mother's milk

Being a new dad, I can't avoid breastfeeding. I've learned more about the topic than I ever thought I would - a proper latch, clogged ducts, foremilk, hindmilk, you name it. Breastfeeding is a regular part of Suzy and the baby's daily schedules - and a part of all three of our nightly schedules - and Suzy has nursed our baby just about everywhere. She's tried to avoid having to breastfeed in Target (it seems they don't take to kindly to it)...

...but she has never nursed on the cover of TIME magazine.

Jamie Lynn Grumet and her 3-year-old son
May 21, 2012, vol. 179, no. 20

There's been quite a hubbub about this cover and the related story on attachment parenting. Pundits, bloggers, and comedians have jumped all over it, including SNL's Weekend Update. You can read about the sketch and watch the video clip here.

But no matter who is doing the talking, people are voicing their opinions. And they're not pulling any punches. 

The Christian Science Monitor asked, Did TIME sexualize breastfeeding with its cover?

This morning, an older gentleman asked Suzy if she had seen the cover, commenting that "it's inappropriate" and that TIME shouldn't have put something like that on the cover because "it's a choice" (to breastfeed? to watch someone breastfeed? i don't know...).

I realize (a) I'm a man, (b) I've never breastfed, and (c) I have nothing to gain from jumping into this discussion...

...but I will anyway, because ignorance and apathy have never stopped me before.

International symbol for breastfeeding

To me, it seems like most of these commentators are just (...wait for it...) "milking it." They are jumping all over this magazine cover because they know that it will increase their readership/viewership, the same way TIME knew that putting a model-esque 26-year-old blond breastfeeding her 3-year-old would sell magazines. 

TIME magazine cover
Third full moon, 2012 B.C., vol. 1, no. 1

And while I definitely have an opinion on breastfeeding, I would never tell someone else whether or not to breastfeed their child, and definitely not how/where/when to do it. If I've learned nothing else in my very short time as a parent, I am convinced that each mother has to do what is best for her baby and herself. If that means nursing the kid until he's 4, fine. If that means not breastfeeding at all, fine. But I know that breastfeeding is what is best for our family, and for that - like Jamie Lynn Grumet - I will not apologize.

So here's my reflection that has come out of all of this:

In a way, breastfeeding is our first communion. We are nurtured in a relationship with One who loves us through nourishment. By consuming life-giving food, we commune with the One who first gave us life. 

"A mother can give her child milk to suck, but our precious mother, Jesus, can feed us with himself. He does so most courteously and most tenderly, with the Blessed Sacrament, which is the precious food of true life. With all the sweet sacraments he sustains us most mercifully and graciously." - Julian of Norwich

Thanks to all the moms who offer the sacrament of mother's milk, the precious food of true life; all the mothers who, breastfeeding or not, care for their children mercifully and graciously...especially our Heavenly Father, who loves us like a mother.

Happy Mother's Day!

day thirty-eight: daily bread

The bag reads, "Handcrafted every day!"

Our organic grape juice and locally-made artisan bread for communion
(And I realize how pretentious that sounds. There's just no other way to say it.)

It is (quite literally) "daily bread" (Matt 6:11). And this day - Maundy Thursday in the Christian calendar, when Jesus shared his Last Supper with his disciples - it is his body, broken.

Suzy and I were planning on making bread for our church's Maundy Thursday communion service, but when she woke up sick, that plan went out the window. Instead, her mom picked us up two loaves of whole wheat Great Harvest Bread Company, a local business that makes fresh bread every day.

Talk about ordinary communion.
Pre-service, it sits in the staff kitchenette next to the coffeepot, sodas, and sugar packets.

I can't say that this benefitted anyone greatly. In fact, other than the staff of the church, I don't even think anyone knew that Suzy and I provided the elements and that they were fresh, organic, and locally-made.

I rarely (if ever) think about how what I eat impacts someone else. It's me eating it, right? It only really affects me...right?

But how does my buying a sourdough loaf from Publix affect some worker in a factory somewhere that packages that bread? Or if I buy Ocean Spray grape juice cocktail, what does that do to small-business grape farmers who aren't owned by the Ocean Spray corporation?

I know it sounds like a bit of a stretch, but it's true. In many ways what I buy to eat impacts those who sell the food, produce it, and grow it. What I buy to eat even impacts the environment. How foods are grown/produced can be ecologically harmful (i.e. pesticides, growth hormones, greenhouse gas emissions from livestock, etc.) or helpful (i.e. sustainable agriculture).

So as we shared in communion tonight, I thought about everything that went into this bread. There were bakers who made the dough and baked it. There were farmers who cultivated and harvested the wheat. The soil in which the crop grew had to be rich in nutrients. The rain had to fall on the fields, not in excess but not too little, either. The sun had to shine on the young wheat plant, giving its energy for photosynthesis.

Tonight, as we partook of a simple meal - an ordinary communion - I gave thanks for all of these, and for the goodness of God's creation that offers such riches to us.*

The words we so often just gloss over meant a little more today...
"Then he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them..." (Luke 22:19).

Gratitude and giving, thankfulness and sharing. When we are grateful for the bread we have been given for today, it is easier to share it with others. That's what we do at the Lord's Supper: we give thanks, and we share.

And maybe one day, if we all share our "daily bread" with one another, no one will need to worry about where tomorrow's bread will come from.

*These thoughts came from my reading today of Brian McLaren's Naked Spirituality, chs. 6 and 7.

second sunday in lent

This is my body, broken...

We speak these words around the table as the family of God - breaking bread together, sharing communion with one another and with our Creator, remembering the Crucified One who suffered (and suffers) from us, for us, and with us.

We celebrated the Lord's Supper last Sunday, gathering to pray around the common table; to partake of bread and wine (grape juice, actually...we are Baptist, after all); to reaffirm our shared calling to be disciples of Christ - healing the sick, comforting the afflicted, freeing the captive, serving the poor - even if it leads to the suffering of the cross.

And although we are in this season of Lent, with its self-denial and cross-bearing and reflective mood, there was an air of excitement and passion as we renewed our commitment to be followers of Jesus, wherever that may take us.

That was Sunday morning.

This is my body, broken...

I found out late that night that an older church member had fallen down the stairs in her home on Saturday night and lay there until Sunday morning. She was badly injured - multiple broken bones, massive bruising and bleeding, head trauma - and was on a respirator in ICU, and they didn't know if she would make it.

I went over first thing on Monday morning and had a chance to see her. She looked like she had been savagely beaten. She didn't even look like herself. This person who had always been so graceful and refined, was now reduced to the raw, battered shell of the woman she once was.

I spoke to her quietly for fear that even a loud voice would cause her more pain, and as I did, one eye fluttered open and the smallest tear slowly formed at its corner. As the tears welled in my own eyes, I prayed with her family members and we stood around her bed.

That was Monday morning.

This is my body, broken...

How often do we say, think, or hear these words without a second thought? How often have I stood over a communion table, bread in hand, speaking these words but not understanding what they mean?

This idea of a body, broken is not as neat and tidy as we make it sound in our prayers or rituals. It's fairly easy to speak these words and say a prayer over the broken body of Christ on a communion table, because they can remain hollow and empty in their rote repetition as they dissipate into the air.

It is much more difficult to pray over a broken body on a hospital bed. The words fall flat on the floor, heavy with the gravity of the moment, and there's no way to make that prayer sound pretty and polished...we probably shouldn't even try to.

How do we recognize brokenness even as we celebrate communion? How can we find communion and wholeness in the midst of pain and brokenness?

I don't know. But I did, right there in the ICU, standing over a body, broken...

Note: This lady passed away early Thursday morning, and the funeral is being held today. Prayer for her family are greatly appreciated.

ordinary::communion

I’m sure you’re wondering about the title of this blog, especially since these two words—thrown together—seem to be a contradiction in terms. In fact, the title itself came out of a dinner conversation with my wife on our first date night since the baby was born.

I ran my idea for the blog by her, and we immediately started brainstorming names. We came up with “Breaking Bread,” “Table Theology,” and other alliterative titles (always a good start), a few cheesy ones, and a couple that were flat out ridiculous. My wife suggested “Wine and Jesus” (like “wine and cheeses”…I know...I didn’t get it either).

But then it came to us – these two words that seem unrelated but, taken together, capture my intentions for this blog.

or·di·nar·y [awr-dn-er-ee]

adjective

1.     of no special quality or interest; commonplace; unexceptional

2.     plain or undistinguished

3.     somewhat inferior or below average; mediocre

4.     customary; usual; normal

com·mun·ion [kuh-myoon-yuhn]

            noun

1.     the Eucharistic elements, the act of receiving Eucharistic elements, or the celebration of the act of receiving the Eucharistic elements

2.     a group of persons having a common religious faith

3.     association; fellowship

4.     interchange or sharing of thoughts or emotions; intimate communication

5.     the act of sharing, or holding in common; participation

That’s what I’m shooting for: commonplace, customary, everyday ways of experiencing faith and fellowship, sharing and participating in one another’s lives.

And at a closer look, even the words are related:

Ordinary = common -> community -> communion

Communion is always ordinary. At the most basic level, it’s just a meal, just food.

But a meal, at its highest level, is more than just food.

All communion is ordinary. Even ordinary meals are communion.

Both are a sacrament: a visible sign of an invisible grace, an unexplainable presence found in basic elements of life, a faith made real through food.

What have been your experiences with "ordinary communion"? Has a common meal ever seemed like something more (sacramental, holy, etc.)?