Expanding Imagination

In the midst of today's baking I spilled yeast every where.  The first thing I thought was "I just sent life flying across my kitchen counter."  Yeast is alive and that really amazes and intrigues me.  Yes, I get the whole microscopic life, thing.  Staring in amazement at these tiny lives through the simple high school microscopes was what made biology class bearable; but it still seems to stretch the imagination to think of life on that tiny level when viewing from either microscope, or spread across your kitchen floor.

In my absence from serving a congregation I've missed sharing in communion the very most; which means I've been thinking about it often ... very often!  It is this same microscopic stretch of life with yeast that applies to bread, and the sharing of communion.  Christians everywhere, no matter what they call it, how or when they celebrate it, they recognize communion spreads life.  In her reflections on communion, writer Sara Miles asks a life long question in take this bread:


"What makes the bread into the body of Christ?  What makes words more than words, mortal flesh more than mortal flesh; what makes a piece of toast into a sacrament?"  page 271


In divinity school we spent time trying to analyze questions such as this.  I cherish combining the intellectual and spiritual - it's what feeds my faith and keeps it alive.  It's what's feeding me right now, but I often wonder if the bridge between these two is a living imagination?  The science behind active living yeast is sound, yet even with the help of tools you still need to imagine this life.  The faith behind God's abundant table is sound, yet it takes your imagination to see how this can apply to all living things ... no matter how small or insignificant they may seem.

I get to spend time with one of those little lives.  A few days a week I care for a 3 year old little boy; and beyond exploring the abundance of museums in DC, this little guy makes me explore my own world in a whole new way.  A few weeks ago over lunch, as I ate my potato kale soup, and he his "Cars" themed Campbell's chicken noodle soup, he happily remarked "hey, we're eating the same thing!"

I said "Yes, we're both eating soup, but mine has potatoes in it."

Knowing his favorite character from the movie "Cars" was 'Mater, the rough and lovable tow truck, he responded "yeah, mine just has 'Maters."

I chuckled, but was also struck by his ernest response.  These were not noodles in the shape of 'Mater, they were genuinely 'Mater for this little boy.  There was no need to ask questions, or think too deeply about it.  The shape of these noodles was enough for this kid to recall the joy 'Mater brings to his life; very similar to the way a simple loaf of bread and shared cup is enough for us to recall the abundant life that God gives to us.  Asking questions, and having faith are necessary, but when you bridge the two with this kind of imagination, that noodles evoke joy and bread instills life, then the table leaps beyond the sanctuary and the invitation to be served transforms us to serve.

This life that is shared seems to dwell on a microscopic level, we can't always see it.   But when this life is shared and lived in this way it seems to expand, leaving traces of love everywhere.  Continuing her reflection, Sara Miles claims that faith and "Christianity wasn't an argument I could win, or even resolve.  It wasn't a thesis.  It was a mystery that I was finally willing to swallow.  I was loved by a big love."  "take this bread" page 274

We are loved by this big love.  This living yeast yields a big loaf. 

Rather than argue how to do it, when to do it, why we do it, perhaps we just need to happily receive the bread, the life we've been given, so we might share it with others.  It might seem like a tiny thing, but just think how quickly it spreads!

Now that's a life to imagine! 

Knowing I was writing on communion ... yet not fully knowing what I was going to say, I chose this Nutty 5-grain Italian bread for today's kneading reflection.  It's just like communion, wholesome, rich, and a little bit nutty. :)

Edges of living

“We’re always on the edge of something.” 

My colleague’s statement sounded in my ear as I rang my bell, alerting road hogging drivers of my presence, and peddling furiously to my next meeting.  I was having one of those jam-packed days where the edge of one meeting not only overlaps, but also cuts a huge chunk into the next meeting.  Barely able to catch my breath I throw on my helmet, hop onto Bianca (that’s my bike), and head off (already late) for the next meeting.

When I lived in a city where a car was my primary means of arriving late to things, I could make up some time.  Now, the occasional speeding ticket slowed down that day’s particular meeting spectacular, but that was not enough to deter me from thinking most days my car was a portal to make up time, and get me to my next meeting in the acceptable 10-15 minutes late.  I’ve now changed my 4 wheels to two (hooray biking), but my schedule planning (and belief in portals for that matter) has not.  Before with the car, these sorts of schedules would make me a little frazzled and delayed in thinking and meeting participation; on the bike however, it just makes me a frayed, sweaty mess gasping for breath and thought.

Meetings become Charlie Brown-esque encounters where I see mouths moving; hear “wonk, wonk, wonk,” as I contemplate the timing of my next move.  Basically I’m a crappy conversationalist and a frayed mess.   I always seem to be on the edge of finishing something, as another thing has already begun.  In our multi-tasking world we’re always on the cusp of completing not just 1, but 2, 3, 4 things at once. 

How do we ever finish one thing when there’s always something new to discover or do?  We’re expert do-ers, but does this doing strip us of the satisfaction of seeing a task to completion and simply being in the moment? 

Do we need a “The End” every now and then to fully enjoy the moment of life that just occurred?

In an effort to think through our own over-worked edginess today I’m making biscotti, rather than bread.  Bread, with it’s thin toasted crust and soft center might be what we hope to become in life, but in our over-achieving schedules I think we more often resemble the thorough crispiness of a biscotti cookie.

Biscotti

1 1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour                        ¼ teaspoon salt

½ cup whole-wheat flour                                                1 cup sugar

1 teaspoon baking powder                                                2 eggs                                   

4 tablespoons unsalted butter (softened)                        ½ teaspoon vanilla extract

½ teaspoon teaspoon almond extract                        ½ cup almonds (toasted)

½ cup dried cherries

1.     1. Preheat over to 350                        2.  Whisk flours, baking powder & salt together 

           3. Beat together sugar & butter in electric mixer, until creamy (3-6 min) 

                                a. Add in 1 egg at a time            b. Beat in extracts

4.     4. Reduce speed and slowly mix in flours.   5. Add almonds and cherries

      Shape dough into 2 13”x2” loaves on a baking sheeting, 3” apart.  Bake for 35 minutes or until golden brown and just beginning to crack.  Rotate baking sheet half way through.

6.     Allow loaves to cool on baking sheet rack (10 minutes), while turning oven to 325

7.     Cut diagonal ½ inch thickness.  Lay slices ½ inch apart.  Flip half-way through backing until golden brown on both sides (15-20 min).

Whether it’s the ending of a meeting or a relationship goodbye, I think we hop over our edges with new beginnings because they rumble the fear that if we stop we might become unproductive, obsolete, or fall into that dreaded word…settling.  Beginnings are those rare moments of basking in the greenness of other pastures; but eventually that newness wears off, so we venture out for bluer skies and newer moments. As more conversations, opportunities, and tasks come my way, the edges of projects begin to rub against one another.  My own edges become bristly, and I’m only able to share crisp remarks rather than good ideas.

The juggling of a few things usually allows creativity to flow into a variety of tasks but with the overload we focus on the end, and no longer enjoy the opportunity before us.  We become engrossed in doing the task, rather than being a part of something bigger than just us.  There is a sweet, small joy in the full cycle of a project, just as there is beauty in hitting the “pause” button, when “the end” is still a ways off.  Taking a deep breath, stepping back, and viewing what’s before us is a gift.  It’s seeing “the moment,” rather than only focusing on “the end.”

As I peddled, my colleague’s statement stirred up my many unfinished edges, but it also made me think of how much I like edges and endings.  This poem came to mind and I find it fitting to share over a cup of tea and a freshly baked biscotti.

Crispy Edges

I like crispy edges;

places where the tender

center finds its own shape,

and can rest on its own.

The edges of stories

usually reveal unspoken truths,

and the edges of cookies

unforeseen treats.

The edges of trips

Hold moment of goodbyes

…

as well as hellos.

I like the crisp edges,

though there are

rarely clean endings in life,

nor clear boundaries.

I like edges, nevertheless.

For edges are where we live life.

The edge between breathing out,

and breathing in

holds a crispness of life

waiting to live again, and again.

We’re like these cookies.  Sweet, a little crispy, but when shared with a cup of coffee in a pause, or end, we all soften a little.  Vowing for better time management, or saying “no,” are ways to address our overworked edges, but as we peddle along in those endeavors, I hope you can pause for a sweet softening “cookie” break every now and then, and just be on the edge of living.

New Math: 2 part series - the feast continues!

Part 2: Adding Free-Range Feasting


Today's bread is Buckwheat Molasses.  I can't help but feel like buckwheat has a little cowgirl kick, with a deep molasses sweet to smooth out the rough edges.  The yeast literally gave a giddy-up when mixed with the molasses and I hope these musings sprinkle a little skip in your step ... at least spiritually speaking.

We have a mission, if you choose to accept it.  

Bake bread yes, but there's more....

Is that a yes?

Ok, so our goal is to add a little generosity into our day, our lives, and hopefully our world.  There are few rules, really only rules to break in this mission.

This idea sparked for me while sharing a meal with friends.  I'm a huge food sharer; so much so that I sometimes have to remind myself that new folks don't necessarily enjoy me shoving a fork full of my food in their face exclaiming "this is delicious, you HAVE to try it."  It also works in reverse - I often find my fork creeping over to other's plates just wanting a little taste of their yummy dish.  The looks of judgement are usually enough to plateside my fork.  Apparently these are not common manners.

But what if they were?

At this dinner we shared a bottle of wine, conversation, and I noticed, freely roving forks.  It was free-range dining with full respect of other's plate space, with a mutual invitation to share your own.  The art of food sharing is not to consume everything, but rather to have a little taste of what surrounds you while respecting that not everything belongs to you.  In this sense you don't feel deprived or gorge yourself, yet you have a full symphony of flavors.  It's an abundant table, shared in proportion that is satisfying.  The etiquette rules of "pass the serving plate" are thrown out the window and forks go wild!  It's a civilized feasting wilderness and all are as happy as a well fed kitten, licking our paws and purring in delight.

We do in fact live in this world and we sit at this sharing table - we only have to live by these "new rules."  We know there is enough food, love, and friendship for everyone, if we respectfully recklessly share.  We boldly break these rules because we delight in this type of sharing, and we know in our cores Christ did too!  He may not be the first meal time rule breaker, but he certainly connected the apron strings of food and faith in a way that was abundant generosity, and some really good eats!  He sat at our feasting table with folks who hadn't had meal time conversation in ages.  Sharing a plate with people who had dirty fingernails was only the beginning of his party lineup.  He was a show-er, rather than a teller, and he showed us that the table is everywhere, everyone is invited (even those law makers and rule breakers that make us uncomfortable), and when you share, there's enough to eat, and you get to try some really amazing things!  You also hear fabulous stories.  You also discover deep relationships, with others, with yourself, with God.

Christians are deep in the throws of Lent, a holy season commonly referred to as the "giving up" time.  Now, I'm not mocking the ways giving up candy can be a spiritual discipline (that would be a HUGE discipline for me); but as Jesus showed, sharing isn't a sacrifice.  Giving isn't about losing things, but rising as a collective loaf of good bread.  We can only share with others, and we can only rise to our greatest potential by working together.  This holy season is typically not filled with feasting tables and free-range sharing, but rather a sense of deprivation and spirits as dry and dead as the ashes we spread across our foreheads on Ash Wednesday.  When asked to sacrifice, we inherently grab for "mine."  When asked to give, we secretly hoard - which I think is missing the point of the ashes and Lent.  This type of logic pits us against one another, squabbling for a seat at the table, rather than passing the bread basket.

So, what if we subtract sacrifice (as Christ did), and add generosity to the mix?

Lent - Sacrifice + Generosity = Joyful feasting for all!

In a season of inner reflection and deep prayer, try replacing sacrifice with share.  

 God calls us to  sacrifice share

Sharing sweeps sacrifice off the table.  With a cleared setting, and new dining rules, we together cook up a new creation! You now get to invite others to this feast, as well as enjoying it yourself.  Like sharing our plates, when we share a moment with others, we get a small taste of something new and different.  When respecting the plate of others, while freely sharing you own, you discover a feast of deepening connection with all things holy - food, friends, fields, & faith.  Yes, you sometimes end up with something spilled down your shirt ... this type of living is messy; but it's also delicious!  As ashes remind us we're all comprised of the same "stuff," generosity reminds us that this stuff is good.  We are good, the world is good, and it's all meant to be shared in free-range friendships.

Operation Generosity:  Our mission is to implement these new "rules" at our world table.  It begins with you.  Try adding generosity in your prayers, your thoughts, and see if anything happens.  I know you all are already very generous people, so I wonder if we might be generous to our spirit and see how God's sharing can nourish us.  And then as that yeasty spirit rises in us, expand that table and share with someone else.  How can you see a new person "sitting" beside you & how can others "feed" you?

I want to hear about your experiments.  I'm sharing this bread when I visit friends, but what are your ideas?  Post your sharings so we all can feast alongside you.