Seasons of Salt

No-Banana Banana Bread Read Psalm 146 and Matthew 1:18–23. When I was a young mother, our most adventuresome toddler presented numerous challenges to my attempts at baking. I had been concentrating on a new recipe when an unusual crunchy sound interrupted an equally unusual quiet. When I turned from studying my cookbook, there stood our toddler, stuck proudly in the middle of her mixture of syrup and cereal with her sweetly encrusted hands raised in the classic signal to be picked up. I longed, just for a moment, for the time when I could bake without such distractions. I assumed that when I reached the empty-nest stage, my undivided attention would result in culinary masterpieces. With the syrup and cereal episode now decades past, such a time had finally arrived. Banana bread would not be an exotic addition to the church brunch menu, but good banana bread was always welcomed. I carefully measured the ingredients and basked in my efficiency as I ground the nuts with the top mixer attachment while the beater below creamed the margarine and sugar. The phone rang. The doorbell chimed. The dryer buzzed. No problem. I was a survivor of years of interruptions. I added the rest of the ingredients plus a bit of lemon juice to the batter to make it especially light, poured the just-right batter into the pan, and put the pan into the oven. It was time to wash the bowls. On the flour-dusted counter sat the bowl of mashed and measured bananas! I had made no-banana banana bread! The essential ingredients for a quick bread were in the pan, so the final product was different, but very good. The texture was a lot like pound cake and made a delicious foundation for cheese spreads. Folks even asked for the recipe. Sometimes Christmas is like that. We are anticipating a near perfect holiday. Everything is laid out in readiness. Then, something happens. Circumstances are changed. The changes can be as small as a decoration missing or broken. Changes can be overwhelming. Trust and love are shattered like broken Christmas balls as someone breaks from the family. Perhaps, someone very dear has died and only memories fill the limp stocking on the mantle. Christmas will be different. It can be good. The essential ingredient of Christmas—God’s loving enough to come wrapped in swaddling clothes in a manger—is still true. Think of it, a vulnerable baby, God in the flesh! Born to common parents! God with us! God with us then and God with us now. No matter what else is different at our Christmas, the essential ingredient—the gift of love—is always there, waiting to be opened. We can absolutely count on it. We sing, very softly, with the angels. Someday we will once again rejoice and be glad. Prayer: O God, thank you for the great gift of your love that comes to us and remains with us. Help us to remember, even in the midst of our interruptions, busyness, and brokenness, that you keep your promises to your people. Grant us calm, peace, and joy at this Advent and Christmas season. Amen. Hospitality Read Romans 12:9–13 and Psalm 104. My husband stepped slowly and carefully on the plank as he crossed the “bridge” over an open sewer. He was one of several delegates from our church world conference who were visiting local mission projects in the slum area of Rio de Janeiro. The neighborhood consisted of homes made from scraps of lumber and cardboard scrounged from local dumpsites. A woman stood at the door of her home with a welcoming smile. Her front room was bright and sunlit. There was no roof. A bicycle and a broom leaned against a wall. The second room had a roof and contained a simple table, one bed, and two chairs. One bare electric bulb hung from the ceiling. A jar with artificial flowers stood in the middle of the table, and a simple cross hung on the wall. Dignity and grace clothed the woman as she shared her home with strangers. Later that summer, back in our own home, I cleared the clutter from the guest room bed, filled the carafe on the bedside table, shined the mirror, plucked dead leaves from the philodendron, and opened the blinds. In the kitchen, the aroma of a plate of warm cookies filled the air. We feel honored when people choose to share our home, and we attempt to be good hosts. Welcoming expected guests is a pleasure for most of us. The unexpected knock on the door might be another story. The late morning arising, the big project midway to completion, the weekday accumulation of mail and “stuff” piled on dining room chairs, all stand exposed when the door is opened to the guest who happens to be in town. We make excuses and offer the chair with the most flattering view of our housekeeping. We share what is available from the kitchen, offer our friendship, and hope the conversation covers the clutter. Even in those circumstances, we enjoy being hosts. When we welcome strangers into our home as the result of storms, when we give emergency care to children, we feel that we are obeying the Biblical commandment of hospitality. We feel that by hosting strangers and little children, we are in some way hosting Christ. Yet, I wonder who would be the better hostess for God, the gracious slum dweller in Rio or myself? Can we be equally gracious as hostesses for God? Who is the host and who is the guest? We fill dual roles in our lives, the host to God and the guest of God. Perhaps being the guest of God is the more difficult role. Acknowledging dependency is a role we might not welcome when we seem to be programmed for independence. We would rather run our own inn. Yet, God the Host gives us a spacious courtyard filled with beauty and offers a banquet table overflowing with water and food for the body and spirit. Our Host offers us hospitality regardless of our response, keeps the gate to the garden and the door to the mansion open, and says to us, “Enter into my courts with praise.” Prayer: Great God our Host, we thank you for the wonderful gift of our earthly home and for the persons who share that home with us. Help us to always be gracious and generous hosts. Help us to remember daily that we are your guests and that this home is a gift to be cherished, shared, and kept as whole and beautiful as possible for those guests yet to come. Amen.