It's the simple things that count.
I preached today on the Rich Young Man and Jesus. One of my seminary professors once said that if you can't say what you want to say in one sentence, it probably isn't worth saying at all. So here's the one sentence summary: Not everyone is called to sell their possessions and give the money to the poor, but all of us need to be separated from obsessing over the things that we think will bring us security.
There. I said it.
I was a little disappointed that some people who I feel might have benefited from some of the things I said weren't there today. It's always a bit of a crapshoot when it comes to preparing your sermon with particular people in mind and they're not there to hear it. But, I suppose all things being equal, the people who needed to hear it probably heard it just fine, thank you very much.
The after sermon discussion was also quite involved, as being a relatively wealthy church, every single one of us struggles with "living lightly" as I commended them to do. Yet the discussion seemed to be strangely repetitive, as though everyone was repeating what I had already said (or what I think I said-- in fact, I'm pretty sure I said it because I have a manuscript to prove that I said it!) and then claiming it as something that just occurred to them. It's not as though I need them to say "what you said about ______ was really thought-provoking/challenging/beautiful/craptastic", but it felt as though people had just switched off and made up their minds about the passage and would have shared about it in the same way even if I hadn't just preached on it. Don't get me wrong. It's great that they're learning. But maybe it's my insignificance complex talking when I think that people are ignoring what I just said and passing it off as something they just thought up.
And another thing: I'm tired of people demanding application and practicality. Not that these are all bad, but sometimes, truth is truth and how this applies is for you to puzzle out in your context, not for some dude behind the music stand to tell you how to live your life. Think people, think!
It wasn't a frustrating day, but I come away from it feeling misunderstood. Yes, poor Wiggum. I bet this is how James Houston felt when he talked about modern obsession with technique and "technology" (which he defined as development of technique) and the people around me all wondered "Is Dr. Houston against email and computers? He said he doesn't like technology." Yes, that's right. Oxford don who lives up the hill from me also happens to be a luddite. That would explain the flickering lights in his house I see from time to time. Must be him riding his stationary bike to power up his water heater.
Simplicity is good. I had a few friends over to make pasta, and the act of making good food together and drinking a little wine on top is always a welcome event. As you may know, my current obsession (ahead of doing actual research for my next book) is making noodles. I made two kinds of gnocchi yesterday, a spinach and a butternut squash one. They were pretty good, but the main event today were the KitchenAid pasta making attachments that my friend brought over. They're simple machines-- one for flattening and the other for cutting into strips-- but elegant and sturdy little stainless steel die that made some of the best pasta I have ever had.
I first made a lemon pepper dough to demonstrate how it's done. The basic recipe is 1 cup flour/1 egg and oil and flour to adjust the dough to sufficient stickiness. Then you add in whatever you fancy. The next noodles were spinach, basil, and italian flat leaf parsley. Then we made a roast garlic noodle. Finally, I stepped in and made chocolate pasta-- which itself was just all right, but the sauce is what set it off. I'm relatively proud of the sauce, since it was my first real time using a double boiler set up to melt the dark Callebaut bits I procured before my trip. To this rich, glossy (but still very fudgy stuff) I added sugar, milk, a quarter cup of butter, vanilla, salt, cayenne pepper, and peanut butter. This was no ordinary peanut butter-- this was the stuff my mom had made a while ago but while tasting a little funny with bread, I had been saving for sauces such as this. I was not wrong. It was probably one of the most delicious things I have ever made, and I am not even that much of a chocolate fan. The girls, of course, all flipped out into semi-orgasmic states. One of them even licked her plate clean. Not to pass out from tooting my own horn (which is an oxymoronic statement because you know at this point I'm going to brag) but the women around me often say they'd all be two hundred pounds if they lived with me because everything I make is carbalicious. Breads, pastas, puddings, pies, cakes, loaves... yes, I do tend to make things with a certain "bite" to them.
I often wonder what life would be like with a wife or family to appreciate what I make. My friends and family already do tend to like almost everything I make, but part of me is wistful for the opportunity to make wonderful dishes for someone else to enjoy. It sounds strange, but part of me really loves the act of cooking and baking for others. It's how, as they say in the vernacular, I like to "love on" other people. That, and writing. But writing is like having your lower intestine pulled out of your empty eye sockets.
Although making pasta was a lot of work, the results were so immediately rewarding that I'll have to do it again.
My feet ache, my back aches, my hands are chapped, but the bouncy texture of the noodles and the gratification of making something good sends me now to sleep with a smile on my face.
Noodles, noodles for all.
Comments (1)
I like it when you use rare words and new words.
Luddite, Orgasmic, Carbalicious and my personal favourite: Craptastic.