Burnt peanut butter cookies. Butter drenched English muffins. Cinnamon sugar toast. Each of these has a distinct aroma, and each one evokes a very specific memory from my childhood. The cookies: me at five, pressing a sugared fork on dough, baking with my mother. English muffins: me at four and six, having mid-morning snack in my grandmother’s warm kitchen. Cinnamon toast: having breakfast with my sister and brother before walking to my first grade classroom.

I’m not the only one who has such aromatic memories. When I made peanut butter cookies in the church kitchen one morning, slightly burning the bottoms, several people stopped by, drawn by the scent in the air and their own memories – a taste of childhood long since left behind and a recollection of someone who loved them, long since passed on.

There’s a grace that’s hard to explain in the gift of food and the loving hospitality of another. I feel it every time cinnamon hits a buttered toast and every time I take a loaf of bread out of the oven. It’s life-sustaining, being food and all, but it’s also soul-sustaining, being so wrapped up in the loving care given to me and the loving care I offer others along with the plates and glasses.

Is that why Jesus invited himself over for dinner at the houses of those who most needed someone to accept their love and hospitality? Is it why he sat at table with his beloved disciples before his crucifixion? Was breakfast by the sea more than fresh fish with friends?Could it be that Jesus wants me to catch the scent of holiness whenever I offer and accept food?

Perhaps the kingdom of heaven is the kitchen – it would explain why everyone always gathers there, regardless of the home or host.

Dear Lord, be present to me this day in the breaking of bread, the warmth of the oven, and the scent of soup simmering. Amen.

One of my favorite scenes depicted in the gospels is Jesus making breakfast for some of the disciples—I can just imagine he enjoyed making the meal more than anyone enjoyed eating it. And that is why I cook.

I’m not much of a chef,  but I learned to be a pretty good cook when my wife was laid up for a few weeks. She’s fine now—some 10 years later—but I’m still in the kitchen much to her delight. I like the feedback.

A lot of the work I’ve done over the years has had a long fuse so I don’t get much of a bang out of it—I’ve generally left the premises after planting the seeds of leadership and coaching skills, leaving the follow-up to others. Ah, but cooking! We get to taste the results generally in a few hours and they are usually not too shabby. It’s just a joy to explore new recipes and develop new tastes. And it’s a delight to share these findings with others—also a challenge, as we have vegans, lactose intolerants, gluten-free requirements, meat-lovers, and spicy vs. non-spicy situations to deal with. It makes things interesting (During the early phase of my new-found  love, I was married to the recipes. Now that I have more confidence, I do more creative cooking with mixed results, but usually pretty good.).

One final thought:

Isn’t it interesting how, no matter our age, we can pick up some new skill and continue learning things. We all know people who have done (and are doing) this. I think I’m going brush up my poetry writing skills next.  I hope I can find some of my old writings but if not we’ll just stop “fixin’ to get ready” and start writing some stuff—what a hoot!

Soli Deo Gloria, Bill Albritton

Offered by Bill Albritton, cook, poet, child of God.