If I had to pick one item of furniture to symbolize my upbringing, it would be the family dining table. I don’t mean a specific table (we moved a number of times and new tables were often part of the new location). I mean the events that happened around it. Supper was served at 6:00 p.m. every night. Except for rare occasions, the whole family ate together. My mother had a small brass dinner bell with sculpted birds on a branch as its handle. When it was dinnertime—in a more refined version of a cowbell on a ranch—my mother would ring the little bell, and family members would come pouring from wherever we were in the house or yard to sit down at the table. Every meal began with a prayer of thanksgiving, many of which were sung.

When my sister, brother, and I became teenagers, it was harder to get all of us in the same place at the same time (given basketball and play practice and job schedules). It became mandatory to appear at the breakfast table, even if we didn’t eat much. Before our morning prayers, each of us shared what we were doing for the day, or a project or event we were excited or nervous about. On our birthdays, cake and ice cream were served for breakfast, since that was a time when everyone was sure to be there to sing together.

Inday
Since mealtimes were so central in my development, it is no surprise that my very earliest memory is of sitting at a kitchen table in the Philippines. I ate a slice of raw potato while our maid, Inday, cooked dinner. If you’ve ever tried a raw potato, you know there’s no flavor to speak of, but there is an enormously satisfying crunch, and a scratchy, starchy texture. This event is not significant for dramatic content, but the fact that it is of food and took place in our kitchen is notable. The other interesting detail is that the main character besides me is not a parent, sibling, or a family friend, but our maid.

Most missionary families in the Philippines had maids. Ours was no exception—though we called them "helpers," not maids. This job title is certainly apt, and it has a more pleasant ring to it than "maid," but the relationship was definitely one of employer and employee, no matter how it was called. Over the course of the 13 years I lived in the Philippines, my family had a variety of helpers, but Inday is the one I remember best. It was Inday who pushed me on the swings, held me on my tricycle as I explored the wonderful world of mobility, laid down with me for afternoon naps, and helped pull out my first loose tooth. I cannot imagine my early childhood without her, so it really isn’t any surprise that my first memory is of her.

What is surprising, as I look back on it, is that despite her significant role in my development, and despite the significant role of family dining in my development, I do not recall ever eating a family meal with Inday. I am sure there were times when she was babysitting us that my sister and brother and I shared her rice and fish in the kitchen. But, although I remember her cooking and serving our meals, I don’t remember her ever sitting down with us as at the family table in the dining room. In retrospect this is astounding to me. If Inday was included in activities like family vacations, why was she not there when we sliced pieces of chicken or passed the rice or poured the iced tea? Apparently, whether you call her a maid or a helper, the fact remains that Inday was not officially part of my family. And family tables are for uniting a family.

Breaking of the bread
There is something incredibly equalizing and intimate about breaking bread with someone else. It’s not just that every person gets enough vitamins and minerals to sustain his or her body for a day. A shared meal creates a union through shared experience and mutual emotional and physical participation. It is no wonder that so many first dates involve a couple going out for dinner. There is an implicit understanding that eating together is an invitation to another person to come closer, to connect more deeply.

There is something so humanizing about sitting across a table from another person, having to ask someone to please pass the salt and wondering aloud if dessert will be fruit or cookies. In those moments, very little is required in order to feel as if one belongs to the community. When the saints all gather together at the heavenly banquet in God’s kingdom, I sincerely hope that I will be sitting next to Inday.

The Rev. Susan Schneider grew up the middle child of missionaries in Philippines. She is now an interim pastor in the Chicago suburbs, a freelance writer, and a devotee of good food and wine. She has an enormous dining room table.

Choosing what I want from a menu or being able to go to a grocery store is something I used to take for granted. Recently I’ve learned how these everyday actions are much more complicated than what tastes good and what contributes to my health. Indeed, food is a part of my spiritual life and my stewardship of all God’s blessings.

After all, I have a great deal of discretion in what I buy. However, many people around the world—and in the United States—who have enough to eat today, don’t know what they will eat tomorrow or later in the week. This situation is called “food insecurity.” I certainly remember a time when a much larger portion of my income went for food. I had a saying hanging on my refrigerator that said: “When people ask me why I work, I tell them I like food.”

I’m grateful those days are in the past for me. Now I’m trying to learn a lot more about all the variables and resources it takes for food to get on our tables. And this complexity affects my faith life. I’m not quite sure how to name the feeling I have, but I know it’s not guilt exactly. I truly believe God has created this wonderful world with good food for us to enjoy. My feeling is not about trying to “save the world,” because we already have a savior in Jesus Christ. My feeling is more like sensing the power of the Holy Spirit stirring me up.

So as part of my spiritual journey, I’m making an effort to learn about Fair Trade and sustainable agriculture. I’m noticing the balance between diversity and efficiency in agriculture. In stores, I’m paying attention to the mix of agribusiness and local farmers. And I can attest that local eggs have a better color and taste than factory-farmed eggs.

By witnessing as a disciple of Jesus Christ, I find that living out his love for us includes stewardship in shopping and food choices. It all starts with the “living bread” I share in community with others: in worship at the communion table, in fellowship over coffee and goodies, in outreach through a food pantry, at home, when I pray before meals.

I praise God that I know deep inside that Jesus is the true Bread of Life. Thanks be to God!

The Rev. Sylvia High Karlsson is an ordained pastor in the ELCA who grew up on a diversified Nebraska farm in the 1950s. She has watched the change to single-crop farming over her lifetime, and is wondering what the future holds. In October 2009 she attended an ELCA World Hunger training event called “Ethics of Eating.”

Next page: "Food and Lent and Happiness" by Laura Johnson