I first read about this book on Cookin' in the 'Cuse (right here) and was eager to get a copy. I was excited by the topic -- and to see a fellow blogger in print. So, today, when I finally opened the book (I was trying to wait to read it with a pal this fall, but failed), there were other names I knew! Wow -- some I know only by reputation (e.g., Edward Espe Brown who was featured in a film I reviewed here, and folks like Meister Eckhardt, or well known foodie names like Barbara Kingsolver and a favorite poet like Mary Oliver), but my eye went first to the name Omid Safi -- a religious studies scholar that I actually know! With all these familiar names, I am even more thrilled to have the book.
So: I have been browsing Bread Body Spirit - slowly and unevenly. The book touches on a whole array of religious/spiritual traditions, both those explicitly understood as such (represented by texts like the Qu'ran, the Upanishads, the New Testament -- and others which point to Native American traditions, for example) and more implicitly "spiritual"; in this conjoining of many traditions into a spirituality which is both pluralistic and vague, the volume exemplifies the themes of a second book I am currently reading: Robert Wuthnow's America and the Challenges of Religious Diversity (2007). Bread Body Spirit is filled with links between agriculture and the sacred, between the food we eat and death (and the ways we are all ultimately food ourselves), between cooking and other forms of right action, and between all this and the notion of grace. Though I sometimes cringe (I am not a big fan of the touchy feel-y), grace is just what I need right now: not in the sense of formulas or prayers at the start of meals, but in the sense of "unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification" (p. xiv). Okay, divine -- not so much -- unmerited grace, well, I can go for that.
Alongside the hope of grace, the book emphasizes the ways the sacred -- perhaps the extraordinary? perhaps simply hope? -- connects to and is rooted in the ordinary. Somehow, keeping one's eye on that very ordinariness seems crucial -- preventing oneself from living in dreams (Freudian illusions?) that make life unlivable. Rather than religion as transcendental --or pie in the sky bye and bye -- here religion/spirituality is the every day. Edward Espe Brown's moment by moment connection of stars and flowers. And the transformative power of cooking -- transubstantiation, enlightenment, change.
Betty Fussell (for a conversation with her, click here) starts her essay "Murder we must." (p. 28) This, of course, sent a frisson through me -- and not just because of the section of Cooking with Ideas entitled "Murder on the Menu." Fussell's words remind me that, indeed, eating is linked to the end of other life. In Fussell's delightfully realistic words: "Our hands are stained with carrot blood. . . " (p. 28). (Perhaps this explains the book section entitled "Compost.") And yet, the end of that life sustains us -- as it says in Bread Body Spirit, somewhere, we eat ourselves into existence. And that existence we eat ourselves toward, of course, comes not just with the pain all this alludes to but the complex and sometimes difficult wonders of love as well -- lemon trees symbolize this in Cookin' in the 'Cuse writer, Jennifer Baskerville-Burrows' essay, "Lemon Love."
I keep jumping in --and hoping for a bit of inspiration and hope. Steering between the everyday, the trite and the profound -- the book offers just that --inspiration and hope. The book ends, by the way, with a list of charitable and other organizations to work with to act for a better world -- foodie politics and foodie philanthropy in a world filled with poverty and the many ways we can make our own grace.
Yes, we can make the world -- and ourselves -- better. Yes, we can. Is there grace? My Lutheran friends seem to think so -- and I keep on hoping for unmerited grace of a more human sort.