From Field to Fork: a reflection for harvest-time

"The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live. The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on. We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it. It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women. At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers. Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table. This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun. Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory. We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here. At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks. Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite." Perhaps the world ends here by Joy Harjo

When I first heard that poem a few weeks ago, the picture it paints of life revolving around the kitchen table touched me profoundly and it took me back to my childhood on the farm. The life of my extended family revolved around my grandparents' kitchen table. We laughed and cried and sang and argued and gossiped and celebrated and grieved at that kitchen table. Our family bonds were made and strengthened and sometimes broken beyond repair at that kitchen table. And most of all we shared food. Sharing food is the most fundamental act of human bonding. We eat to live, but we also eat to love, and, in my family, we love to eat!

I learned about the cycles of life and death around that kitchen table. My Granddad tended the kitchen garden, and my sister and I helped with sowing and planting in the spring, watering and weeding through the summer, and harvesting in the autumn – all types of beans, peas, potatoes, carrots, onions, cabbages, cauliflowers, strawberries, raspberries, blackcurrants, redcurrants, gooseberries, apples, pears, plums. After bringing in the mounds of produce and dumping them on the table, Granddad would disappear, and we would help Nana prepare the food – shelling peas and beans, washing potatoes and carrots, and chopping everything ready for the pot or the pickling jar. We plucked chickens from the farmyard, skinned rabbits from the fields, and gutted fish from the river. We made pies and jams and chutneys.

Nowadays, I live in a suburban house with a small north-west facing garden, and our experiments with growing food there have met with very limited success. But the fruit bushes we planted a couple of years ago have done really well and this year we had a bumper crop of raspberries, so we made jam, something I hadn't done for many years. It tastes wonderful, even if I say so myself. There's something special about eating food from our own garden. I know how lucky I am to be able to do so.

The American farmer poet Wendell Berry, in his essay The Pleasures of Eating wrote, “People who know the garden in which their vegetables have grown and know that the garden is healthy will remember the beauty of the growing plants, perhaps in the dewy first light of morning when gardens are at their best. Such a memory involves itself with the food and is one of the pleasures of eating. The knowledge of the good health of the garden relieves and frees and comforts the eater.”

In this essay, which is now 30 years old, but still pertinent for today, Berry asserts that eating is an agricultural act and critiques industrial food production, which processes food so that it no longer resembles the plants and animals it originated with, and creates a disconnect between land and eater. He suggests 7 things to eat responsibly: Participate in food production as much as you can; prepare your own food; buy food produced closest to your home; when and if you can, deal directly with local food producers; learn about industrial food production ; earn about best gardening and farming practice; learn about the life histories of food species. 

Looking at this list (and this is no way a criticism of Wendell Berry – all these things are valid and I try to follow them as much as I can myself) what strikes me is what an enormous amount of privilege there is in being able to make such choices. When I buy food, I try to imagine the lives of the animals and plants that have gone into that food, and ask myself if I am comfortable with being a part of that cycle. This leads me to buy as much organic and free range produce as I can afford. I am lucky to be able to do so. So many people in this country and in the world simply cannot afford to make such choices about where their food comes from. I feel there is something very wrong with an economy that puts people in this position. And I also think of the human lives involved in bringing food from field to fork, like the migrant workers who pick and pack the food, working very long hours in very poor conditions for very poor wages. What bearing do my food choices have on their lives? Eating, it would seem, is not only an agricultural act, but also a political one.

Berry concludes, “A significant part of the pleasure of eating is one’s accurate consciousness of the lives and the world from which food comes...  In this pleasure we experience and celebrate our dependence and our gratitude, for we are living from mystery, from creatures we did not make and powers we cannot comprehend.”

Eating is not only an agricultural act and a political act, but also a sacred act. At Hucklow Summer School this year, I noticed that one of my ministerial colleagues began every meal by quietly holding her plate and bowing her head in thanks before eating. It reminded me of my version of 'grace', which I rarely say, “I give thanks for this food. I give thanks for all the human hands involved in bringing this food from field to fork. I thank the elements – earth, air, sun, rain – that nourished the life forms who died to nourish me. I honour their lives and their rebirth in my body, in the knowledge that one day my body will return to the earth and be reborn as fuel for other lives. Amen.”

The way I eat is, I realise, an important part of my spirituality. The sacredness of food is part of an ancient understanding of the sacredness of life. Rabbi Arthur Waskow wrote, "In the deepest origins of Jewish life, the most sacred relationship was the relationship with the earth. Ancient Israel got in touch with God by bringing food to the Holy Temple... we affirmed, not in words but with our bodies, "We didn't invent this food; it came from a Unity of which we are a part. The earth, the rain, the sun, the seed, and our work -- together, adam and adamah, the earth and human earthlings, grew this food. It came from the Unity of Life; so we give back some of it to that great Unity."

Eating is an agricultural act, a political act, and a sacred act, an act in which we are intimately connected with the earth, with the lives and deaths of the beings we share our planet with, with the mystery, the great Unity. As the American poet William Carlos Williams wrote, “There is nothing to eat, seek it where you will, but of the body of the Lord.” Bon Appetit. Amen.

Angels Among Us - a Reflection for Michaelmas

When I say the word 'angel' I wonder what images are conjured up for you? Perhaps your angels are beautiful white feminine creatures with wings and haloes, or little chubby babies with wings and haloes! So would it surprise you to learn that these are relatively recent images in religious art, and that in earliest books of the Bible, such as Judges and Genesis, angels appear just as men? 

Angels visit Gideon and Samson's parents in Judges, and Abraham, Sarah and Hagar, in Genesis, where also have the story of Jacob's ladder and of him wrestling with an angel in the night. These angels are generally described as looking like men and they have a simple function – they are messengers of God – they bring good tidings, such as news of pregnancy, and they warn people of impending disasters. 

The role and appearance of angels becomes more elaborate over time. In the Book of Ezekiel, written about the time of the Babylonian exile in 590 BC, angels are described as fantastic creatures, who have human figures, calves' hooves, four wings, and four faces – one human, one of a lion, one of an ox and one of an eagle. The appearance of these creatures was likely influenced by the demi-gods of the Zoroastrian culture in which the Jewish people found themselves. 

In post-exilic times, messianic Judaism developed, seeing God's chosen people in opposition to the ruling powers of the occupying empire, and looking to the resurrection of the dead and the final times. Angels in this context become the Avenging Angels of God, the Lord of Hosts, who fights the forces of evil with His armies of angels. This vision of angels is taken up by the Book of Revelation in the New Testament. 

In the Gospels, angels continue their role as messengers of God, announcing Mary's pregnancy. When Jesus fasts for forty days in the desert and is tempted by Satan before beginning his ministry, we are told that the angels minister to him. In Matthew, Jesus speaks of children having guardian angels, whose role it is to care for and protect them, and in the Book of Acts, Peter is released from prison by the actions of his guardian angel. 

Angels feature in Jewish and Christian liturgies, singing a continuous song of praise to God, in which we humans join. In the Catholic and Orthodox churches there is a belief that the angels perform the liturgy with the priests. At the Feast of St Michael and All Angels, as we enter the dark half of the year, Michael the Archangel and his angelic companions are invoked, as protectors against the forces of darkness. 

In the 5th century a Syrian monk known as Dionysius the Areopagite wrote about the heavenly hierarchy of angels. He said there were nine levels, arranged in three sets of three, in concentric circles around God. The highest set – Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones – are closest to God and engaged in constant contemplation of God. The Seraphim are ablaze with the Love of God, the Cherubim with divine knowledge, and the Thrones with divine justice. 

The next set are the Dominions, Virtues, and Powers – Dominions are concerned with teaching self-control, Virtues work miracles and help those who are overburdened with troubles, and Powers help with resisting temptations. 

The lowest set, closest to humankind, are the Principalities, Archangels, and Angels. Principalities are concerned with the management of the world and the beneficent use of power, Archangels are the heralds of good news, revealing prophecies, and Angels announce God's intentions, teach people to live rightly, and guard us.

In the medieval world view, the communion of saints and angels were viewed as forming concentric circles of intercessors around God, much as the political hierarchies of the time formed concentric circles around the King. With the Reformation, Protestantism expunged much of the old church system and its world of concentric rings, and focused on the personal relationship of the individual soul with God, without the need for any beings, heavenly or earthly, to intercede. The guardian angel, however, was retained, because, as a personal guiding force, it appeals to the Protestant idea of the individual soul finding its way back to God. 

Today, there has been a huge revival in interest in angels and they have escaped, as it were, from the church and entered the realm of popular belief. There are angel therapies, angel meditations, angel oracle cards. In some New Age systems, angels represent universal forces, similar to archetypes, or qualities that we can embody. I can't say I engage much with angels as supernatural beings, but I do like the idea that angels represent archetypal good qualities, or Virtues, that can inspire us to embody them in our daily lives.

Angels have entered popular language in this way. We may refer to people who are especially kind to us as angels. I wonder who the angels are and have been in your life? Who are your messengers of divine love? Who has helped you to make sense of the world and pointed you towards a deeper meaning? Are there people you feel have been sent to you for a particular purpose, whom you met at just the right time?

Who are those who protect and comfort you? Who are those who guide you on your path in life? Who has restored your faith in human nature? Who has given you the confidence to meet the strange and unfamiliar? Who has helped you to see when you have taken a wrong turn and guided you gently back towards the path?

When I look at my life, I see angels everywhere: the school-teacher who took the time to get to know my strengths and to encourage me in my research and project work, which have stood me in good stead through my different careers; the counsellor who helped me to understand that I am not responsible for other people's issues; the colleague who provided a shoulder to cry on when I was being bullied at work; the Rastafarian who showed me the way through the woods one day when I was a student and gave me my first opportunity to really listen to someone of a different culture to me; the two strangers at a bus stop whose conversation about God giving and taking away has remained with me ever since; my dog, who daily teaches me about unconditional love and acceptance and being fully present to life.

I am grateful to the reformers of the Reformation who placed a personal relationship with God at the centre of their faith. If it wasn't for them, as a Unitarian minister, I wouldn't be here today. But I do appreciate that image of concentric circles from the medieval world-view – not in the hierarchical sense, but in the sense of the radiating concentric circles of community that surround us. There is an inner circle – our partners, close friends and family, and our animal companions, then there are our friends and colleagues and acquaintances, then all the other people who we do not know, but whose lives intertwine with ours – the people who grow our food, make our clothes, build our houses, maintain our roads, etc., and then all the other beings we share our precious planet with. 

Sadly, there are some people who do not experience community in this way – who feel isolated and alone, who are vulnerable and marginalised. I think particularly at this time of the people who arrive in this country with nothing, seeking to rebuild their lives, having had to flee from situations of conflict, starvation, persecution, and environmental disasters. I am grateful for all those people within and beyond our Unitarian communities who welcome them with hospitality, from those who foster refugee children in their homes, to those who give time and money to charities working to provide support for refugees and asylum seekers, and those who join demonstrations and sign petitions to put pressure on the government to change policies from hostility to hospitality.

There are many ways that we can embody the qualities of angels in our daily lives. There are many ways that we can welcome the stranger. We can be protectors of the vulnerable, defenders against the dark and bearers of the light for our fellow humans. We can be messengers of love, peace and hope.

"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." Hebrews 13:2. Amen.

The Archangel Michael Defeating Satan by Guido Reni, c.1635