With a Lenten theme of “Unplugged,” it just makes sense to discuss some slow food spirituality—slowing down…reconsidering food. Because, as Wendell Berry points out in more than one of his essays, “Eating is not just fueling up, it is an agricultural act, taking place in a worldly context.”
The phrase “slow food” was coined by Carlo Petrini in Italy in 1986 as a response to the arrival of McDonald’s in his city of Rome, and to what Petrini saw as the homogenization of food around the world. His mandate then was to save regional foods and small producers from extinction and to revive people’s sense of taste, as a way of “slowing down.” He began a movement that now works in 160 countries around the world—protecting food biodiversity, building links between producers and consumers, and raising awareness about food systems and the health of Earth herself. Among his many other efforts was the creation of the Ark of Taste where over 5000 local recipes and products from all over the world can be rediscovered, catalogued, and preserved against extinction. It is exciting and important work.

The Slow Food movement at first did not address spiritual concerns as such, but as indigenous peoples joined it, and their ways and foods were understood and honored, the spiritual connections naturally emerged. So as you are engaged in your Lenten practices in these days, what are your considerations about food, slow or otherwise? For most of us here, it seems apparent how growing even a small container of herbs in our kitchens or when affordable, buying food that is local, organic, humanely raised, and fairly traded may benefit us. But what if slow food spirituality goes even farther than that? What if we are being called to realize even more deeply the spiritual costs innate in our physical and financial choices in this regard? To consider seriously what solutions may already exist that may actually address land use and hunger and would mean a slowing down of the destruction of the planet and help for those who are hungry? The research is available and compelling.

And, at the same time, I’m also wrestling with what responsibilities lie with the privilege of having abundant choices in food, in life generally. Am I, are we, tempted to an unconscious elitism? What I mean is, being unplugged, and doing everything slow seems romantic and spiritual in theory, but in real life, it is also a lot of extra work. That is why human ingenuity has worked so hard to be plugged in the first place–to save time and effort, to make human life better and easier. Whether or not it has, is another question. But as I’ve been meditating through Lent and particularly for this sermon, it’s been on my mind… those millions of persons whose days are unplugged from all the supposed idols of technology, but not by choice. Those whose life’s time is spent scrounging through every sort of throw away container, looking for what passes as a meal. Those who live every day with food insecurity. Unplugged meal preparation like that gives the phrase “slow food” a very different connotation.

For most people in the North American context, food is often fast and sometimes by necessity. Fast food makes eating at all possible for lots of people. Sometimes our nourishment is taken standing by the sink, in the car, alone, at the desk, in front of the TV, with the phone in one hand, popped out of a microwave, unwrapped in the drive-through, picked up from the supermarket, already peeled and packaged, cut up and cooked. Some of us have lots of choices. Some of us, not so much. It’s complicated.

So while I am working on being unplugged for Lent, I am also working on my mindfulness, and not just about food. I am also working on being more aware and grateful for all the plugged parts of my life, too. I am grateful we can communicate more easily because of our devices, that I live in a house with electricity and running water and that I wash my clothes in a machine and not on a rock or on a stone slab in my backyard as we did when I lived in Honduras.

Living in gratitude with regard to food and all blessings and demonstrating that in worship is a central theme of many of the world’s religions. In Hinduism it is often said that food is God, so central to life as it is. Many Buddhist monks eat only small portions of food at mealtimes and carefully fill their small bowls with water after the meal and then drink it to prevent the waste of even a grain of rice. Muslims refuse beverages with intoxicating properties in order to care for their bodies, and to honor God. Jewish families and friends celebrate the Shabbat meal each week with festive tables and sumptuous foods, and end with the admonition from Scripture: “And you shall eat and you shall be satisfied and you shall bless the Lord, your God, for all the good you have received.” Today we will celebrate communion or eucharist, a word which means “Thanksgiving.” The sharing of this simple food invites us to connect, to slow down, to reflect, and to realize gratitude. Though communion has been distorted and abused and fancied up in lots of strange ways through the centuries, Jesus said of it, simply, “My body will be broken. My blood will be poured out. I have lived among you in service and in love. When you do this, remember me.” And I wonder that’s all he intended us to do with it, be mindful…remember… In the ways that we do with friends or family when we get together and remember the ones who have passed and speak their names and enjoy food they used to love and prepare it in the ways they used to. When we remember that Jesus spent his last night on Earth with his friends, eating, that he welcomed the stranger, helped the poor, and fed the hungry, when we slow down and eat mindfully, that somehow, in a way quite mysterious, in us and through us, maybe nothing is wasted, not the sorrow, not Jesus’ suffering, not ours. Maybe that is what the Scripture reading means: maybe we are coming together in a worthy way, discerning, celebrating it slow.

I know that for me, part of being unplugged means that when I slow down I notice my blessings, my challenges, and my gratitude. I notice how I waste opportunities or joy or food or blessings in the name of “saving time,” as if that is a thing that can actually be done. Slow food spirituality is about nothing so much as what the psalm says from our call to worship—taste and see—slow down so that we don’t miss the really important stuff—who is here, what’s cooking, how it smells and tastes, how we feel when we are all together. In the ways Talia described last week—eating unplugged only happens when we feel safe enough to slow down, to dare to be present. Mary Oliver wrote, I want you to stand in the rice field, there, from the white tablecloth, to fill your hands with mud, like a blessing—not to waste a single opportunity.

In the austere Middle Ages, nothing could be wasted , particularly not bread, imbued as it was with symbolic values.. The Benedictine rule clearly states that at the end of a meal one of the monks should use his hands, a knife, or a brush to carefully gather up the crumbs and put them in a special basket. These same crumbs were used to make a humble dish for the poor. A similar tradition survived in certain regions of Spain, where on Christmas Eve they eat las migas del Nino, the Crumbs of Baby Jesus. Which somehow works for me. I don’t know why.

To this day, in monasteries and in the general population, all around the world, stale bread is still considered a sign of abundance—you aren’t hungry if you have bread gone stale–and so it is not wasted, but is soaked in milk, dipped in beaten egg yolk and fried, and then sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon or other ingredients, depending upon the culture. We call it French toast. Stale bread is also one of the ingredients of the old slow food quatre mendiants in honor of the mendicant orders: the Augustines, the Carmelites, the Dominicans, and the Franciscans. In this recipe, the four orders of religious are represented by raisins, hazelnuts, figs, and almonds, the colors of which evoke those of the habits worn by those serving in these orders. We call mendiant– bread pudding today and you can enjoy some in the courtyard after the service with your coffee, thanks to our friends. Bread pudding is symbolic… a different way to consider communion. It is a form of nourishment for the community, made slowly, from what was broken and dried up. It would have been easier and faster to just throw it away, but that bread was not wasted, and it is sweet and delightful, a new creation, and comes in lots of colors and great varieties, just like us.

The Scriptures for today teach that we must not come to this table and eat and drink unworthily, which means without thinking about it. Without slowing down to be grateful, without holding in the light of our love and healing energy those who have been kept from the food, barred from the table. We must come to this table making sure that, at all our tables, there is room for another and that they have someone to sit with because this world is way too scary to be eating and drinking alone. And we must come to this table aware of what it costs in time and effort to make bread and wine and companionship and peace with justice with our own hands, and we must always come to this place to celebrate what happens when we do, every time we do. Remember. Amen.

3-24-2019 Shelly Wilson
I Corinthians 10:14-17 & 11:17,20,27-29