“Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart."
-- Ecclesiastes 9:7
-- Ecclesiastes 9:7
One Sunday morning my stomach decided to audibly gurgle during church. I had certainly been hungry during church services before this particular time, but this Sunday is the only time that that hunger took on a voice of its own. I shifted in my seat, thinking that sitting lower might appease the acids in my stomach. But the gurgling persisted. I crossed my arms tightly in an attempt to muffle the sounds, but they continued. I sipped some water, praying that nobody could hear the noises that seemed to fill the room. Eventually I sighed with relief when the worship band made their way to the stage, their noise louder than my stomach. I have found this particular Sunday, and the Sundays that followed where my stomach grumbled more quietly, to be puzzling because I always eat breakfast before services. Sometimes it’s a larger meal, other times just a granola bar or a piece of fruit. I think, “Why are you still hungry? I’m trying to listen!” My stomach will simply respond with another grumble or pang, suggesting there is something about the act of listening to a sermon that makes me hungry.
Through his research, Professor of Physiology Mark A. W. Andrews at Lake Erie College of Osteopathic Medicine pinpoints the physical reasons why my stomach growls. He explains that it can growl “at any time, on an empty or full stomach.”1 In this case, we may never know whether or not I was hungry or if my body was simply digesting my breakfast on that particular Sunday morning. The scientific reasoning behind why stomachs growl is due to muscular movement in both the small intestines as well as the stomach. Air and gas bubbles develop during the digestion period, and when there is food in your body, the growling is less loud because the food absorbs some of these bubbles. It’s when there is no food that the growling is the loudest. We get hungry because of the stomach’s signals sent to our brains telling us that it’s time to give our digestive systems more food to break down.2 While these physical aspects are fascinating, I find the origins of the word the Greeks used to describe this process slightly more interesting: borborygmi. The verb form is borboryzein, which literally translates to “rumbling” or “to rumble,” and is meant to sound like the grumbling it describes when spoken.
So while I know that whether I choose to eat breakfast or wait until lunch will not affect the growling, I don't know if there is significance in why my body persistently “borboryzeins” during church services. My digestive system is just doing its job and making noise to let me know all systems are up and running. But as my thoughts fixate on this rumbling, I inevitably think about something else as well: food. And as my grumbling stomach and thoughts of what I’m going to eat for lunch invade my brain’s space, a question runs through my head: I wonder how God feels about my thoughts being preoccupied by growling and food rather than focusing on the sermon’s content?
I have this theory that a large part of church’s appeal is the opportunity to get food afterwards. As bad as this theory may make us churchgoers look, I believe it to be true. Not just because food is generally great and most people don’t pass up the opportunity to go out for a nice meal, but because churches seem to highly value food or recognize its value.
Most of the churches I have attended offer their congregation light refreshments like donuts and muffins before and after a service. Sometimes there is hot chocolate for the kids, and every single one has had a coffee station. Perhaps this is their attempt at approaching the moral dilemma of being hungry during the service. By offering sacrifices to the borborygmi, it is an attempt to satisfy the distractions of hunger and allow people’s minds to be more acutely attuned to the Holy Spirit. In the process, it allows the congregation to practice the hospitality that Jesus exhibited, to partake in a more casual form of communion.
Or perhaps people just really like food. No one will deny that if free food is brought out at an event or gathering, everything becomes a little more tolerable. But what if after service lets out, you reach the food table a little too late and find that there are only dry blueberry scones left, surrounded by the crumbs of the double chocolate muffins you had seen a group of people holding earlier? What do you do to feed the grumbling beast then?
You figure out where to go out to eat. Whether it be picking something up on the way home or actually parking the car and eating inside of the establishment, Sundays are made for church and food.
This combination seems significant, at least to me. But I find myself feeling like they need to be separated. Is one a distraction to the other? Or do they go hand in hand?
I imagine that Jesus liked food. His human body needed it for sustenance, but the part of him that was also fully God had no need for it. And yet, the Bible sees him share many meals throughout his time on Earth with many different kinds of people, his disciples as well as Pharisees and individuals who were seen as societally unfit to dine with him.
The book of Luke describes ten meals that Jesus shared with people. He welcomed a woman known for her sinful behavior to a prestigious dinner despite the disgust of the Pharisees who were also in attendance. He valued Mary’s willingness to merely sit, talk, and listen to him over Martha’s busy preparation of the meal they were going to share. Jesus attended a banquet held at Levi’s house that seated tax collectors -- essentially the most hated people within society at the time. But Jesus didn’t care.
Jesus saw time and space for sharing food as more important than the actual food itself. C.S. Lewis’ book Mere Christianity offers a very straightforward opinion about God’s intention in creating food and his attitude towards said creation: “God never meant man to be a purely spiritual creature. That is why he uses material things like bread and wine to put the new life into us. We may think this rather crude and unspiritual. God does not: He invented eating. He likes matter. He invented it.”4 As an extension of God, Jesus therefore must have seen the value of physical eating as well. But Jesus was able to take food one step further by moving past a focus on “matter” to a focus on meals.
One of many origins of the word meal comes from the Anglian mēl, which means "fixed time, occasion." I find the emphasis on a “fixed time” in this definition to be very significant. Jesus took a fixed and appointed time to be intentional. For him, it was about the people around him. He didn’t care what kind of people they were, because he loved each of them deeply. He valued them just being there. And even though, as Lewis believes, humans are not meant to be purely spiritual beings, the act of nourishing our bodies with other people allows us to tap into the spiritual realm of community. At least to me, this sense of food-based community sounds like a church service of sorts.
Every church I have attended partakes in a selected time of communion, whether it be weekly or monthly, to take the time to remember Christ’s sacrifice on the cross. The very essence of this act of worship mirrors what Leonardo da Vinci captured in his visual masterpiece, The Last Supper. This meal may be the most famous meal in history. One can wonder what kind of conversations were had at this table that are not recorded in the Bible and cannot be heard by looking at thirteen people depicted on a canvas. My belief is that the conversations did not sound too different from our own in today’s day and age. I’m sure there was lighthearted joking and recalling of memories, murmurs between passing plates of food around, and quiet but meaningful small talk. The duller colors of the painting may create a sense of seriousness, especially because the disciples could not have ever foreseen that Jesus’ metaphorical breaking of bread and drinking of wine would become symbols of his broken body. We can be sure that the dynamics of conversation eventually turned cryptic as Jesus foretold his death and shifted the night’s entire mood. But I believe that before this devastating news was shared, the disciples were simply enjoying another meal with their teacher, a meal that would end up leading to the enduring Christian tradition of partaking in communion.
Even today, that is what communion is: a time to be with fellow believers, strengthening one another with the hope that Christ’s sacrifice brings. Author of the book This Strange and Sacred Scripture, Matthew Richard Schlimm contrasts Biblical times with our current times when he says that we are living “in a society running on electronic communication and social media.” He goes on to say that “when we share food together… we join in an age-old practice that builds community, overcomes loneliness, and celebrates God’s presence among us.”3 If what Schlimm says here is true, then there must be some kind of significance in the fact that Jesus decided to tell his followers literally earth-shattering news over a meal. There must be even more significance in his decision to choose, above all other things, bread and wine to illustrate his eternal bond with them and the rest of mankind.
“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, who you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies,” Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 6:19-20. He was writing to the people of the church of Corinth to offer them his written words of instruction and encouragement to lead holy lives as Christ’s followers. Towards its inception in the 10th century BC, Corinth stood as one of the most prosperous, influential Greek cities of its time, located on an isthmus that allowed it to have two seaports and high-yielding land. Their land and fortunate positioning meant that they had good crops and soil, steady trade, and comprehensive stability. When Paul began to involve himself with the Corinthians around 51 AD, the city was still prosperous even after the Corinthian Wars against Sparta in the late 300s BC.6 Paul’s challenge to the Corinthians in his letter was to embrace a type of humility, to realize that even though they were a flourishing people, they were called to live not only for themselves. The verse also speaks to us, wherever we happen to be. There is something else living inside of us.
Parasitic creatures like single-celled eukaryotes or worms literally feed off of their human host, dependent on the nourishment that the host gives to the body. You probably never expected to relate parasites to the Holy Spirit before, but humor me for a moment. Commensalism is a symbiotic relationship that sees one half benefitting and the other being neither benefited or harmed. Mutualism has net benefit, meaning that both of the parts of the relationship benefit from the connection.5 But the relationship between the Holy Spirit and a follower of Christ is not classified as any of these things, even though the Spirit is within us. The Holy Spirit is in no need of nourishment; it is the ultimate source of nourishment, pulsating with the light and breath of God. Whether or not you approach the notion of a spirit dwelling within you in a literal or metaphorical way, there is nothing we can do to somehow strengthen this Spirit, to offer it something stronger than what it already is, because we are in such great need of its presence.
Maybe there is something we can give. If the Holy Spirit has decided to take up residency within our bodies, it’s the least we can do to feed and strengthen those bodies in attempts to make our humble abodes look as much like temples as possible. Another sentiment of Lewis’ from Mere Christianity says, “You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”4
In the process of this truly remarkable relationship, maybe our simple act of feeding is allowing the Spirit to be able to nourish us in the ways that food can’t. We allow the borborygmi and the Holy Spirit to coexist within us. But neither is a parasite.
I can remember some of the meals that I have had throughout my life through the conversations I had with the people I ate with. There were many dinners of hearty pasta and steaming soup after swim practices on school nights that would see me and my mother sit down to talk about the highs and lows of our days. Sitting in a makeshift circle at lunch with friends throughout my four years of high school, I developed many inside jokes over homemade sandwiches and bags of chips. Christmas dinner is always Mexican food with my family -- tamales, rice and beans, chips and salsa that accent our conversations filled with joy of being all together again, how school and work has fared, and plans for the new year. It’s the conversations, the people who have been around me during these meals that stand out the sharpest in my memories, not the food.
While I can only speculate over whether or not Jesus liked food, I know that I like food. Because it sustains my human body, because it tastes good, and because it allows me to gather around people I truly care about and share in intentional time with them.
I like the food that churches offer. My home church used to serve full-sized donuts for the children and youth ministries before the congregation expanded to a size that would have made buying donuts for everyone way too expensive. I could already taste the chocolate and maple frosting before the last worship song had completely ended.
Now I value the food that my church in San Diego offers because I am a broke college student. But I also value it because it allows me to stand around and chat with my friends. We ruminate on the message we have just heard and lay out plans for the day. We talk and enjoy each other’s company.
Matthew 5:6 reads: "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.” John 6:33-35 says: "For the bread of God is that which comes down out of heaven, and gives life to the world… I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst.” These spiritual metaphors are handy for the Christian who views them as hopeful reminders to let God be their sustenance.
But what about the Christians desperately trying to figure out why their spiritual fuel tanks feel empty, why sometimes a good conversation with a trusted friend or loved one feels more real and spiritual than a few songs of worship before and after a sermon? Why do food, social gatherings, and meals seem to fill up those empty tanks more than time set aside for prayer and intentional solitude? Is something wrong with their symbiotic relationship with the Holy Spirit? Psalms 42:2 makes me wonder if this second group of Christians is just unaware of the fact that their actions and desires are crying out to God in ways they don’t recognize: “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God; When shall I come and appear before God?” Yes -- one question to ask is when, but also how? What parts of our lives are worship without our even noticing?
I still think about my stomach and food during church. But I am convinced that food and church do not need to be separated, that communion, donuts, coffee, and lunch outings are not distractions to what is discussed within a church building. The borborygmi is not a beast to be fed. Rather, it is a song of praise. A form of worship, though perhaps unintentional, that causes us to appear before God and acknowledge our creator. It’s a song of praise that expresses gratefulness for food, because food is more than just sustenance, but rather a means of communication. It pushes us out of our church buildings and into the world to eat, love the people around us, and work on building up our temples. It’s a song that reminds me that I am human, imperfect with all of the wanderings of my mind. It’s telling me that it’s alright to think about food during church. Communion is a form of worship, but so is wanting to provide my body with the fuel it needs to function. So is sitting down with people over pasta, sandwiches, Mexican food, or whatever it may be to enjoy each other’s company. So is the belief that a church service doesn’t end as soon as the sermon is over, but rather continues on through our weeks every time we intentionally sit down to partake in a meal.
Unable to go to church during the month of April in the thick of the COVID-19 pandemic, my family sat down every Sunday morning and watched our pastor give a live-streamed sermon. Scattered around the family room, my father in his chair, my brother burrowed under a blanket, my mother with her coffee, and me with my journal and colorful pens was how we started our quarantined Sundays.
My church partakes in communion every first Sunday of the month. The first Sunday of May rolled around, and even though the church body was separated, the livestreamed pastor on our TV screen invited us to take communion with whatever elements we had available in our house. My mother got up and started looking through the pantry and pulling out some of her fancy juice glasses. I knew we had oyster crackers, but I didn’t think we had grape juice, or any kind of juice for that matter.
The pastor was passing out some of those prepackaged communion cups with a thin little cracker on the top to the worship band sitting on stools behind her as my mom came back from the kitchen to hand us an oyster cracker and a small amount of a bottled berry smoothie from the fridge. We prayed along with the people on the screen, chewing the cracker and then drinking our “wine.” It was our own communion in our own way.
I remember how my brother laughed when my mother handed him the fancy glass. He later said that the smoothie had tasted gross.
“Well, it was Berry Blast, so it’s the closest thing to grape juice I could find,” she responded good-naturedly.
I thought it had tasted good, refreshing even. But its taste really didn’t matter. In my eyes, it was the fact that my mother had decided to intentionally get up from her spot on the couch to see what she could scrounge up. She knew we didn’t have the “official” crackers and juice that the church had. But she got up and looked anyway. Because she wanted us to partake in the time of remembrance. She turned our makeshift church service into a meal.
I again think of Psalms 42:2 and our thirst for the living God that can take place anywhere, even in your family room. “When shall I come and appear before God?”
All of the time.
________________________
1 From wonderopolis.org
2 From scientificamerican.com
3 From This Strange and Sacred Scripture: Wrestling with the Old Testament and Its Oddities, pg. 136.
4 Lewis, C. S. Mere Christianity. William Collins, 2017.
5 From www.ck12.org
6 From www.socialstudiesforkids.com
Through his research, Professor of Physiology Mark A. W. Andrews at Lake Erie College of Osteopathic Medicine pinpoints the physical reasons why my stomach growls. He explains that it can growl “at any time, on an empty or full stomach.”1 In this case, we may never know whether or not I was hungry or if my body was simply digesting my breakfast on that particular Sunday morning. The scientific reasoning behind why stomachs growl is due to muscular movement in both the small intestines as well as the stomach. Air and gas bubbles develop during the digestion period, and when there is food in your body, the growling is less loud because the food absorbs some of these bubbles. It’s when there is no food that the growling is the loudest. We get hungry because of the stomach’s signals sent to our brains telling us that it’s time to give our digestive systems more food to break down.2 While these physical aspects are fascinating, I find the origins of the word the Greeks used to describe this process slightly more interesting: borborygmi. The verb form is borboryzein, which literally translates to “rumbling” or “to rumble,” and is meant to sound like the grumbling it describes when spoken.
So while I know that whether I choose to eat breakfast or wait until lunch will not affect the growling, I don't know if there is significance in why my body persistently “borboryzeins” during church services. My digestive system is just doing its job and making noise to let me know all systems are up and running. But as my thoughts fixate on this rumbling, I inevitably think about something else as well: food. And as my grumbling stomach and thoughts of what I’m going to eat for lunch invade my brain’s space, a question runs through my head: I wonder how God feels about my thoughts being preoccupied by growling and food rather than focusing on the sermon’s content?
I have this theory that a large part of church’s appeal is the opportunity to get food afterwards. As bad as this theory may make us churchgoers look, I believe it to be true. Not just because food is generally great and most people don’t pass up the opportunity to go out for a nice meal, but because churches seem to highly value food or recognize its value.
Most of the churches I have attended offer their congregation light refreshments like donuts and muffins before and after a service. Sometimes there is hot chocolate for the kids, and every single one has had a coffee station. Perhaps this is their attempt at approaching the moral dilemma of being hungry during the service. By offering sacrifices to the borborygmi, it is an attempt to satisfy the distractions of hunger and allow people’s minds to be more acutely attuned to the Holy Spirit. In the process, it allows the congregation to practice the hospitality that Jesus exhibited, to partake in a more casual form of communion.
Or perhaps people just really like food. No one will deny that if free food is brought out at an event or gathering, everything becomes a little more tolerable. But what if after service lets out, you reach the food table a little too late and find that there are only dry blueberry scones left, surrounded by the crumbs of the double chocolate muffins you had seen a group of people holding earlier? What do you do to feed the grumbling beast then?
You figure out where to go out to eat. Whether it be picking something up on the way home or actually parking the car and eating inside of the establishment, Sundays are made for church and food.
This combination seems significant, at least to me. But I find myself feeling like they need to be separated. Is one a distraction to the other? Or do they go hand in hand?
I imagine that Jesus liked food. His human body needed it for sustenance, but the part of him that was also fully God had no need for it. And yet, the Bible sees him share many meals throughout his time on Earth with many different kinds of people, his disciples as well as Pharisees and individuals who were seen as societally unfit to dine with him.
The book of Luke describes ten meals that Jesus shared with people. He welcomed a woman known for her sinful behavior to a prestigious dinner despite the disgust of the Pharisees who were also in attendance. He valued Mary’s willingness to merely sit, talk, and listen to him over Martha’s busy preparation of the meal they were going to share. Jesus attended a banquet held at Levi’s house that seated tax collectors -- essentially the most hated people within society at the time. But Jesus didn’t care.
Jesus saw time and space for sharing food as more important than the actual food itself. C.S. Lewis’ book Mere Christianity offers a very straightforward opinion about God’s intention in creating food and his attitude towards said creation: “God never meant man to be a purely spiritual creature. That is why he uses material things like bread and wine to put the new life into us. We may think this rather crude and unspiritual. God does not: He invented eating. He likes matter. He invented it.”4 As an extension of God, Jesus therefore must have seen the value of physical eating as well. But Jesus was able to take food one step further by moving past a focus on “matter” to a focus on meals.
One of many origins of the word meal comes from the Anglian mēl, which means "fixed time, occasion." I find the emphasis on a “fixed time” in this definition to be very significant. Jesus took a fixed and appointed time to be intentional. For him, it was about the people around him. He didn’t care what kind of people they were, because he loved each of them deeply. He valued them just being there. And even though, as Lewis believes, humans are not meant to be purely spiritual beings, the act of nourishing our bodies with other people allows us to tap into the spiritual realm of community. At least to me, this sense of food-based community sounds like a church service of sorts.
Every church I have attended partakes in a selected time of communion, whether it be weekly or monthly, to take the time to remember Christ’s sacrifice on the cross. The very essence of this act of worship mirrors what Leonardo da Vinci captured in his visual masterpiece, The Last Supper. This meal may be the most famous meal in history. One can wonder what kind of conversations were had at this table that are not recorded in the Bible and cannot be heard by looking at thirteen people depicted on a canvas. My belief is that the conversations did not sound too different from our own in today’s day and age. I’m sure there was lighthearted joking and recalling of memories, murmurs between passing plates of food around, and quiet but meaningful small talk. The duller colors of the painting may create a sense of seriousness, especially because the disciples could not have ever foreseen that Jesus’ metaphorical breaking of bread and drinking of wine would become symbols of his broken body. We can be sure that the dynamics of conversation eventually turned cryptic as Jesus foretold his death and shifted the night’s entire mood. But I believe that before this devastating news was shared, the disciples were simply enjoying another meal with their teacher, a meal that would end up leading to the enduring Christian tradition of partaking in communion.
Even today, that is what communion is: a time to be with fellow believers, strengthening one another with the hope that Christ’s sacrifice brings. Author of the book This Strange and Sacred Scripture, Matthew Richard Schlimm contrasts Biblical times with our current times when he says that we are living “in a society running on electronic communication and social media.” He goes on to say that “when we share food together… we join in an age-old practice that builds community, overcomes loneliness, and celebrates God’s presence among us.”3 If what Schlimm says here is true, then there must be some kind of significance in the fact that Jesus decided to tell his followers literally earth-shattering news over a meal. There must be even more significance in his decision to choose, above all other things, bread and wine to illustrate his eternal bond with them and the rest of mankind.
“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, who you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies,” Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 6:19-20. He was writing to the people of the church of Corinth to offer them his written words of instruction and encouragement to lead holy lives as Christ’s followers. Towards its inception in the 10th century BC, Corinth stood as one of the most prosperous, influential Greek cities of its time, located on an isthmus that allowed it to have two seaports and high-yielding land. Their land and fortunate positioning meant that they had good crops and soil, steady trade, and comprehensive stability. When Paul began to involve himself with the Corinthians around 51 AD, the city was still prosperous even after the Corinthian Wars against Sparta in the late 300s BC.6 Paul’s challenge to the Corinthians in his letter was to embrace a type of humility, to realize that even though they were a flourishing people, they were called to live not only for themselves. The verse also speaks to us, wherever we happen to be. There is something else living inside of us.
Parasitic creatures like single-celled eukaryotes or worms literally feed off of their human host, dependent on the nourishment that the host gives to the body. You probably never expected to relate parasites to the Holy Spirit before, but humor me for a moment. Commensalism is a symbiotic relationship that sees one half benefitting and the other being neither benefited or harmed. Mutualism has net benefit, meaning that both of the parts of the relationship benefit from the connection.5 But the relationship between the Holy Spirit and a follower of Christ is not classified as any of these things, even though the Spirit is within us. The Holy Spirit is in no need of nourishment; it is the ultimate source of nourishment, pulsating with the light and breath of God. Whether or not you approach the notion of a spirit dwelling within you in a literal or metaphorical way, there is nothing we can do to somehow strengthen this Spirit, to offer it something stronger than what it already is, because we are in such great need of its presence.
Maybe there is something we can give. If the Holy Spirit has decided to take up residency within our bodies, it’s the least we can do to feed and strengthen those bodies in attempts to make our humble abodes look as much like temples as possible. Another sentiment of Lewis’ from Mere Christianity says, “You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”4
In the process of this truly remarkable relationship, maybe our simple act of feeding is allowing the Spirit to be able to nourish us in the ways that food can’t. We allow the borborygmi and the Holy Spirit to coexist within us. But neither is a parasite.
I can remember some of the meals that I have had throughout my life through the conversations I had with the people I ate with. There were many dinners of hearty pasta and steaming soup after swim practices on school nights that would see me and my mother sit down to talk about the highs and lows of our days. Sitting in a makeshift circle at lunch with friends throughout my four years of high school, I developed many inside jokes over homemade sandwiches and bags of chips. Christmas dinner is always Mexican food with my family -- tamales, rice and beans, chips and salsa that accent our conversations filled with joy of being all together again, how school and work has fared, and plans for the new year. It’s the conversations, the people who have been around me during these meals that stand out the sharpest in my memories, not the food.
While I can only speculate over whether or not Jesus liked food, I know that I like food. Because it sustains my human body, because it tastes good, and because it allows me to gather around people I truly care about and share in intentional time with them.
I like the food that churches offer. My home church used to serve full-sized donuts for the children and youth ministries before the congregation expanded to a size that would have made buying donuts for everyone way too expensive. I could already taste the chocolate and maple frosting before the last worship song had completely ended.
Now I value the food that my church in San Diego offers because I am a broke college student. But I also value it because it allows me to stand around and chat with my friends. We ruminate on the message we have just heard and lay out plans for the day. We talk and enjoy each other’s company.
Matthew 5:6 reads: "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.” John 6:33-35 says: "For the bread of God is that which comes down out of heaven, and gives life to the world… I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst.” These spiritual metaphors are handy for the Christian who views them as hopeful reminders to let God be their sustenance.
But what about the Christians desperately trying to figure out why their spiritual fuel tanks feel empty, why sometimes a good conversation with a trusted friend or loved one feels more real and spiritual than a few songs of worship before and after a sermon? Why do food, social gatherings, and meals seem to fill up those empty tanks more than time set aside for prayer and intentional solitude? Is something wrong with their symbiotic relationship with the Holy Spirit? Psalms 42:2 makes me wonder if this second group of Christians is just unaware of the fact that their actions and desires are crying out to God in ways they don’t recognize: “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God; When shall I come and appear before God?” Yes -- one question to ask is when, but also how? What parts of our lives are worship without our even noticing?
I still think about my stomach and food during church. But I am convinced that food and church do not need to be separated, that communion, donuts, coffee, and lunch outings are not distractions to what is discussed within a church building. The borborygmi is not a beast to be fed. Rather, it is a song of praise. A form of worship, though perhaps unintentional, that causes us to appear before God and acknowledge our creator. It’s a song of praise that expresses gratefulness for food, because food is more than just sustenance, but rather a means of communication. It pushes us out of our church buildings and into the world to eat, love the people around us, and work on building up our temples. It’s a song that reminds me that I am human, imperfect with all of the wanderings of my mind. It’s telling me that it’s alright to think about food during church. Communion is a form of worship, but so is wanting to provide my body with the fuel it needs to function. So is sitting down with people over pasta, sandwiches, Mexican food, or whatever it may be to enjoy each other’s company. So is the belief that a church service doesn’t end as soon as the sermon is over, but rather continues on through our weeks every time we intentionally sit down to partake in a meal.
Unable to go to church during the month of April in the thick of the COVID-19 pandemic, my family sat down every Sunday morning and watched our pastor give a live-streamed sermon. Scattered around the family room, my father in his chair, my brother burrowed under a blanket, my mother with her coffee, and me with my journal and colorful pens was how we started our quarantined Sundays.
My church partakes in communion every first Sunday of the month. The first Sunday of May rolled around, and even though the church body was separated, the livestreamed pastor on our TV screen invited us to take communion with whatever elements we had available in our house. My mother got up and started looking through the pantry and pulling out some of her fancy juice glasses. I knew we had oyster crackers, but I didn’t think we had grape juice, or any kind of juice for that matter.
The pastor was passing out some of those prepackaged communion cups with a thin little cracker on the top to the worship band sitting on stools behind her as my mom came back from the kitchen to hand us an oyster cracker and a small amount of a bottled berry smoothie from the fridge. We prayed along with the people on the screen, chewing the cracker and then drinking our “wine.” It was our own communion in our own way.
I remember how my brother laughed when my mother handed him the fancy glass. He later said that the smoothie had tasted gross.
“Well, it was Berry Blast, so it’s the closest thing to grape juice I could find,” she responded good-naturedly.
I thought it had tasted good, refreshing even. But its taste really didn’t matter. In my eyes, it was the fact that my mother had decided to intentionally get up from her spot on the couch to see what she could scrounge up. She knew we didn’t have the “official” crackers and juice that the church had. But she got up and looked anyway. Because she wanted us to partake in the time of remembrance. She turned our makeshift church service into a meal.
I again think of Psalms 42:2 and our thirst for the living God that can take place anywhere, even in your family room. “When shall I come and appear before God?”
All of the time.
________________________
1 From wonderopolis.org
2 From scientificamerican.com
3 From This Strange and Sacred Scripture: Wrestling with the Old Testament and Its Oddities, pg. 136.
4 Lewis, C. S. Mere Christianity. William Collins, 2017.
5 From www.ck12.org
6 From www.socialstudiesforkids.com
All Text Copyright (C) 2023 Meghan Coley