Baking the Sacrament of Hospitality

One of the things I enjoy doing is baking bread. I long ago gave up my bread machine and started teaching myself the art of baking bread by hand, from scratch. It is a hobby that I love. Part of why I love it is because it is something that I can share with others to nourish their bodies as well as spirit. So when my church offered me the opportunity to make the bread for communion each month, I accepted with a glad heart. At the time I had no idea what this once a month baking would teach me about hospitality. You see our communion table needs to accommodate multiple food allergies and sensitivities. So I set out to find a recipe that would accommodate our needs so that no one would be excluded from or singled out at Christ’s table. For several years now this inclusive bread has graced the communion table of our church and other tables.

As I have taken on this task, it has caused me to reflect deeply on what inclusion at the table means and what hospitality at Christ’s table looks like. I have come to the conclusion that hospitality of Christ’s table is more than just providing bread that all can partake of. It goes deeper than that. By having the same loaf of bread that everyone can eat from we create community. Community is shared when we break and eat of the same loaf. When I eat from the same loaf of bread created for someone with special dietary needs, I am reaching beyond my own ability to eat what ever I want to connect with them in their place of need. It may seem like such a small gesture, but to those that have this need the symbolism and meaning of this deep hospitality is not lost and it connects at a spiritual level.

                  Recently this act of inclusive hospitality was expanded a bit. My daughter is still learning what it means to be a follower of Christ, so she partakes only of the grapes provided during communion for the youngest at the table. This has not stopped her from showing an interest in helping me make the bread each month. So the first Saturday in November she and I went to the kitchen and embarked on the journey of me teaching her how to make the bread. This went beyond just showing her how to measure each ingredient and mix it together. It meant teaching her why we use each type of flour that we do; why there is no dairy or eggs. I was teaching her that the table of Christ is there for everyone, no exceptions, and that the hospitality of the table means that we do our best to be sure everyone is invited and can partake. This is why we make the bread we do and take such care in making it.

                  Another tradition of hospitality that my church engages in is that there are two loaves of bread, one for the table and one loaf to share with a family to take home. In the past, I have been the one to give the bread to a family. This time I had my daughter take the bread over to the chosen family. Not only did she get to help make the bread, she got to participate in the hospitality of giving. The joy on her face at being included in such an important tradition reinforced to me the importance of finding a role for even the youngest at Christ’s table.

                  So now I have a new first Saturday of the month tradition, baking communion bread with my daughter. She has a new role at the table, delivering hospitality. And as we continue in this tradition, I cannot think of a better or more hospitable way to teach my daughter about communion and its meaning.

The Ordinary & the Sacred...One in the Same

Chaplains talk, live and breathe ‘ministry of presence.’ It’s the idea that we are present in the moment with someone in their need, put all of our own stuff aside and focus on right now. It’s the idea that walking with someone, even for a moment in their journey, is sacred time. And I believe that, I truly do. And, it’s not always easy because I live in the real world—where my time and what happens in it is not truly within my control. My ideal is to ‘be present’ wherever and whenever I am needed and this includes the ‘working me’ as well as the ‘home me.’

Here’s the reality: I work full time, I’m a wife and I’m a mother to three kids. It’s usually go-go-go and some days there is simply not enough of me to go around. And on those days I don’t really like how that feels. I want to be present with my patients and families who need that presence, and then I want to be present at home too…not as a chaplain, but as the wife and mom I’d like to think I am. Sometimes, it works great…and sometimes not so much. 

This past week was a ‘not so much.’ I was a little ill.  Not life threatening, turn my world upside down, everything around me changes forever, make my heart skip a beat it’s so awful kind of sick. Rather, run of the mill, crummy, miss a few days of work, lay around in my pj’s and feel sorry for myself kind of sick. It wasn’t very much fun, obviously, because it’s never fun to be sick. Not the end of the world, but certainly not how I would choose to spend my time. 

Instead of being at work during the day—where I felt I belonged—I had to take a deep breath, remember that being sick was beyond my control and stay home.  And, instead of our crazy and regular tag team routine each night—dinner, homework, playtime, kiddos bedtime snuggles, cuddles and giggles…it was “Dad gets to everything for everyone because it’s seven o’clock and Mom’s already in bed.” (‘drooling and snoring’ as my husband likes kindly say). Not so much the kind of wife, mom or chaplain I want to be.  And there was not a thing I could do about it.  It was frustrating to say the least.

Then, last night, Grace.  Beautiful, wonderful, Grace. The kind of moment where the sacred and the ordinary rub thin, where there’s no room between the two.  That moment in my house was sitting alongside my thirteen year old as he read a bedtime story to his two year old sister and six year old brother. Ordinary. Sacred. There was no difference because they were one and the same.  And it brought tears to my eyes (which I held back because the thirteen year old would be HORRIFIED!)

In that moment I remembered it’s okay that I’m not always the kind of mom or wife or chaplain I envision for myself. It’s okay to not be perfect.  Really.  It’s okay that I can’t do everything all of the time. Really. It’s okay that we’re raising kids who, at the end of the day (sometimes), snuggle up and show that they do love each other after all.  Holy Ground…through a simple bedtime story…and a big lesson for mom.