Take This Bread

A memoir that begins with walking into a church at age 46, eating a piece of bread and sipping some wine, and then becomes – because that moment “changed everything” – the story of a San Francisco food pantry doesn’t really sound all that compelling, does it? It didn’t to me, at least, but the book was recommended, so I bought it, and read it. And lo and behold, Take This Bread by Sara Miles (Ballantine 2007) turned out to be very compelling indeed.

Miles had led, to that point of the first swallow, “a thoroughly secular life,” raised, in fact, in an environment quite hostile to the church. But there was something about those pieces of bread, about “eating Jesus,” that brought her to faith and kept her there. And once she was at the table, she had to follow its implications.

All that grounded me were those pieces of bread….It was the materiality of Christianity that fascinated me, the compelling story of incarnation in the grungiest details, the promise that words and flesh were deeply, deeply connected.

Take this Bread has a fresh, honest, contemporary feel to it akin to the work of Anne Lamott (whose praise graces its cover) and Lit author Mary Karr. Sara Miles insists on talking about and acting as if Jesus matters, startling those who prefer a more sophisticated version of faith. But she doesn’t play it fundamentalist or pious either. She’s a lesbian and makes no apology for that, or for her relentless quest to feed the hungry, whoever they may be; her church, St. Gregory’s, believed “in the absolute religious value of welcoming people who didn’t belong” and Miles will take this seriously, as she will the Gospels.

Inevitably, of course, there’s conflict over the untidiness and impositions a food pantry in a church will create, but Miles persists: with the congregation, and with the pantry. She realizes, “I was not going to get to have dinner, eternally, with people just like me.” She also knows that “[w]hen you let the wrong people in, the promise of change could finally come true.”

I recommend Take this Bread for its narrative, and for its challenging and nourishing ideas. (Miles has a second book out, Jesus Freak: Feeding, Healing, Raising the Dead, which made the list of annual recommends from Christian Century.) And here, for a parting taste, is the prayer she wrote for the food pantry, which would make a good table grace for any of us:

O God of abundance, you feed us every day. Rise in us now, make us into your bread, that we may share your gifts with a hungry world, and join in love with all people, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Looking, arms open

I’ve been reading Why I Wake Early, a book of new poems by Mary Oliver, though reading isn’t quite the right word for poems. It’s more like listening — like listening to music, and going back to listen again. There’s so much happiness in Oliver’s writing, such close and startling observation, and then plain-talk expression of it. This fragment from “Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does it End?” describes her stance toward the world:

I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.

Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around
as though with your arms open.

Yesterday our daughter sent the photograph below, taken while snowshoeing on Mt. Seymour (B.C.) the day before, and it seemed, even at a photo’s remove, one of those places for long, arms-open looking. No the sun isn’t shining, but it’s the trees that matter, so lean they are and lovely, bearing all the snow they can bear, dressed up for the Christmas party. Can’t you just see them at night, swaying a little in praise? 

In another fragment of the same poem, Mary Oliver says,

And now I will tell you the truth.
Everything in the world
comes.

At least, closer.

And, cordially.

So if we do our part, open our arms, we’ll be met halfway.

(If you’re interested, here’s a place to read Mary Oliver’s poetry online and here’s her Wiki-bio.)

Photo by C. Dueck. (Thanks!)

Further to the matter of fear

Now back from my lovely interlude with our new grandbaby and her parents in Toronto, I want to pick up my regular posting here, and particularly say a few more things about Scott Bader-Saye’s Following Jesus in a Culture of Fear by way of review.

As mentioned in the previous post, Bader-Saye assesses our culture as a fear-ridden one. I should mention that he assumes an American audience and frame of reference. Since we as Canadians share American culture to a significant degree and since we are also well used to the extra demands and adjustments reading as “outsiders” requires of us, which we fulfill almost intuitively from long practice, this wasn’t too irritating, though I do wish he’d been more deliberate about stating his Ameri-centric context. I might also insert that the practice of reading American material as Canadians might be used to illustrate the effort women had to bring to their reading for so many decades in earlier times, when the language and context assumed men, and still sometimes have to bring to their listening and reading in non-inclusive contexts. You can know you’re included and make the appropriate applications, you can recognize all the overlap, but still, it takes work and the skills honed by habit, and may provoke, depending on the situation, irritation either mild or painful. But this aside to an aside is taking me off way off course… Continue reading