Sacramental Imagination
Why sacramental imagination?
Written by Joshua Burdette
“Are holy flowers holy? Is the world holy? Is glasses holy? Is time holy? Is all the white moonlight holy? Empty rooms are holy? Neal holy? Come on, Bishop, tell us! Is toy holy? Is Byzantine holy? Is Mark holy? Is American flag holy? Is girl holy? Is your sister holy? What is holy?...Is car holy? Is light holy? Is holy holy? Are you holy?”
–Jack Kerouac, Pull My Daisy
“There is not one blade of grass; there is no color in the world that is not intended to make us rejoice.”
—John Calvin
Life is sacred. Even if the philosophers sometimes forget it, the poets insist us that every moment, when given the grace of attention, can become significant and even beautiful. In the Christian story, this is because the world is not accidental, but came to be through the creative power of God’s love. Everything that exists, whether visible or invisible, is due to the imagination of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
It doesn’t take much imagination, however, to see another aspect of our world. The Christian story also tells us that this world is under a curse, which means that every corner of creation is subject to pain, suffering, death, and decay. The curse veils much of the glory of creation, yet God chooses to break through in order to commune with his creatures in both ordinary and extraordinary ways.
Throughout the history of Christianity, these extraordinary places of divine presence have been called sacraments. Sacraments are the places where God takes the ordinary matter of this world–things like flour, water, fire, grapes, and yeast—and uses it to mediate his grace and presence. In a broader sense, though, God is doing this all the time with all of creation. The sunlight reflecting off the cumulus clouds at dusk and the belt of Orion in the night sky declare the glory of God. A breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast is seen as a gift from a benevolent Father and an answer to the Lord’s prayer. In fact, the sacrament of communion is often called by the Greek word for thanksgiving, eucharist. The sacrament explicitly communicates what is implicitly communicated everywhere. Life is a gift. Life is grace, even in hardship.
Every human experience, though corrupted by the fall and veiled to the full grandeur of God’s glory, is sacred. Every human experience is not a sacrament in the theological sense, but it can become sacrament-al. All of life can be lived in communion with God. Or, as the Apostle Paul wrote, “Everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving (eucharist), for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer.” Sacramental imagination is the ability to bring this Eucharistic perspective to our lives.
“Everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving (eucharist), for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer.”
To “sacramentalize” the stuff of this life does not mean that we “spiritualize” it. It is not our job to elevate food or anything else into something esoteric or metaphysical. We do not need to make a metaphor out of the table. The good stuff of this world is already elevated by virtue of it’s being created by the good hand of God and for his good pleasure. It does not need to mean anything in order to be significant. It is worthy of attention simply because it is.
As our patron saint, Father Robert Farrar Capon, put it in his theological cookbook, The Supper of the Lamb: “The world exists, not for what it means but for what it is. The purpose of mushrooms is to be mushrooms, wine is in order to wine: things are precious before they are contributory. It is a false piety that walks through creation looking only for lessons which can be applied somewhere else. To be sure, God remains the greatest good; but, for all that, the world is still good in itself. Indeed, since He does not need it, its whole reason for being must lie in its own natural goodness; He has no use for it, only delight.”
The world exists because of delight—God’s delight. To put a finer point on it, mushrooms exist because God wanted mushrooms in this world. Wine exists because God desired a world with wine. And it doesn’t end with blue oysters and pinot noir—you and I are in this world because God wanted us here too. Your fingers and toes and the way your laugh leaps from your lips without warning are all here in this theater of God’s glory because he found them good and pleasing. We can either ignore that fact or join God in his delight.
Now, if those really are our only choices, we must understand what is at stake. If we choose to ignore God’s good pleasure in his work, we do so at our own peril. To pass over the glory of God’s creation is just as egregious as those who worship it, for in passing over it we lose the worship of the Creator. We become guilty of the sins Paul speaks of in Romans 1: “For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened.” Their idolatry was not in making too much of God’s creation; it was in making too little of God. The Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemann wrote, “The only real fall of man is his noneucharistic life in a noneucharistic world.” Or consider a less explicitly theological perspective from the great food writer M.F.K. Fisher: “When we eat without thought or thanksgiving we are not men, but beasts.”
“When we eat without thought or thanksgiving we are not men, but beasts.”
It is our hope to reclaim a sacramental imagination; to do the work of joining God in his delight of what he has made. Like the required credits in Art Appreciation at your liberal arts college, the aim of sacramental imagination is to cultivate a taste and awareness of the created beauty of life so that you too will delight in God’s creation and give him thanks for both the gifts and the presence he offers. This is part of our priestly calling as humans created in God’s image.
There may be times of theological observation or even liturgical expressions around the themes of food and hospitality, but more often than not, you will find simple stories of our plates and tables. We think it’s worth telling the story of God’s works—even when there’s more appreciation than critique—and we hope you are inspired to light the grill or oven and add another seat at your table. And when you do, we hope you do it in a way that welcomes more of God’s story into the stories of those around your table.
At this point it’s worth noting that there may be objections to our thesis. By all means, object away. The first may be that we are proposing some sort of materialism or hedonism. To that I’d say that we are guilty on one account in perspective and often guilty of the other in practice. If you call me a materialist, I’m guilty as charged. But make sure you know what type of materialist I am. I am a theistic materialist. In other words, I’m a materialist in the same way God is a materialist: he loves the material world he made and so do I.
As for hedonism, I admit that my Calvinist theology teaches me that we are capable of turning anything good into an idol. Some might even say we are incapable of not turning good things into idols. I surely elevate the created over the Creator in my disordered loves and need to repent. Often. But let me remind you that we will do that with every good thing, not just the material world. And not just pleasures. Still, we must be careful to give attention to fasting and cross bearing as much as feasting lest we become over indulgent and self-absorbed.
But there is a different and better objection, and that’s the objection on the grounds of justice. Can we really enjoy a crab cake with candied sesame seeds or justify the expense of an extravagant meal with friends when so many lack the basic necessities of daily bread and clean water? Or better still, why spill our ink on the fermentation rate of pizza dough instead of the incarceration rates of black males in America?
To be honest, I still wrestle with this question. One answer is that there are others more knowledgeable than us who have already written. Go find them and read them. But I suspect that food is not only part of the problem, but part of the solution. Others, like Norman Wirzba of Duke University, have articulated the tremendous ways that the industries and production of our food impact vulnerable populations. Eating may be one of the most fraught things we do. Cheap food often comes at great human cost. Where do we shop? What do we buy? Whose health do we prioritize? What is the ecological impact of a plate? What privilege brought me access to this food? Who are the people included around my table and who are absent?
If we are asking these questions, then our eating and drinking may be a way to not only point to the kingdom to come, but a way to usher it in. Eating is certainly a justice issue. We believe that giving more attention to what’s on our plate and who is around our table will inevitably lead us to pursue justice for all. At the same time, it will demand wisdom to know when to feast with rich food (Deuteronomy 14:26) and when to fast in order to give food to others (Isaiah 58:7). Our eating requires humility to repent and find grace.
As with all things, Jesus is our example in feasting and fasting. Jesus is our example in breaking bread with friends and strangers. May our plates and tables look more like his. May they resemble the future Marriage Supper of the Lamb—a full table with guests from every nation, tribe, and tongue; with good gifts from every time and region and culture. May they satiate the physical hunger of our guests while at the same time whetting their appetites for something beyond this world. May they tell the story of the Eternal Host who lays down his life in order to welcome his guests to a feast at his table.
Though cursed and fallen, this world is still heavy-laden with glory. Like Eden, your hometown is teeming with God’s good gifts to humanity. These gifts range from blackberries and beer to brotherly love and the forgiveness of sins; from herbed omelettes and sunsets to the communion of saints and the hope of eternal life. Flowers, empty rooms, sisters, white moonlight, and even you are indeed holy if God has given you eyes to see it. If we have a sacramental imagination, the whole world can become a banquet of God’s grace. “Take and eat,” God says. “I have given it to you for your delight.”
Let us keep the feast.
*Various theological traditions have used this phrase and likely have more rights to it than we do. Nevertheless, the phrase seems to best capture what we feel is an understated way of perceiving and participating in the world as a Christian and hope others will join us in it.
