Tables and Grandparents, Part IV: Savor

About a month ago, my dear seminary friends Christy and Chloe invited me into some amazing and fun work: co-hosting a podcast! It's called Fully Yours, and it's all about food & spirituality. We talk about food as it related to our lives, culture and society, the seasons, climate change, the Sacred, and so much more. 

Part of our Fully Yours presence takes the form of a blog, so you'll see our writing appear on our website every week. In this week's post, I wrote about a reminder I received from three distinct sources: birds, beautiful scenery and the Easter story. The reminder I received while on retreat from the natural world around me and a contemplation on the empty tomb was this, one you've almost certainly read in my writing before: to be actively present, but to let go of frenzy, physical or mental.

 

There is an important difference, I think, between paying attention the mental chatter that tells us to cross things off lists or that tells us what we *should* be doing because to do so makes us a *good* person-- and bringing attentive, deliberate presence to our activities, grounded in the why that goes deeper than "should." What makes this even trickier is that many of us on this good earth are not afforded the ability to choose our activities, because of structural poverty, racism, mental health, etc. Choice is often a luxury: a reality for those with more wealth or other resources. 

However, one unifying way I think we all can experience this kind of active presence is through the act of eating: whether it's a McDonald's burger with our kids in the car; during a spiritual meal such as the Eucharist, Seder, or Eid Al-Adha meal (I'm naming Abrahamic faith meals here, but there are of course dozens of types of meals from other traditions); at a formal dinner table at Thanksgiving; even in a hospital room where nourishment might look different for someone with an illness.

 

As I alluded to in this post, sharing a good meal with good people can remind us of this paradoxical thing called active presence. To share a meal can invite us to "go deep," to explore in conversation with others both the deep joys and pains that exist in our lives and communities beyond surface-level talk. At the same time, sharing a meal invites us let go of some of the mental chatter that surrounds much of our days through being present to another's story and the story of the food in front of us. 

A few weeks ago in this blog, I started a little series about my great-aunt and grandparents, and the stories I cherish about them especially related to food and the table. This theme of presence and savoring reminds me of my Grandma Linda. Since this post is growing longer than I anticipated, I'll share just a snippet about her and save a fuller one for later. 

Grandma Linda is my father's mother, and she lives on the Jersey Shore where my dad and his sister grew up. I have such strong associations of great meals with her. She is one of the most gracious and generous people I know, and is always ready to set an extra place at the table for a friend or someone who may be in need of community. Lots of colors come to mind when I think of meals at her dining table: bright reds from Jersey tomatoes, yellow sweet corn on the cob, golden apple sauce (her homemade apple sauce was a childhood staple), orange mac & cheese, green lima beans and mustard beans she picked by hand at a you-pick-it farm. At Grandma Linda's house, one is always well-fed and greeted with hearty conversation and laughter. I have no doubt that the meals our family shared and continue to share at her home work some magic and gratitude in our hearts and souls.