If you have found honey, eat only enough for you. - Proverbs 25:16

Somewhere along our journey of life, we all have picked up lessons and habits about food - ideas - whether conscious or not - that we carry around and act out on a daily basis (and if we have children, then we have in all likelihood passed these notions on to them). Where we get these lessons and habits is not always clear. I was reminded of this when watching the movie "The Big Night," a wonderful movie about a small New Jersey Italian restaurant whose chef refuses to compromise on the way he prepares and serves his food - even if it means the business going under. In one scene, Chef Primo has nearly completed preparation of a meal when he decides to test it out on Ann. Raising food to her mouth he tells her: "Now taste. Taste it." And she does and responds in a wonderfully seduced tone of voice: "Oh my God ... Oh my God." "You like?" the chef asks. All Ann can say is: "Oh my god!" "'Oh my God' is right," Chef Primo says, "See? Now you know - to eat good food is to be close to God."

Could Chef Primo be right? This certainly would be old news to many a family where the generations-tested ethic has been one of strengthening the relationship between piety and food: high on the list for an 11^th commandment would be something about food preparation and consumption with love of God. I read about a Benedictine monk who said, "If you want a quick way to see how people relate to God, watch the way they eat." (Altman, 7) Karen and I had a friend in seminary who was a Benedictine monk and gourmet chef. When he received his orders for relocation to Peru, he chose to say good-bye with a farewell gift for his friends: an eight-course meal, including three French wines. He spent a week preparing the feast. We all lived on the same dormitory floor. He used our community kitchen so that throughout the afternoons we would stop by to see how preparations were coming. With a glass of wine on the table, singing to himself, relaxed and jovial, it was an experience to watch him. He approached it all with a ritual-like order and precision that suggested the liturgical. In fact for him, it was a religious event: it was far more than just a way to satisfy some friends' hunger. There were moments when he, like Chef Primo, might have said: "To eat good food is to know God," not only because of the food itself, but because of everything - everything - that went into the food, into the meal

Houston Smith speaks about and reminds us of this "everything" when he suggests that the paths to the top of the mountain are many, but eventually they all converge at the same place - the peak (which symbolizes spiritual enlightenment or at-onement). Prior to getting to the top, every path includes twists, turns, detours and details unlike the others yet they each share the fact that it's never a straight path to the top. One of the similar differences the world's spiritual journeys share is food - because spirituality and religion are unique to humankind and because we all must eat, there is bound to be overlapping at some points.

There are at least three attitudes regarding food that can be found, in some form, in the major religious traditions:

First is an attitude of asceticism, which is the way of the minimalist. Fasting is the best example of this attitude and the spiritual path that comes to my mind that has this practice as integral to their way is Jainism, an Asian tradition many believe to be one of the oldest in the world. As you might expect, their diet is next to nothing - extreme vegetarianism. But as I said, versions of asceticism can be found in all religions.

Next is a pragmatic attitude. Eating, for the pragmatist, is merely about survival - little attention is given to what or how much is eaten, only as it effects one's ability to survive. And pleasure isn't an issue either. The Puritans were followers of the pragmatic attitude. No pleasure from their food - or at least, so they said! (Of course I'm reminded of the definition of Puritan: the fear that someone somewhere might be enjoying themselves). Will it enhance my ability to survive - that's the only issue for the pragmatist.

Finally is an attitude of acceptance with gratitude. Not as an ascetic or pragmatist, but acceptance with gratitude is how I think most of us would like to characterize our attitude about food. But this attitude requires something from us - yes, there are strings attached which is why I would guess that often times though we might say we want to show our gratitude we find it so difficult to do it, to have acceptance with gratitude. All of the world's major faith traditions have gifts of gratitude built into their way and each has lessons for us. Let me briefly share what I mean.

Indigenous traditions understand that their food, as they are, is from nature, a living nature. Consequently they have a level of intimacy and relationship with their environment that has long eluded us. I would suggest that when we reach the check out line at our grocer, we couldn't accurately say where half of our foodstuffs came from - how and where it was produced, how it was packaged, who packaged it. We are so detached from the process that most of us give it very little thought. Yet indigenous faith traditions form a tight bond between gratitude and appreciation for the environment that produces their food. There's an interdependency there that is vibrant in their faith.

Hinduism speaks about the importance of awareness and ignorance because a Hindu knows that you will only spiritually evolve when your ignorance is overcome by awareness that leads to right behavior. For example, perhaps a version of this sounds familiar to you:

For the Hindu, acceptance with gratitude means being aware and trying to overcome ignorance - only then can gratitude be fully accepted.

Overcoming these also play an important part in Buddhism and leads to the middle way, the way of moderation. Buddhism urges us to abandon extremes that might lead to disastrous results. Better to stay aware and mindful for when the middle way is abandoned, unintended sacrifices can result, sacrifices that could have lasting consequences, or as one source puts it: "Better a single moment of awakening in this world than eternity in the world to come." (56)

From Judaism and Christianity we learn about gratitude as it's embodied in community. For some, when they think about Jews and food the first thing that comes to mind is all the dietary laws that for us might seem restrictive. Judaism also has a tradition of mitzvah which is God's commandment to do good deeds. Sharing your food in a community meal is a mitzvah - inviting guests, showing hospitality, feeding the hungry are all mitzvah. Jesus, as a practicing Jew, embodied these qualities to such a point that one person suggested, "The two things that Jesus does in the Christian scriptures are to eat and heal." (69) For Jews and Christians, gratitude for food could be shown by sharing. Clearly this is the lesson from Proverbs 25: "If you have found honey, eat only enough for you." Mitzvah was sharing the rest. Also, this morning, Fran's lesson - the lesson from participation in the Guest At Your Table program - is Mitzvah. From Judaism and Christianity we learn acceptance with gratitude by sharing what we have with the community.

Finally, surrendering or submission is what we can learn about gratitude from Islam. These are elemental for a Muslim - the willingness to relinquish yourself to the unknown in the hope of new insight, stronger faith, greater acceptance, more gratitude. We don't lose ourselves in submission, but just to the contrary, we might learn more about ourselves, our insights and experience could deepen. Surrendering, for the Muslim, is a road to strengthening one's faith. For us, Donald Altman says,

If acceptance with gratitude is the posture with which we select, prepare and eat our food, then the insights we gather from these faith traditions can be of value. And as is often the case, I'm amazed with the kinds of themes that reoccur in them all. There are five lessons that stand out.

First is the lesson of stewardship. I was raised, as I suspect many of you were, on a biblical story that put men in charge of everything. I was taught it was God's wish and commandment that mankind should have dominion over all the earth to use as he wished. The creation story was held up as proof. Only much later did I come to understand that my faith tradition, as had many others, accepted a very narrow, disrupting and harmful interpretation of sacred scripture. Setting aside a strictly intellectual and analytical understanding, all we have to do is look at the mess mankind's dominion has created of our environmental home to appreciate our misreading and misunderstanding. Our air, water and soil have become toxic in ways that are unconscionable and intolerable, resulting in foodstuffs that are at the very least suspect. And this says nothing about the bio-genetic engineering that literally changes the chemistry of everything in the food production process. Do we really understand what we are eating? Is this our idea of stewardship? I think it's time we revisit the world's holy scriptures for a more complete understanding of how humankind is to live in and with nature.

Closely related to the lesson of stewardship is one of compassion, compassion for all living creatures. Except for an occasional article that makes its way into the paper or magazine - probably because of a slow news day or week - I think it would be fair to characterize many people's awareness of world meat production as "out of sight, out of mind." I have visited poultry and hog farms - I have relatives that are in the production of them all. Cattle farms don't differ too much. It's quite a sight and will call into question even the most unsympathetic understanding of compassion. And these were just the farms, not the processing.

But setting aside compassion for animals, the meat processing production in our nation calls into question other issues of compassion. For example, reconcile some of these facts:

• For every 16 pounds of grain and soy fed to beef cattle, we get 1 pound back in meat. The other 15 pounds are inaccessible to us.
• Livestock consume 10 times the grain that we eat directly and they outweigh the human population of our country four to one.
• For a pound of steak, 2500 gallons of water is used
• To produce a pound of steak, about 500 calories of food energy, it takes 20,000 calories of fossil fuels, mainly producing the crops to feed livestock.
• These same crops, mostly corn and soybeans, are the country's greatest contributors to topsoil erosion.
• To put this in perspective, the amount of grain fed annually to U.S. livestock, if cooked, is the equivalent of one cup of grain for every human being on earth every day for a year. (Lappe)

Given the kind of hunger that still exists not only in this country but throughout the world - not to say anything about the health consequences of eating beef - how we reconcile our meat-centered diets with compassion and stewardship is something we must all face.

In addition to these two lessons, a third one raised in the world's faith traditions is about awareness. As we become more aware of nature, of our relationship via the interdependent web of existence, as our awareness grows regarding food production and consumption - of compassion and stewardship - how can we make room for this awareness at every meal? This is done by means of ritual, of transforming the act of nourishment with a piece of ceremony of special significance. For example, I was struck with how all of the major faith traditions have a version of prayer or blessing before eating, whose purpose is to force us to pause - even if for a brief moment - to be aware, mindful, to express gratitude, to remember the interdependent web before rushing in, without thought, to satisfying our need. The food we receive is part of a much larger context that would serve us well to remember and connect with at least once a day.

A fourth lesson is that we each have a story about how and what we eat. Listen to this tale:

Our eating habits always tell a story, our diet is often a metaphor for something far greater than merely our desire to satisfy a need for food - often there is another hunger that must be met and consuming food (or things or people) is just symptomatic. What all the faith traditions of the world try to do is give us control over our hunger. Not doing away with it for a bit of hunger can be a good thing. So the world's faith traditions teach us ways to put it in a context, how to frame it, how to develop our selves (physically, emotionally and spiritually) and satisfy our hunger in ways that will help us grow stronger, that is toward wholeness and completeness.

Finally, taking these four lessons of stewardship, compassion, ritual and story, when they are all put together you arrive at the fifth lesson which is, you are what you eat. Diet is not merely a way of reducing weight through a particular regimen of food. Diet is a way of being in harmony with life. Nilton Bonder puts it this way: "To pounce on the banquet table [of life] as if we were starving will certainly make us fat - not just physically; but spiritually, mentally and emotionally as well. So we ought not to devour the banquet without savoring it; much to the contrary, we are meant to enjoy every nuance of taste, mixing cold and hot, sweet and sour, mild and piquant."

Only with an attitude of gratitude can we share in the real banquet that is before us, where we can constantly toast to life and for life saying - Le-chayyim!

(The sermon topic was selected by Bob Davis as a result of his purchase at this year's church auction.)

Sources used for this sermon included:
Donald Altman, Art of the Inner Meal: Eating as a Spiritual Path
Rabbi Nilton Bonder, The Kabbalah of Food
Thich Nhat Hanh, For a Future To Be Possible
Frances Moore Lappe, Diet for a Small Planet
John Robbins, Diet for a New America