Food as Spiritual Practice: From Exclusion to Inclusion
A meditation on meals, inclusion, and more
TW: religious trauma, spiritual abuse, food issues
When I’m sick, there’s one thing I want to eat: cinnamon rolls. (I love them when I’m healthy too, but they often become my favorite thing during illness.)
I was reminded of this fact recently when I began experiencing what I’m learning is my annual really-bad-interstitial-cystitis-flare. Two days into the waves of stabbing pain for which nothing more could be done medically, I looked up at my husband and asked, “Could we get cinnamon rolls?”
And so we did. And there was something radical about that experience—something that goes back to the root of being human. In the face of unjust systems (in this case, a woefully insufficient medical system), we sit together and listen to our bodies, preparing and eating together what seems fit for the moment.
Because eating together is so basic to humanity, it almost seems passé to say that eating is a spiritual practice. And yet it still resonates with me.
It also brings up some religious trauma.
When I was small, I went to a church where the communion meal was understood by my nervous system to be dangerous. Why? The church’s interpretation of 1 Corinthians 11:27 (here quoted in the NIV): “So then, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord.”
And to make ourselves worthy? As a group, we spent a mandatory and intense several minutes examining our hearts for any so-called sin. It could be anything, we were told, and we could be self-deceived, so we better look carefully. And the most dangerous thing we were looking for? Secretly not being saved. Not great for my little body that was likely already dealing with religious scrupulosity OCD.
One pastor even went so far as to tell a story he had heard about a woman who was not a Christian and had taken communion. With a solemn expression and a low voice, he looked out at us congregants and said, “This is serious stuff. Now, I’m not going to say this was because she took communion, but she died of a heart attack the next day.” As if my young nervous system wasn’t already on high alert!
Every communion was a nightmare for me. It was a required act of obedience, but it was also required that we not do it if we weren’t sure. One particularly rough Sunday, I remember burying my seven-year-old face in my knees, weeping and begging God to forgive me for any hidden sin and to pray for the thousandth-upon-thousandth time that Jesus would save me…and not kill me for taking of his body and blood.
While we didn’t stay at that church long and later ended up at a place with a gentler take on communion, it wasn’t until Bible college that I found out that many biblical scholars understand 1 Corinthians 11:27 very differently. The “unworthy manner” mentioned in the text is likely referring to rich Christians who were eating all of the communion meal (to the point where they were drunk on the wine) before the poorer congregants could arrive.
In short, 1 Corinthians 11:27 isn’t about exclusion but inclusion.
I think that’s why today when I take open communion by intinction at a Lutheran church on Sundays, I shed a tear of hope.
To be human is to eat together. And that means we include everyone.
As a person with disabilities (some of which limit my ability to eat certain foods), I know inclusion is logistically complex and not one-size-fits-all. I don’t have all the answers. But I know that breaking barriers by breaking bread is kind of the whole point of the ministry of Jesus, the God I’ve prayed to since I was that tiny little girl.
Together, let us break barriers by breaking bread together, whatever that looks like in our communities—with an undergirding sense of inclusion and love, with an ear to the outcast and an awareness of ALL of our needs.
In Wonder,
Kandi Zeller (she/her)
Instagram: @kandi.zeller
Ugh. Communion was such a fraught experience growing up! I always wondered “ok do I feel bad/guilty enough [about my childish sins!] to warrant me taking communion? Have a sufficiently reflected in my sinfulness before daring to ingest this nasty little wafer?” Open communion is a really lovely thing, though sometimes can still bring up some of the old icky feelings!
Kandi, your inclusiveness is touching and wonderful. I remember worrying about communion too--the difference being I was an adult so probably not as terrified as you were at 7 years old. I eventually was able to let go of my worry over that scripture but there were so many others--like the “unforgivable sin” for example. Scrupulosity is a serious problem in Christianity, and probably much more common than we know. If I were to summarize why I cannot be a Christian after decades of trying, it comes down to that--it arouses far too much shame, guilt, and worry even over simple things like taking a communion meal in Jesus’s honor. I need spirituality that uplifts me, not that terrorizes me.
I’m so sorry for your physical pain. I hope it has subsided now.
Lastly, cinnamon roles are my favorite breakfast too--with loads of cinnamon and thick gooey icing!!