On weeks such as this one, I wonder about this little writing project of mine. Cookies? Really?
But while cookies (or, rather, food in general) are the surface feature of what I'm working out here, the underpinnings are at the same time far more complex and far simpler.
Human beings suffer and die. Innocent. Guilty. Beloved. Forgotten. Reviled.
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On Thursday, as a culminating class event, we hosted a round-table discussion of leaders in our community who are committed to combatting hunger in many and various ways. We were confronted with staggering statistics--many about children--and an overwhelming sense of need. Along with that also came an overwhelming fear, confusion, and grief about what to do in the face of such need. And along with that came the excitement in sharing community, passion, and purpose with others who are joyfully doing God's work in feeding the hungry.
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On Friday, we ended the class officially with a simple soup and bread lunch, wrestling with what we had heard the night before. I overheard one student say, "This was the best meal I've had in months." I'm sure it wasn't, but I think the fact that two teachers would make homemade soup and homemade cookies for college students just before finals week changed the ordinariness of the offering into something special.
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Today I made peppermint bark and cardamom toast, preparing to send Christmas packages on Monday. Trying to send a bit of ourselves to those beloved far away who are suffering and rejoicing in their own ways.
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The Third Sunday of Advent is celebrated as Gaudete Sunday, when we are called in the midst of the solemn season to rejoice. The joy we are called to is not the joy of the revelation of Christmas but is the anticipation. This is the joy we are called to in the midst of the darkest time. This is the joy of the very-nearly-but-not-yet. This is the joy of the hope of both Christ's first coming and his second.
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As complicated as my feelings are about being called together to rejoice in this moment, somehow the summons is fitting. Joy doesn't wait around for us to find circumstances fitted to it. Joy doesn't expect that the evils of the world will cease in order for it to be marked. Joy cannot wait--even until the end of Advent--for us to make the world a safe place for all of God's children. The joy is in our hope in God's redemption that comes precisely because of all that is wrong with the world. The joy is in the promise of God With Us, precisely at the world's darkest moment.
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As I write this, again I wonder how simple it all sounds and how impossible it all is. Cookies? They're not enough. Never. And I would be the last person to suggest that somehow I could take the restoration of the world into my own buttered hands. But this project pulls me back to joy in the ways I might be able to recognize it in my own life and bring it, bite by bite, into others'. That this joy takes tangible form is my witness to the incarnation, to God With Us. Washing. Eating. Drinking. Living with one another in hope only because the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
Rejoice.
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Sausage, Potato, and Kale Soup
(the students scraped the crock pot clean)
1 lb. Bulk Turkey Italian Sausage, browned
1/2 sweet onion, diced and sauteed
2 cloves of garlic, minced and sauteed
6 C. chicken broth (or Better than Bullion and water)
1 1/2-2 lbs. potatoes, diced (I used Baby Yukon Golds this week, but any potato will do)
4 large leaves of kale, stems removed and chopped
1 tsp. dried basil
1 tsp. fennel seed, crushed
Simmer all together until the potatoes are tender. Add 4 oz. light cream cheese and stir until dissolved. Add salt and pepper to taste.
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