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The Eucharist,
the Body of Christ, is central to our faith. Since
Christ is the Bread of Life, Christians already have a
deep and celebratory relationship with food. You can
read reflections about our relationships around food
this Lent.
More than just a sandwich topping
by Laury Rinker
When I eat a hamburger at a fast-food chain or purchase
vegetables at a grocery store, I don’t usually think
about where my food came from.
But I should.
Take tomatoes, for example. They’re on
just about every fast-food burger and in every grocery
store in America. They are used to make some of my
favorite foods like salsa and tomato soup.
Most of the tomatoes you find at
fast-food restaurants and supermarkets come from the
state of Florida. Florida tomato pickers are among this
country’s most exploited workers.
According to an
article in The New York Times, the average
tomato picker earned $13,000 a year in 2008. In
addition, the workday begins at 5 a.m. or when workers
can meet a bus that takes them from town to the tomato
fields.The same bus does not deliver workers back to
town until the end of the workday or 6 p.m.
In extreme
cases, there have been several charges of modern-day
slavery and abuse. In one example, according to the
Coalition of
Immolakee Workers, (CIW) Web site, a family harbored
undocumented workers from Mexico. They were sentenced in
a
case that involved beating, chaining, and enslaving
workers who picked tomatoes in Florida’s major farms.
This
exploitation happens so that purchasers (especially
fast-food chains and supermarkets) can get tomatoes for
a cheap price—and so that I can still find my
cheeseburger on the dollar menu.
This issue is
much bigger than tomatoes. Similar injustices are found
throughout the food production industry—in bananas,
coffee, and poultry. You name it. When I eat these
foods, many times I think of the faces of the men and
women who worked under such harsh conditions to bring
food to my plate.
What can I do
about this?
I can speak
up. Organizations like the Coalition of Immokalee
Workers (CIW) are working to ensure fair wages and
conditions for farm workers in Florida. So far, they
have convinced Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Burger King, Whole
Foods, Subway, and other corporations to improve wages
and promote fair conditions in their tomato supply
chains.
And I can be a
conscientious consumer. By choosing Fair Trade products, I can be sure that farmers are
receiving fair wages. And by giving to ELCA World
Hunger, I am helping my church support Fair Trade
projects in several different countries around the
world.
Laury
Rinker lives in Chicago and serves as associate director
for marketing communications for the ELCA World Hunger
and Disaster Appeal.
My Grandpa and me
by Karris Golden
There is an African proverb that
says, “Plenty sits still; hunger is a wanderer.”
As a girl, I knew that proverb by heart, eventually
understanding that I fear being unsettled. If I can, I
cling to comfort, though I try to push myself past this.
I know why I crave safety: my Grandpa
Golden. I knew him only in his “plenty” years, although
his memories of want proved unshakable. As with so many
from that time, the hardships of the Great Depression
ran deep. The lack of food punctuated his memories.
Grandpa was from Mississippi. He
didn’t speak of struggles, hunger, or want. He and my
grandma ventured north to Iowa with other Blacks during
the Great Migration. Yet he alluded to tough times only
once—when describing the distinct flavor of “old well
water from the pump.”
In the early 1980s, Grandpa lived
with us. He had a soft-spoken, powerful presence. Today,
I realize his influence made me value safety and helped shape my
understanding of family, food, and home.
For Grandpa, each meal was wonderful.
Our daily evening dinner took on even more importance
with him there. Grandpa was a fan of Mom’s excellent
cooking. When we mention him today, mom says, “He liked
to eat!” To him, there was no greater compliment.
Eyes sparkling, Grandpa would arrive
to watch Mom set the table. This ritual delighted him as
much as eating! He’d smile and nod appreciatively at the
food, sighing with satisfaction at his particular
favorites—of which there were many.
If you didn’t clean your plate or if
Mom deemed the amount of leftovers too small to save,
Grandpa would hear none of it. “I just can’t stand to
see such good food go to waste,” he’d say, carefully
moving the bounty to his plate.
One night, as Grandpa completed his
pre-dinner ablutions, Dad told us he planned to present
Grandpa with a birthday surprise: a rare photo of his
father. Happy tears welled in Grandpa’s eyes when Mom
unveiled a peach cobbler she’d made for dessert. “From
the peaches you canned?” he asked, visibly moved.
Then Dad held out the photo.
Incredulous, Grandpa exclaimed, “That’s my daddy!”
Sitting back in his chair, Grandpa smiled at the
ceiling. It was all too good—too much!
Grandpa found happiness in simple and
profound things—in everything. He also cried when he was
hurt. By watching him, I saw that in hunger, he sought
reasons to give thanks. In plenty, he counted his
blessings and
prepared for the road’s next turn.
Karris Golden lives in rural
northeast Iowa with her husband, Josh Neessen, and
daughter Zoey. She runs two publishing companies that
produce books on financial trading and writes regularly
for Café, Lutheran Woman Today and The
Lutheran. E-mail her at
karris@karrisgolden.com.
A table for saints
by Susan Schneider
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.
My food, my
faith
by Sylvia High Karlsson
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.”
Food
and Lent and Happiness by Laura Johnson
Return to
your God, hold fast to love and justice and wait
continually for your God. Hosea 12:6
I think one of
the reasons Martin Luther posted his 95 theses was
because he was hungry. Not because his monastery had a
lack of food. But there were times he was expected to
fast for long periods. Perhaps
this wasn’t his biggest issue with the Catholic church
but it is why today, we, as Lutherans, aren’t required
to give up anything for Lent (although it is still
encouraged in some circles).
It’s a common
question at school or your place of business, “What are
you giving up for Lent?” As if there’s a competition to
see who can give up the most difficult thing, who can
suffer the most for six weeks and come out with bragging
rights at the end. When asked, I always say I’m giving
up lima beans and brussel sprouts (neither of which I
eat anyway, but don’t tell anyone).
When you
decide to give up something like fast food (one of my
many vices) are you giving it up for your own health, or
God, or both? By giving up those delicious burgers and
fries for six weeks does this mean you love God more
than anybody else does? No. Lent is supposed to be a
time of preparing, just as Advent is before Christmas.
The purpose of giving something up is not a bad idea in
theory—it is supposed to help us keep our eyes on
Jesus—but when it ends up being a contest, the intent
has been changed. Lent is the time we should return to
God.
As a woman
living alone in her first apartment, there are many food
items I should give up, such as eating out to save on
money, or eating Top Ramen to save my arteries. If I
decided to give these up, I would no longer be focused
on God—I would only be concentrating on the items I
couldn’t have.
Nowhere in the
New Testament does it say: “On Friday, thou can only eat
fish, or that thou must give up something for Lent.”
Lent did not exist, although Fasting has been done since
the beginning of time. And it can be a marvelous thing
when done in the proper context of constant prayer in
full connection with God.
If that is
what you are called to do, then by all means, go for it.
On the other hand, if you see that you are doing it for
all the wrong reasons, stick to moderation when it comes
to your worst food habits, get in a good small group for
growth and discipleship during Lent, and find time for
prayer. And all will be well with your soul. In essence,
return to your God.
Laura
Johnson is the alternative newspaper editor in Sioux
City, Iowa. In her spare time she attempts to avoid fast
food restaurants and find time to write for herself.
Easter is her favorite holiday.
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