World Food Day

World Food Day

Originally posted on The Iliff School of Theology’s Blog

“…the decision to attend to the health of one’s habitat and food chain is a spiritual choice.”
–Barbara Kingsolver, The Essential Agrarian Reader

As a person of faith, I trust in the presence of divine possibility within each collision of institutional crisis and societal need. While the decline of organized religion in the midst of an overwhelming need for global advocacy for peace and justice can easily be seen as a double negative, I chose to experience their sum as a serendipitous pre-dug hole awaiting the arrival of hands prepared to plant new seeds. If the mission of the church is some version of creating disciples for the transformation of the world then shouldn’t it be the visibility and vocalization of societal injustices that functions as the template for the shape of the church in each moment?

Rev Stephanie Price at the Land blog pic

The Land is a seed planted at the corner of “Empty Pew Place” and “Feed My Sheep Street.” The Land is not a traditional church. It’s quite literally a field covered with wildflowers and prairie grasses. You can breathe out there and if you’re not careful the sky will reach down and swallow you up while the breeze blows sharp against your skin making you feel as if you could fly. At The Land you might find yourself warmly welcomed by cows grazing or warned off by the cautioning rattle of a snake guarding her babies. No matter the temperature or the company that day, at The Land if you look with the eyes of your heart you will notice that just beneath the surface of the cracked soil are seedlings of a vision for a faith community wrestling to pop up and surprise all of us as if to say, “God is here!”

Given the spiritual location of our faith community, it’s understandable we plan to gather at the empty field we call The Land to commemorate World Food Day. World Food Day is a day of action against hunger. The Land is an invitation to plant, harvest, and share fresh, local produce at a table that welcomes all. At The Land, World Food Day serves as a strategic gathering in the barren field to amend the soil, plant the seeds, and collectively labor to understand “for what do we labor?” As Christians in particular The Land creates space to prayerfully consider how we labor not only as citizens of the world but also as Disciples of Christ.

World Food Day is a reminder of the urgency of our labor in the presence of a barren global, field. A field where there is enough food for each person in the world to have 2,700 kilo calories a day and yet 805 million people, one in nine worldwide, live with chronic hunger. This is a field in which every ten seconds a child dies because invisible borders prevent food from making it into their grasping hands. At The Land we approach the unequal access to nutritious foods not simply as a political, ecological problem but as a spiritual conversation requiring individual and communal transformation. In community, in prayer and practice, we religiously labor for a global food system that empowers local farmers and engages the environment as a limited and valuable resource.

The vision of The Land faith community is to explore what it looks like to live as a disciple in the 21st century as we connect to our Creator and all of Creation. Integrating spiritual ritual and agricultural practice, The Land is a training ground to transform the everyday rituals of growing food, sharing meals, and tending the earth into acts of worship. One day this empty field filled with prairie grass and possibility will grow an edible labyrinth, spout an outdoor amphitheater and harvest a cathedral greenhouse. The Land’s seedlings are little, sometimes hidden, and often invisible to eyes that aren’t sure what the Church looks like anymore but we gather because we believe. We believe issues of hunger are spiritual conversations and that just as this field will grow into a faith community so too can our world transform into a place where all can reach the table and be filled with abundant blessing we call enough.

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All Kinds of Hungry

All Kinds of Hungry

“When it was time, he sat down, all the apostles with him, and said, “You’ve no idea how much I have looked forward to eating this Passover meal with you before I enter my time of suffering. It’s the last one I’ll eat until we all eat it together in the kingdom of God.” Taking the cup, he blessed it, then said, “Take this and pass it among you. As for me, I’ll not drink wine again until the kingdom of God arrives.” Taking bread, he blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, given for you. Eat it in my memory.” He did the same with the cup after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant written in my blood, blood poured out for you.”

–Luke 22: 14-16, The Message,

I grew up in an “open-the-box-insert-into-microwave” kind of house. Two parents that worked full time plus two kiddo’s that exemplified the American extracurricular nightlife meant that meal time comprised anything fast, portable, and consequently void of nutritional and spiritual sustenance. In spite of this subtle retrospective critique on the kitchen practices of my family of origin, I should share that as a teen I reveled in the lifestyle. No meal time meant I didn’t have to slow down for the inconvenience of community. A kitchen stocked with easy to grab processed foods meant Nutty Bar after school communion with neighborhood kids before heading out to the soccer field. My youth was ritualized by the fullness of high caloric food and the emptiness of an extra serving of busyness.

all kinds of hungry

In college, however, the reality of being both physically full and spiritually starving culminated into chronic depression and a search for a fullness I had yet to experience. I felt heavy, weak, and perpetually lost. For me, the journey through the emotional labyrinth called ‘college’ led me straight to seminary and a financially costly education in all things theological. It felt like I was doing everything “right” and still so much felt innately wrong. I got married, graduated seminary, had a child, and began my pastoral career and still searched for something to fill me in a way I had yet to know.

I hoped very much, as perhaps many of you have, that church would fill me up. It might just be the leadership role I have been blessed with or the reality of what church has become, but more often than not church leaves me with a Nutty Bar hangover as opposed to the fullness of the slow roast family dinner I craved as a young adult. In “To Garden with God” author Christine Sine hypothesizes that “one of the reasons people are moving away from Christianity at time-warp speed is that we have divorced our faith from the rhythms and practices of the natural world.” If it is the quiet work of the summer garden, the deep flavors of a slow roasted meal, and the rising smell of expanding bread that people are seeking, the Sunday morning worship experience can be received as a quick trip Elitches on a 100 degree day. As a pastor I see people wander in and out of the sanctuary the same way my friends wandered in and out of my kitchen when I was a teenager. They may partake in what I serve but will go home to fill their souls up. Or, like me, they will wander seeking that place others call home where their souls and bodies receive the fullness they have always hungered for.

Shouldn’t the church be that place? The place where food slowly grows in the deep, dark soil? The place where the harvest awaits a community of eager, soft hands? The place where the table is set and the chair anticipate the arrival of a perpetual One More? For eight years these questions stewed in my soul until slowly the answer began to grow within me; If feeding my body had required relearning how to cook shouldn’t feeding my soul require relearning how to worship? The Land is a vision of a faith community that attempts to do just that; relearn worship as the way in which we live our lives opposed to an obligation we fulfill once a week. This relearning to worship is not meant as invalidation of the experience of persons who are filled by traditional forms of worship services. This relearning is meant to offer an alternative; a sacred gathering place that integrates agricultural practice and spiritual ritual for those who, like me, crave the sight of the sky and the smell of the soil as the context for their spiritual growth. Although today the physical site of our Aurora faith community is 9.7 acres of overgrown weeds where cows lazily graze, eighteen short months from now it will evolve into an experimental site for spiritual growth with an edible labyrinth, a greenhouse cathedral, an outdoor amphitheater, and a long table with wooden chairs, set, ready and waiting for the emotionally heavy and the spiritually hungry.

The message of The Land is that you Beloved Child of God were created to be filled; spiritually, emotionally, physically. It is okay to listen to your soul growl and decide you need to partake in a new spiritual menu. It has taken me a long time to embrace this truth; God is calling me to participate in a new thing. I believe that similar to the ways in which we care for our bodies, feeding our souls isn’t cured by stuffing ourselves with more, but by having access to the enough of the right type of nutrition. The Land is as much about physical nutrition as it is spiritual, and if you are hungry, heavy, and lost I want you to know The Land is a safe place to graze, to wander, and to awaken the hunger within.

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Open Box Insert Into Microwave

Open Box Insert Into Microwave

I grew up in an “open-the-box-insert-into-microwave” kind of house. Two parents that worked full time plus two kiddos that exemplified the American extracurricular nightlife meant that meal time comprised anything fast, portable, and consequently void of nutritional and spiritual sustenance. In spite of this subtle retrospective critique on the kitchen practices of my family of origin, I should share that as a teen I reveled in the lifestyle. No meal time meant I didn’t have to slow down for the inconvenience of community. A kitchen stocked with easy to grab processed foods meant Nutty Bar after school communion with neighborhood kids before heading out to the soccer field. My youth was ritualized by the fullness of high caloric food and the emptiness of an extra serving of busyness.
In college, however, the reality of being both physically full and spiritually starving culminated into chronic depression and a search for a fullness I had yet to experience. I felt heavy, weak, and perpetually lost. For me, the journey through the emotional labyrinth called ‘college’ led me straight to seminary and a financially costly education in all things theological. It felt like I was doing everything “right” and still so much felt innately wrong. I got married, graduated seminary, had a child, and began my pastoral career and still searched for something to fill me in a way I had yet to know.

microwave

I hoped very much, as perhaps many of you have, that church would fill me up. It might just be the leadership role I have been blessed with or the reality of what church has become, but more often than not church leaves me with a Nutty Bar hangover as opposed to the fullness of the slow roast family dinner I craved as a young adult. In To Garden with God, author Christine Sine hypothesizes that “one of the reasons people are moving away from Christianity at time-warp speed is that we have divorced our faith from the rhythms and practices of the natural world.” If it is the quiet work of the summer garden, the deep flavors of a slow roasted meal, and the rising smell of expanding bread that people are seeking, the Sunday morning worship experience can be received as a quick trip to Elitches on a 100 degree day. As a pastor I see people wander in and out of the sanctuary the same way my friends wandered in and out of my kitchen when I was a teenager. They may partake in what I serve but will go home to fill their souls up. Or, like me, they will wander seeking that place others call home where their souls and bodies receive the fullness they have always hungered for.

Shouldn’t the church be that place? The place where food slowly grows in the deep, dark soil? The place where the harvest awaits a community of eager, soft hands? The place where the table is set and the chair anticipate the arrival of a perpetual One More? For eight years these questions stewed in my soul until slowly the answer began to grow within me; If feeding my body had required relearning how to cook shouldn’t feeding my soul require relearning how to worship? The Land is a vision of a faith community that attempts to do just that; relearn worship as the way in which we live our lives opposed to an obligation we fulfill once a week. This relearning to worship is not meant as invalidation of the experience of persons who are filled by traditional forms of worship services. This relearning is meant to offer an alternative; a sacred gathering place that integrates agricultural practice and spiritual ritual for those who, like me, crave the sight of the sky and the smell of the soil as the context for their spiritual growth. Although today the physical site of our Aurora faith community is 9.7 acres of overgrown weeds where cows lazily graze, eighteen short months from now it will evolve into an experimental site for spiritual growth with an edible labyrinth, a greenhouse cathedral, an outdoor amphitheater, and a long table with wooden chairs, set, ready and waiting for the emotionally heavy and the spiritually hungry.

The message of The Land is that you Beloved Child of God were created to be filled; spiritually, emotionally, physically. It is okay to listen to your soul growl and decide you need to partake in a new spiritual menu. It has taken me a long time to embrace this truth; God is calling me to participate in a new thing. I believe that similar to the ways in which we care for our bodies, feeding our souls isn’t cured by stuffing ourselves with more, but by having access to the enough of the right type of nutrition. The Land is as much about physical nutrition as it is spiritual, and if you are hungry, heavy, and lost I want you to know The Land is a safe place to graze, to wander, and to awaken the hunger within.

This article was originally published on the blog Salt and Story: a kitchen journal created and maintained by Gwen Spaulding-Barclay, a writer and a home cook and a passionate reader and eater.

Thank you, Gwen, for inviting me to write this piece for your blog. – Stephanie

Open Box Insert Into Microwave

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Mission Moment: The Land

Mission Moment: The Land

When my sister told my dad she was pregnant, she made sure I was there. I don’t know what type of protection she imagined I would offer her but seeing as I was equally afraid for her life I decided accompanying her was the compassionate thing to do. My sister was in her early 20s. She wasn’t married. Hadn’t finished college. We all know these things happen but that night, sitting around the neatly set table, the sun setting gently behind us, my dad realized they happen to our family too.

steph with fam

This morning, standing before all of you, the fate of my sister that quiet evening feels quite real. See…. “I’m having a church.”
This wasn’t the plan, of course. I imagined myself settled down as the solo pastor of a quiet mountain town church by now. I would live in the parsonage, do story time at the local library, and go hiking on my lunch hour. That was my plan. Except, something happened. No one told me I needed to protect my plan. A few days ago, a friend sent me a Bonhoeffer quote that read ‘we must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God.” I wish someone would have told me this two years ago. I would have ignored Dick Hanson when he regularly sought my advice regarding the 9.5 acres of land the Conference purchased 20 years ago under the leadership of Rev. Margaret Hankins in Southeast Aurora. “I don’t know, Dick…” I would have said.

I wish someone would have warned me that there are people, young people, unchurched people, out in our community that are desperate to believe; to believe in a new beginning, a sacred space, a welcoming community. I would have kept my mouth shut. But I didn’t. We gathered together and I as the dreamer found over time that to others these were not dreams at all, but plans. And now here I am, hands shaking, eyes tearing up, telling you that I am unexpectedly expecting the birth of something completely unpredictable; a new faith community.
I don’t know what the right way to birth a new faith community should be but I’m not sure anyone does anymore. From 1945 to 2001 more than 60 churches were started in what is now the Rocky Mountain Conference of the United Methodist Church. That averages out to one church a year. In the last 13 years, however, our Conference has started only two new faith communities. In our three state conference, over the past 13 years, the average of churches we used to start each year has become the number of churches we close each year. No wonder our plans are concrete, our visions so scarce…we, whether we are aware of it or not, are preparing for retirement not pregnancy.

My dad wasn’t excited about my sister’s little dinner announcement not because he was worried about public appearance or neighborhood rumors but because he loved her and wanted the best for her life. As a man thrust into parenthood with no college degree in his early twenties, my dad knew more than any of us at that table how hard her life was going to be as a single mom. He was not angry with her, he was afraid for her. He wanted something for her, he had not had, an easier way.

stephanie-price

JK Rowling writes that soon we will all have to choose between what is easy and what is right. Will we retire or will we give birth? The hardest thing for us, as people of faith, is trusting that the unexpected, the unplanned, is the best for our lives not because it will be easy but because it will give birth to new life in all of us. With the support of the Rocky Mountain Conference, Pastor Don Bird, and Hope’s Administrative Council, over the next six months I will be inviting Hope Church to hear the story of this seed of a church we have come to know as The Land….and if you fall in love, as I have, with all that may become, perhaps we will find ourselves holding hands in the great sanctuary of labor and delivery in a field filled with cows in southeast Aurora.

If you would like to learn more about the mission, vision, and possibility for Hope UMC in the role of this new faith community’s development I invite you to learn more about by visiting the link below and registering for one of the upcoming informational sessions:

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Apple Tree UMC

Apple Tree UMC

Apple Tree UMC

About a month into Confirmation class I decided that the absolute BEST gift I could give my eight kiddo’s would be an apple tree. appletree

Exactly.

So, anyway, I wanted to buy them each an apple tree that would be planted along the outer wall of the memorial garden. I loved the symbolism of the memories of our saints sheltered from the piercing of the sun by the growth of those whose lives contain the future fruit of our faith. I loved the symbolic presence of a promise that in this very soil our youth are free to grow fruit, free to dig roots. I imagined the presence of the tree speaking to the youth no matter where they might wander, no matter how lost they may become.
One day, I thought, they will drive by this church and they will see the apple tree and know they belong.

One day, I thought, they will bring their children back to the apple tree and tell them the story of our faith in the harvest of the apples and the pruning of the branches.
This, of course, is never going to happen. We will not be planting apple trees anytime soon. About two seconds into my “I-should-plant-apple-trees-for-them!” epiphany the two sides of my brain experienced an irreconcilable difference and decided to split off into two directions. One side is still busy drafting the Life Time Original Movie outlined above. The other is rapidly chasing after the first with a metal bat, listing off the overwhelming obstacles involved in the pragmatic side of planting an apple tree in an institution.
Spoiler Alert: the idea side will be beaten to death by the pragmatic side and here’s why:
I’ve been in ministry for seven years and I can say with confidence this would never be approved. And, even if it were to get approved because Jesus showed up at Ad Council with a stone tablet proposal signed by God, I estimate it taking until my Confirmand’s grandchildren were being Confirmed to actually happen. This isn’t any one person’s fault. It really isn’t even the systems fault. Fruit freaks us all out.

And there are legitimate issues surrounding the planting of an apple tree. For starters, planting and caring for an apple tree isn’t cheap. It’s a commitment that requires a financial investment and I can tell you right now there isn’t a budget line item for apple trees. Secondly, apple trees are permanent structures that need to be cared for … for forever. This is not an easy endeavor. To be fruitful, apple trees need to be pruned in a manner that ensures a person can easily harvest the fruit. In the beginning, they need ties and extra protection from the elements. Their buds need to be treated with oil to protect them from being raided by bugs and bacteria. They need rain and sun and even if a strategic plan was effectively drafted regarding the long term care of the apple trees the reality is they would still make a mess. If everything went ‘right’ there would be apples all over. There would be roots popping up in the lawn. And the first time a root breaks a sprinkler line or apples litter the memorial garden I can predict it would be the apple trees being memorialized.

Logically, there is zero doubt that planting the apple trees is a nightmare waiting to happen. After bludgeoning the apple tree idea to death in my mind, I feel like the second best thing that could happen is they are planted only to slowly wilt away. The best thing, of course, would be to not experience the pain and risk of the planting at all. It’s not like there aren’t other options of gifts they could be given; framed letters, signed books, necklaces or bracelets….you know, dead things. Safe things. Things that require a one-time payment, things we can control, things suited for memory chests and musty attics.

That’s the part where I can’t let go… if I am honest, there just isn’t anything better to give the Confirmands as gifts.

martinIn Michael Pollan’s book, “A Gardner’s Education,” he writes that planting trees is a complicated act.” “Tree planting,” he says, “is always a utopian enterprise….We wager on a future the planter doesn’t necessarily expect to witness.”

It seems like the planting of an apple tree is just the wager we owe them. The commitment to offer up this soil that they too might have space to grow and bear fruit. In this context, any other gift, for me, becomes the symbol of a false promise on our end because planting apple trees is exactly what the church is doing when youth are confirmed into the church… wagering on a future we don’t necessarily expect to witness.

These kiddos are my apple trees, OUR apple trees, and the hope should be that they blossom and bloom and shoot apples all over this place because if everything goes ‘right’, they are going to take everything they have learned and make a beautiful mess of this institution.

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