Part I - Evocation

Whether our favorite food is pepperoni pizza or pan seared scallops with roasted red pepper sauce; chocolate cake or churrasco; hot dogs or Hunan chicken; donuts or doro wat; tamales or tomato bisque; mashed potatoes or mang dah, who can deny that the taste of favorite foods is one of the delights of human existence? And whether your preferred cuisine is Italian or Mexican, Ethiopian or Thai, consider the veritable riot of tastes the human palate can enjoy. To evoke the sensation of taste is to invoke abundance. There is such an enormous diversity of foods which the world yields for our pleasure—there are some 20,000 edible plants alone. And there are an abundance of flavors—from the unadorned, bursting ripeness of fruit to the velvety richness of sophisticated sauces; from the subtle nuance of delicate herbs, to the bold expressions of fiery spice. Unlike most other animals we humans are omnivores, or, as Diane Ackerman puts it, “Nature’s great ad libbers when it comes to food.” A poor season for Eucalyptus will wipe out a population of koala bears which have no other food source, but human beings are incredibly creative when it comes to meeting our daily calorie requirements. So much of the food we eat tastes so much better than it need do if sustenance were the only consideration. To evoke the sensation of taste is to be reminded of abundance—and of blessing.

There are a thousand, thousand varieties of flavors which tickle and tantalize the human palate and we human beings can distinguish between tastes with incredible finesse—witness the wine connoisseur, the professional cheese taster—or the ancient Greeks and Romans, said to be so sophisticated in their taste for fish that they were able to tell just by tasting one what waters it came from. And yet, scientists tell us that every taste we can imagine comes from a combination of only four or five primary tastes. Sweet, sour, salt, and bitter are the time honored four; more recently, umami, the taste sensation translated as meatiness or relish and found in certain meats, and fermented or aged foods, such as cheese and soy sauce, is considered by many to be a fifth basic taste.

From just five basic tastes then comes this riot, this feast of flavors. And to think it all happens in the oral cavity, such a small part of the human body. We are able to taste by virtue of sensory organs, tinier still, called “taste buds”, which are primarily concentrated on the surface of the tongue, but a few of which are even found on the roof of the mouth. Every part of the tongue can distinguish all the basic tastes, but sensitivity for the various tastes is particularly acute at different points. The tip is most sensitive to sweetness; sourness is most acute along the sides. Reception for saltiness occurs along both the front and edges, but bitterness is most acute at the back of the tongue, just before the throat. Since many poisons are intensely bitter, it’s thought that this distribution evolved as a protection. The bitter receptors stand guard at the last point where swallowing can be stopped; and, indeed, very bitter substances stimulate a gag reflex. We can detect sweetness if one part in two hundred is sweet; saltiness in one part in 400; sourness in one part in 130,000; but bitterness in as little as one part in 2 million! How marvelously made we are!

To evoke the sensation of taste is to recognize abundance and blessing—the blessing of how human beings have adapted and the abundance of this earth upon which we rely; the blessing of human inventiveness and the abundance of flavors which bring delight to our days. In the words of our hymn, “Everywhere a feast is spread that’s always at our side!” In the spirit of appreciation for such abundance, let us now give and receive the morning’s offering, bringing blessings to bear upon our life together and to the community beyond these walls.

Offering

Part II: Exploration

The sensation of taste is a great gift of human living, a blessed feature of human anatomy, and for some that may be spiritual lesson enough. But are there other spiritual dimensions to the exploration of taste?

Consider for a moment the multi-dimensionality of taste itself. Though the direct sensation of taste is delivered to us via the taste buds, there is more involved in taste. The sense of smell also contributes—it only takes a head cold to know that impairment of the olfactory sense can diminish taste. The first sniff of food occurs while the substance to be ingested is still outside the body, serving to stimulate the salivary glands, setting up an expectation of what is to come. The nose of a fine wine, or a fine Scotch whiskey, is an important part of the estimation of such as “fine.” But other nasal passages at the back of the throat contribute to the total taste experience as well. And what we call taste also depends on cutaneous sensations—when judging food we consider its texture, crispness, tingling and even, in the case of peppers, burning sensations. Nor does what we commonly refer to as taste stop there. There are also lingering sensations even after food is swallowed. Thus, gourmets refer to a series of three taste sensations: the experience of the taste buds is what they refer to as direct sensation; what they call complete sensation includes the olfactory dimension; and, reflective sensation, or “finish”, is the evaluation arrived at after pensive swallowing. It is this series that gives taste its subtlety, richness and depth. To appreciate taste in all its fullness, then, requires one to notice, to slow down and appreciate, to savor. As the wine taster approaches the wine—in an unhurried rush that first involves breathing deep of the aroma, anticipating the flavor to come, then taking the elixir into the mouth, swishing it over the entire surface of the oral cavity, holding it there to let the sensations develop, and finally relishing the lingering finish as the heady liquid slides down the throat—with such intention might we savor all the wonders of this beautiful world with which we have been blessed.

Add to this multi-dimensionality of taste, the fact that taste is the most intimate of all the senses. We cannot taste at a distance. To taste something requires that we take it into our bodies and what we taste and eat is incorporated into, becomes part of, our bodies. Tasting, eating, then, is how the world enters into us and how we become part of the world. And so perhaps taste imparts a message also for how we might understand ourselves in relation to the whole, not as separate from, but as intimately related.

Contemplate as well that there are cross-cultural commonalities to the human taste experience. There is a universal preference for sweet things which seems to be genetically based, and which probably derives from of our common hunter-gatherer origins, for sweetness signals ripeness. There also seems to be a universal predilection for salty foods, reflecting the fact that every human body requires five grams of salt each day in order for our muscles and neurons to operate properly. Taste unites us with human beings everywhere. And yet there is an astounding diversity in what certain cultures find appetizing, as well as individual differences in taste. Scientists suggest that how we taste things and the exact makeup of our saliva, which is necessary for taste, may be as individual as our fingerprints.

How to account for this difference? There are some physiological reasons. The number of taste receptors varies tremendously from person to person. Twenty percent of the population have densely packed taste buds and are especially sensitive to tastes, especially sweet and sour. Another 20% have few taste buds and dull taste perception. Most of us fall in between. Taste sensations also change with age as the number of receptors on the tongue decline. One of the reasons children adore sweets is partly because the tips of their tongues are more sensitive. Some genetic variations determine whether a person can taste certain substances at all. People who can taste a certain chemical found in broccoli find it extremely bitter; others hardly notice it. A related chemical is found in saccharin.

But by far the factor responsible for the greatest variation in individual taste seems to be acculturation. Food is part of every society’s culture and we learn from the moment of weaning what is acceptable to eat and what is not. And the diversity of what is acceptable knows hardly any limits. An anthropologist writes: The animals human beings relish range in size from termites to whales; the Chinese of Hunan province eat shrimp that are still wriggling, while North Americans and Europeans eat live oysters; . . . at various times and places, strong preferences have been shown for the tongues of larks, the eyes of sheep, the spawn of eels, . . . and the windpipes of pigs . . . and people in every society regard their own preferences as sensible and all deviations from these as perverse or even loathsome.” The mang dah I referred to at the beginning? That’s fried giant water bugs—a delicacy in certain regions of Thailand. Taste is, to a large degree, a learned experience. But while the fact that taste is acculturated may make it hard to educate the palate away from disgusts and prohibitions that are inculcated early in life, that also means that tastes can be changed with new learning. And, in fact, we speak about educating our palate. And even two of the basic tastes—sour and bitter—are more of an acquired predilection than are sweet and salt. Humans do eat radically different foods, but equally true is the human ability to craft one’s taste and to make subtle discriminations among foods that once seemed all alike. Indeed human beings are distinctive in our cultivation of tastes that on first experience can be unpleasant, even painful, such as chili peppers. Not only can taste be cultivated, but we very often encourage friends and family to try a new wine or a new food not encountered before.

Is there not a spiritual lesson here as well for the way we might approach the differences that exist between human beings? Can we not appreciate that each person is unique, his or her personality shaped by individually nuanced experience, and yet at the same time embrace the fact that there are universals which bind us as one? And further, might we not also understand that what appear at first blush to be profound variations, are more a matter of learning and culture rather than something innate—differences which might be savored as evidence of the astonishing range of human sensibilities? And yet can’t we find in all this, also, a metaphor for how we might approach the stranger? Perhaps we might learn that what seems at first to be alien, is not really so, but more a matter of what we have not yet encountered, what we have not yet learned to embrace, but which, with time, and familiarity, might become beloved?

This lesson of taste is underscored further when we acknowledge that food has meaning beyond nutritional requirements. Think for a moment about what we call “comfort food.” When we feel the need to coddle ourselves, whatever food we turn to, whatever taste we seek, is symbolic of the nurture we received at the hands of our parents. Chicken soup may have medicinal qualities, but its attraction when we are sick has more to do with its overtones of soothing, loving care. And when death or other troubles strike our friends or neighbors, what do we do? We bring food, tangible expression of our concern, our care. Our first experiences of taste came at our mother’s breast and that experience was not just of being fed, but also of being held, embraced, within a cocoon of security, warmth, well being and love .

And so perhaps it should be no surprise that eating together is a primary way by which community is formed and sustained. Because eating is such an intimate act, the people with whom we choose to share a meal are those we can trust, those we consider our social equals. By eating together we confess our mutual dependence upon the gifts of the earth. As we take the world into our bodies in the company of others, the personal experience of tasting and eating is transformed into something shared, bringing into being a collective experience. The word we give to those who are our intimates—companion—reflects this reality. Companion, which comes from the Latin com, meaning with, and pan, meaning bread, literally means one with whom we share bread. And so perhaps it is not surprising either that food plays a significant role in religions the world over, as a symbol of those whom God, or the divine, has called together in Beloved community. To share a meal together is to share the gift of human living, to participate together in the abundance of the creation. As food is revelatory of our dependence upon the earth for its bounty, food is also the way we come to taste the language of grace and love.

Anthem

Part III Incorporation

To taste, to eat, is to confess dependence upon the bounty of the earth. In tasting, eating, it is necessary for life to destroy life. Only a few of the things we eat are inorganic, salt for example. Everything else is—or was—alive. Food is life which gives its life so that we might live. And this is no less true for the vegan than for the omnivore, for seeds, nuts, berries, fruits are all potential life. As Hegel wrote, “we can taste only by destroying”. In tasting, eating, the abundance of the earth gives itself up for our nurture.

To taste, to eat, is also to confess our commonality with human beings everywhere. All humans taste. All humans need food in order to survive. And so we cannot contemplate the spiritual lessons of taste without confronting the fact of hunger in our world. But by contemplating the sensory experience of taste we might begin to understand more what it means to be hungry.

We all know that our experience of taste is affected by our state of hunger or satiation. If we are sick and have no appetite or if we have just eaten, foods don’t taste as good as they do when we are hungry. But if we are ravenous, almost anything tastes good. And if one is close to starvation, food must be ingested carefully and slowly to avoid illness or even death; in such circumstances, obtaining nourishment can be a painful necessity. In many ways, savoring the sense of taste is a luxury of the well nourished. There is no immunity from hunger; without eating, a human being can only survive for two or three weeks. Hunger is painful—a fact that is sometimes difficult for us who are comfortable to remember. Hunger can be brutalizing; it can take over one’s life. All human beings need food to eat. Food ties us to all human beings here and everywhere, now and always. Add to this fact that the sharing of food is a primary way by which community is formed and sustained.

The Jewish prophet Isaiah had an eschatological vision, a picture of how the world would look if it were the way God intended it to be. In this vision, all the people of the world come together to share a great feast, recognizing all people as kin. In the words of the prophet, “God will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. And on that day, god will destroy the barriers that divide people from people, and god will wipe away the tears from all faces.” Years later, another Jewish prophet named Jesus of Nazareth would defy the laws of his time by sitting down and eating with those who were considered outside the pale. And he told stories of a world to come, of huge banquets to which all sorts of people were invited—the despised, the underdogs, the marginalized and the dispossessed. The vision of a common meal thus became a symbol for a world transformed where grace and love and justice were extended to all.

To share a meal is to confess our dependence upon the earth and our common humanity. As we ingest food from the soil, food, which was grown with the aid of sunlight and rain, becomes us. To taste, to eat, is to participate in the abundance of the creation. To share a meal together is to establish community. To share a meal together as this congregation is to proclaim our vision of Beloved Community, our hope that one day abundance will be extended to all. And so the act of tasting becomes a foretaste of a world to come when no one will know hunger of body or spirit, a world to come when all will share and all will savor the language of grace and love.

In that spirit, I invite you now to partake of a ritual meal, to share bread together. (LPMT comes forward.) Members of our Lay Pastoral Ministry team, those who help nurture this congregation with their caring presence, will present and then distribute bread for us all to share. There are different breads, of different flavors and elements. There are the sweetness of raisins, the slight bitter edge of walnuts, the savoriness of seeds, the tang of sour dough and the saltiness of rustic loaves. Whatever bread you choose when it comes your way, know that it’s taste can be revelatory of our common humanity and our common hope. Would you join with me now in a Congregational Blessing of this Bread?

Congregational Blessing of the Bread

Here before us is bread of many tastes and flavors. Bread comes from the grain which comes from the soil and sunshine and rain.

Blessed is the earth our home, the Spirit of Abundance, which gives us bread that we might share it, one with another.

Grain is the product of many elements and long is the journey from grain to loaf.

Many are the people who have already blessed this bread by their labors.

Bread is the staff of life; the grain gives its life so that we might live.

May this bread symbolize our interdependence with the things of nature and the peoples of the world.

As we savor the tastes of this bread—whether salty or sweet, tangy or even bitter—may we be reminded to taste and savor of the life we enjoy, the abundance of good things which are given to us.

May it also be a symbol to us of the sweet fellowship we share, the good companions we find here for the journey of faith.

As we take the bread and eat it, may we be reminded also of the words of Gandhi: “There are so many hungry people in the world, that god cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.”

May we see in this bread a future yet to be, when all people might eat, when justice will be done and freedom gained so that all people can savor the bounty of the creation.

And so may this gift of bread become gifts of spirit for people of courage and hope.

May it be a symbol and foretaste of a world to come where all shall sit at the Welcome Table and none will know hunger or fear.

Bread of the world, given to us, be food for our hopes and dreams.

Bread of the world, shared by us, be a portrait of our common future, a world in which all people live together in fullness and peace.

Let us now together taste and savor this bread blessed by our beloved community.