first-time novelists in their thirties (how do they know so much about this disease?). If you like well-defined linear stories about women and their relationships--"hen lit"--I recommend Still Alice by Lisa Genova (Simon & Schuster: Pocket Books). If you prefer literary fiction that brings up philosophical questions about human nature and leaves you wondering what really happened, read The Wilderness by Samantha Harvey (Random House: Nan A. Talese). P.S., June 1: The full review is up at the Books & Culture web site, http://www.christianitytoday.com/bc/columns/bookoftheweek/090601.html .

Both books are brilliant but draining: perfect for Lent and a great antidote to the Easter bunny. Alzheimer's disease is one of an infinite number of reasons why hell needs to be harrowed.

Holy Saturday is almost over. Soon the Easter candle will be lit.

Doggerel for Maundy Thursday

Are you old enough to remember Arch Books, paperback Bible stories in doggerel illustrated with cartoons? I wrote three of of them back in the 70s. Concordia published the first two, but the third was too much for them. It was always my favorite, so I offer it here, somewhat updated, for Maundy Thursday.


Thirteen men around a table, something obviously wrong.
Though their heads are wrapped in halos, twelve men wear their faces long.
James is signaling to Simon; Philip looks the other way;
Thomas shakes his fist at Matthew; John has not a word to say.
Big Bartholomew, exhausted, yawns and pushes back his chair;
James the Lesser, scowling broadly, with his finger carves the air.
Judas grimaces profoundly; Andrews scratches for a flea;
Thaddeus bumps into Peter--oh, what can the matter be?

Soon the Lord will claim his kingdom. Rome approaches zero hour.
In his new administration, who will wield the greatest power?
Peter, chief of staff, barks orders; Judas, hedge-fund king, dissents;
Thomas hopes to be Chief Justice; James and John opt for Defense.
Intrigues stir Simon the Zealot (why, is anybody's guess);
He will head the Secret Service; Matthew wants the IRS.
Heads of this and that department keep the ship of state on course.
Who will be the most important when God's kingdom comes in force?
Twelve men ready to be leaders, generals, great men of might,
Department heads and cabinet members: twelve men itching for a fight.

Thirteen men around a table, thirteen men about to eat.
There's the basin, where's the servant? Thirteen men have dirty feet.
Andrew, closest to the basin, quickly chooses not to budge:
Next year's military hero can't be this year's common drudge.
Cleaning dirt from people's toenails nauseates Bartholomew.
He nods at John, then at the basin; John misapprehends his cue.
Simon, cloak-and-dagger honcho, rises, drops back in his seat:
What a blot upon his record: "This man's good at washing feet."
James the Lesser squirms and reddens; Judas stares beyond the doors.
Talented administrators should not stoop to lowly chores.
Peter talks, though no one listens; Philip's overcome with heat;
Twelve men yawn and scratch and wonder, who is going to wash our feet?

Twelve men eager to do battle, all impatient for the coup--
But Jesus looks a bit disgruntled. What is Jesus going to do?

Jesus Christ, their Lord and teacher, famous healer, son of man,
Son of God, God's own Messiah, is picking up the water pan.
With one hand he takes a towel, tucks it in his belt, and then
Rolls his sleeves above his elbows, walks by twelve astonished men,
Pours some water in the basin, puts the basin on the tile
Next to open-mouthed Thaddaeus, takes his sandal with a smile,
Dips his feet into the water, washes well between his toes,
Pats them dry, refills the basin, tucks the towel back in, and goes
To Andrew, Thomas, John, and Philip, Simon and Bartholomew,
James the Greater, James the Lesser, Levi Matthew, and Judas too.

All the feet are washed but Peter's. Jesus takes the basin now,
Moves toward Peter, kneels beside him. Peter jumps. "I can't allow
You to do the servant's labor! You are not the slave of me.
You're my rabbi, friend, and master! Go away and let me be.
Dirty feet I've seen quite often. Dirty feet I've washed before.
If you'll let me have that basin, I can wash my feet once more."
Peter grabs, but Jesus dodges. "Peter, listen for my sake.
Here's a lesson you must study: when to give and when to take.
Give your all, but not for glory. Give as long as there is need.
As a servant in my kingdom, you can plant the gospel seed.
Take from me the right to enter heaven's kingdom come to earth.
Wash your soul in heaven's fountain: take from me the second birth."

Jesus sets aside the basin. Peter clutches him in dread.
"Master, stay and wash me fully! Wash my feet, my hands, my head!"
Kneeling, Jesus washes Peter's feet, and then says to his friend,
"One who's bathed is clean all over, when just his feet are washed again.
I, your master, played the servant. Each of you should do the same.
Servants all, serve one another when you gather in my name."

Thirteen men around a table, one alone is devil-led.
Twelve men, clean in soul and body, ready now for wine and bread.

CODA
Matthew doesn't ask the question; Luke is silent, as is Mark;
Likewise, John forgets to mention (scholars thus are in the dark):
Who washed Jesus' feet?

Copyright 1978 and 2009 by LaVonne Neff; all rights reserved

Tapas vs tuna noodle casserole

Yesterday Mr Neff wrote about the value of small. Confidentially, I thought his article could have been smaller. But I really liked these paragraphs. Maybe because they involve food.

* * * * * * * * * *

From "A Perfect Pearl: A small gospel can be a beautiful thing" by David Neff

Last January, Mark Labberton began this final series of Christian Vision Project essays by comparing the gospel many of us live by to a bland bowl of lima beans. "Many have the impression," he wrote, "that the gospel is small, smooth, and tasteless."

When I re-read Labberton's essay, I began to think of a different kind of "small" food. I thought of tapas, the small portions of intensely flavored dishes that have long served as appetizers in Spain. Over the last quarter century they have become an entire cuisine in some American restaurants. The first time friends invited me to a tapas restaurant, I was not intrigued. It was the 1980s, and American culture still celebrated the all-you-can-eat buffet. The idea of going to a restaurant to eat small portions didn't seem special to me. But my first tapas bites were a revelation. An epiphany. The intense tastes of garlic or cumin or chilies brought such a rush of flavor that it reoriented my whole approach to eating. This was food that could not be wolfed down unthinkingly, like the 1950s American cuisine of my youth: tuna noodle casserole, Jell-O salad, mashed potatoes. These little dishes demanded that I nibble slowly, chew thoughtfully, and savor.

Hear the parable of the tapas menu. God offered us something that could have been small, obscure, and forgettable. He didn't offer us some grand universal principle. His gift was the life and death (and resurrection!) of just one person in a small country repeatedly crushed and occupied by foreign powers. He does not give us love or peace or brotherhood. He gives us Jesus, who died like a common criminal.

But when we pay attention to the small thing God gives us, it changes our entire approach to life. We see the world differently. What had seemed insignificant now demands our full attention. What had seemed ordinary now seems interesting. What had seemed a dead end now promises great potential—the redemption of the whole world.

(c) 2008 by David Neff
Used without the author's permission or even awareness

Vinita Hampton Wright on presents and presence

Vinita Hampton Wright is a dear friend, publishing colleague, and exceptionally wise woman. She is the author of many books, fiction and nonfiction, including the just-released Days of Deepening Friendship: For the Woman Who Wants Authentic Life With God.

This article by Vinita will be posted on Loyola Press's web site next week. It's a wonderful meditation on Christmas joy in a crumbling economy.

*****************************************************

Presence in the Midst of Crisis

Of all times for the financial health of the world to end up in Intensive Care—just as the holidays entice us to splurge, to buy a little beyond ourselves because gift-buying and gift-giving are expressions of care, appreciation, even remembrance. We bake richer foods at Christmastime. And wrap things in shinier paper. And we like to spend a little more, just because this time is special. It is a time for feasting and lingering. It is a time for extravagance.

There is some justification for extravagance at this time of year. We are celebrating the love of an extravagant God. The Christ Child is the ultimate gift. God’s love is lavish, overflowing. God did not hold back from us, in sending Jesus, the son of God. In that birth we were given God’s very self.

And so, this year in which money is especially the focus of stress and strategy, perhaps we should think in terms of giving the self instead of stuff. God gave God’s self in fairly plain wrapping—the infant of two pilgrims with limited resources. No fine blankets or silky bassinet for Jesus. No huge basket of Ghirardelli’s chocolate treats for his parents. But the presence of that child was so rich and fine that poor shepherds, great intellects from far countries, a pious widow, and an old prophet were all drawn to him with tears and joy.

What kind of presence am I to those I love? If I can’t give a hefty gift certificate or even a nice set of bathroom towels this year, how can I be more present to that person for whom I’ve been willing to pull out an overextended credit card in years past? If I can offer no great cash value, then what is left? My stories? My welcome? My precious time for a phone conversation? My visit that lasts longer than it takes to exchange wrapped boxes?

This has been a stressful autumn for my husband and me. Unemployment, then underemployment, then major house repairs, and family too far away to travel to easily. And what we are discovering is that, to come home in the evening and eat a simple meal together, to give a long hug and a word of encouragement, to spend a little more time with our dogs and cats doing nothing but petting and cooing—all of that is lavish enough for us. There will be no expensive dining out this year, no big party thrown for friends. There will be cooking together in the kitchen, looking for the best price on clementines. There will be one trip to a family wedding and brief stops at other relatives on the way back. On each stop we will enter the home and be there with smaller gifts but a bigger sense of us—us coming in the door, giving hugs, having a relaxed conversation, enjoying the presence of those we don’t get to see very often.

We tend to forget, don’t we, that God’s presence is enough. God’s grace is sufficient. We forget that and follow after the big pay-off, the nicer car, the gadget that will make life more convenient, the vacation that will be more romantic and exotic than all the others. We hanker after finer and pricier presents, when the only answer to our real desire is that awesome Presence.

This Christmas seems like a great time to spend more time in that Presence. And more time exploring the power and wonder of our own presence with others.

(c) 2008 Vinita Hampton Wright
Used by permission

Resurrection

The most dismal Easter service I ever experienced was in an Episcopal church we visited twenty-some years ago. The priest (a good man, but a recent seminary grad) basically said in his homily, “Christ wasn’t really raised from the dead, but it doesn’t matter because . . .”

That's the kind of sermon that makes me say with Mary Magdalene, “They have taken away my Lord, and I don’t know where they have laid him.” I far prefer novelist John Updike's poem "Seven Stanzas at Easter," which begins:

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells' dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

So I appreciated Rachel Zoll's article in this morning's Washington Post, "Resurrection Misunderstood by Many, Scholars Say." Three of the scholars she cites are Jon Levenson, author of Resurrection and the Restoration of Israel, Kevin Madigan, co-author with Levenson of Resurrection: The Power of God for Christians and Jews (to be published April 28), and N.T. Wright, author of The Resurrection of the Son of God and the recently published Surprised by Hope.

What do these three theologians--an American Jew, an Irish-American Catholic, and a bishop of the Church of England--have in common? All three, according to Zoll, "have been challenging the idea, part of Greek philosophy and popular now, that resurrection for Jews and the followers of Jesus is simply the survival of an individual's soul in the hereafter. The scholars say resurrection occurs for the whole person -- body and soul."

Get ready to say it tonight or tomorrow morning:

Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed!
Alleluia!

Road to Cana

Most Wednesday mornings I attend a church history class at St. Mike's. We've been reading the church fathers, and their opponents, on the nature of Christ. In what sense is he human? In what sense divine? How many persons--natures--wills--are present in Christ? Did the human Jesus have access to divine wisdom and power? Did the divine Jesus truly suffer and die?

For some 500 years the church struggled to define the indefinable. The Nicene creed, developed in the fourth century, affirms that Christ is both God and man:

eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father. Through him all things were made.

For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven. By the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man.

Despite the creed, quarrels about Christ's nature raged on for another century and a half. Gregory of Nyssa described the high level of interest among Constantinopolitans:

Every place in the city is full of them: the alleys, the crossroads, the forums, the squares. Garment sellers, money changer, food vendors--they are all at it. If you ask for change, they philosophize for you about generate and ingenerate natures. If you inquire about the price of bread, the answer is that the Father is greater and the Son inferior. If you speak about whether the bath is ready, they express the opinion that the Son was made out of nothing.

As I buy groceries at Trader Joe's, I don't hear a lot of discussion about Christ's nature. Christology is, however, an important theme in Anne Rice's new book, Christ the Lord: The Road to Cana (will vampire lovers and goth kids start reading Athanasius?). My friend Cindy Crosby's insightful review, "Truly God and Truly Man," is Books and Culture's Book of the Week. Cindy writes,

Rather than soft-pedal her beliefs, [Rice] lays them out plainly in the reader's letter at the front of the novel. "I believe in Him as God and Man, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, who came down on this earth to be born amongst us, live and work with us, and to save us. This Jesus is Sinless. This Jesus created us." No pussyfooting around here....

Rice wisely seizes on the interior conflict between Jesus as God and as man to create the tension that holds the story together—the same conflict that has seemingly paralyzed other novelists. Rice shows the audacity of an outsider to the Christian publishing world (where most of the novelizations of Christ's life have been created) and rushes in where the proverbial angels might fear to tread. But it is Rice's courage in tackling her subject matter—while still holding her protagonist in reverence—that elevates The Road to Cana above its predecessors in the genre.

Publishers Weekly's starred review, quoted on Amazon's web page, praises Rice's theologico-literary feat:

If it is possible to create a character that is simultaneously fully human and fully divine, as ancient Christian creeds assert, then Rice succeeds.

Gather round, children, and listen--good stories make good theology.