Seasons Eatings

First of all, I must tell you that since discovering Cheddar Bunnies three weeks ago, my figure has become considerably more Rubenesque. Let's say that my Summer of Wellness could be more appropriately called Summer of Cheddar Bunnies at this point.

Hokay. More about food:

I'm going to have to say that the Evangelical Church has a disproportionate obsession with sexual purity, but I think I would feel a lot better about the all this if they were also obsessed with seasonal produce. If the Church advocates abstinence from sex until marriage, couldn't it also start advocating abstinence of a tomato until July, or clementines until December? Isn't the point of abstinence to delight in something at its proper time to do so? Shouldn't Evangelical leaders be equally concerned with their youth consuming cheap, flavorless apples in the spring--months before they ripen in North America--as they are with their youth making out at summer camp?

To bring out-of-season produce to our supermarkets in the U.S., fruits and vegetables are grown the cheapest possible way--meaning agriculture workers in developing countries are underpaid and overworked--then are shipped, flown, driven hundreds to thousands of miles, using tons and tons of fuel. Tons! Naturally, the produce comes to us bruised, brown, frozen, and, at the very least, covered in pesticides.

Whereas if we could stand to wait a couple more months for peaches, they could come to us from a real-live farmer, whose crop is well worth the wait when the fruit becomes heavy with its own decadent juices--the perfect summer treat, completely unnecessary in February.

My Italian professor was this terrifying nun from Rome who used to shout with shocking severity, "Oranges come in winter because we get sick in the winter! We do not get sick in the summer! We do not need oranges in summer!"

Essentially what I'm saying is, if you're going to wait til marriage for sex, does it not also make sense to wait til October for a Red Delicious--when it's actually delicious? I usually try not to speak for God, but I will say this: God made apples grow in fall. Apples are reserved exclusively for fall.

How much would I LOVE for Evangelicals to become known for their unshaking stance on seasonal eating? Oh my gosh I would LOVE, more than just about anything, for Joshua Harris to write a book called I Kissed Mangos Goodbye, which would chronicle his spiritual journey in resisting out-of-season produce. Yes. He would write a list, and stick it on his refrigerator so his roommates would keep him accountable, entitled Things I Will Not Do With a Strawberry Until Early Spring. The list would include:
1. Fondling, caressing, gently stroking a strawberry
2. Smelling a strawberry, even if the wafting of its cold sterile scent in the middle of winter is molesting my nose at the supermarket
3. Watching any film depicting anyone buying, baking with, or eating strawberries
4. Drawing strawberries in the margin of books
5. Looking at any advertisement promoting strawberries, for a moment longer than the length of time it would take to quickly turn the page or change the channel

From the book, The Fragrance of God by Orthodox theologian Vigen Guroian,
In spring, I cultivate the perennial bed with the magenta petals and sweet citrus fragrance of the rugosa rose in mind. In excitement, I wait also for the green bouquet of the broccoli plant and the calm, clean scent of the cucumber. For the sake of beauty, I gladly leave the ruffled red cabbage to grow long beyond its time for harvest. I let the mustard reach high with bright yellow bouquets. I cultivate carefully the asparagus row not just for the taste of its buttery spears but also for the verdant fern foliage that shoots up after the spring cutting. I let volunteer sunflower, cosmos, and cleome seedlings grow where they choose. And I sneak orange nasturtiums into the hills of sweet-potato vines.

The guy is practically writing erotica about his plants.

[And how seductive, by the by, is the word "nasturtiums?" Phew, is it hot in here or is it just me?!]

Anyway, I love Guroian's ethos of waiting. I don't think it needs to involve patience--I think patience is actually the most overrated virtue!--but WAITING! Waiting is an exciting discipline! It does not need to involve quietly sitting in a corner, averting your eyes with feigned apathy. Waiting can be adventurous, enthusiastic, energizing!

In the Christian calendar, the season of Advent is all about waiting--and it is one of my very favorites because of the childlike thrill of lighting the candles anticipating the miracle, the sweet smells foretelling us that something grand and smell-worthy will be arriving soon, the sweet quietness of Christmas Eve when all is hushed in the sacred joy that the special moment has finally come: a homeless Palestinian boy is born in a feeding trough, to give the human soul its worth.

I complain a lot about Chicago's extreme seasons (though I think this summer's weather has been GREAT!), but I would never want to live in a place that didn't meteorologically remind me of the month at hand. Who does not get a little giddy when the season changes, anticipating the upcoming seasonal glories of the next couple months--tender pink buds on trees and sticky young leaves emerging from the ground, the prospect of warm evenings on the beach, the incomparable smell of cider and pumpkin, the first snowfall?

There is another period of waiting that the Christian Calendar observes--the season of Lent. Despite the gloomy nature of Lent, it is my favored season of the Christian Year. It is a time for sacrificed pleasures, for silenced praise, for quiet meditation with an undercurrent of dread. Feelings of isolation, loneliness, stillness, and disappointment come to the surface. Why ever would I favor this season above others, especially when it has meant giving up such delights as Lil Buddies Ice Cream Sandwiches?!

Another quote from Vigen Guroian: When I get into the garden in the spring, during Lent, what am I doing? I'm digging out weeds that have died. I'm cleaning out the garden. It's a messy business and it's not terribly pleasant. But in the task of very doing it, my senses are being brought alive. I'm attuning my body. I'm cleansing my soul. I'm making myself ready to receive the gift.

This is what I love about Lent. Everything old becomes new; the ground breaks its surface preparing itself for the fresh buds signifying spring's arrival--an international symbol of hope and renewal. It is not often pleasant--digging out dead weeds--but it is so valuable for the next season, the time when we will see birth and beauty throughout the world, and remember that God's grace and adoration for the world is abundant, (that means, never-ending).

That means, we don't have to hoard fruit in winter. We don't need to eat strawberries out of season because God has promised renewal, and renewal means we are free to share what we have and delight in the gifts--in their time. How much more do I appreciate pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving because, though it's one of my favorite foods, I eat it only around Thanksgiving! And I can be okay with that, because I know that even if the sky falls down, Thanksgiving will come next year, with cans of pumpkin displayed at the front of the grocery store next to turkey cut-outs and pilgrim motifs.

Get this: When God created the world (some say seven days, some say billions of years: tomayto, tomahto), he sang it into existence through liturgy. Something happened, and he would respond "This is beautiful." Something else would happen--the night would come into existence, for example--and God would respond, "This is beautiful."

Okay I can't get enough of Vigen Guroian: The song of creation never ends. And words have been added to the song, but it's still the song. Think about throughout the Old Testament, from Genesis through the prophets, the creation itself is, is really depicted as a great temple in which worship is to be done. God sets the foundations. God stretches the heavens as a canopy. And we're here to make the song of creation, the liturgy of creation, and new creation manifest, visible, audible in the world.

Can biting into a fresh peach, brought into its early growth by the light touch of early summer light and slow-cooked for the rest of July so that its skin is sturdy but soft and its flesh is rich and succulent, be a worshipful experience? Absolutely. Can you glorify God by waiting until mid-summer for this tantalizing pleasure? Yep. Do I think the Evangelical Church needs to take a chill pill about sexual purity? Ummm...that's another post.