Donuts, Juice and Coffee

It is my assumption that some variation of the above is a feature of many places of worship following Sunday services.  For me the phrase will always be a reminder of the place where I first heard it, St. Anthony Catholic Church in Anchorage, Alaska. 

For nearly 30 years now, I have attended this church in a poorer section of a city that continues to grow in diversity--in fact, a fellow parishioner calls it the most diverse church in the world.  At first I thought the phrase presumptuous, but I am quite certain he is probably right.  In Anchorage there are nearly 100 languages spoken by the children in our schools, and while the same might not be true of St. Anthony parish, I wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't approach something near that.

This morning I sat in my customary spot near the back on the right hand side of this early 70's era church, with its dark walls and insufficient lighting, and marveled, as I always do, at the heavily beaded and fringed strip of caribou hide that I tape to the altar once a month for the Native mass.  Next week the intricate, delicate, colorful antependium--for that is what you call a decorative piece that is hung in front of something else--will be replaced by a tapa altar cloth.  This is the tradition of the Samoan people who make up a large part of our parish and bless us with their enthusiastic singing and their fresh flower leis for our presiders and the holy objects used in worship.  A third culture, the Filipinos, also celebrate a mass once a month, blending prayers and song in both their native tongue and English, and always gather afterwards to share food, as do the Samoan and Native cultures as well.

I imagine that food and fellowship have been linked with worship since early humans cooked their meals over fires and later danced around them to acknowledge an unseen force who created such a powerful element of warmth and destruction.  Indeed for Christians, and Catholics in particular, a meal of remembrance that nurtures our souls most naturally leads to a continuance of fellowship by sharing a meal that nourishes body and soul as well. 

For me, that began with the community of St. Anthony gathered, as it still does, for donuts, juice and coffee (though the "nourishment" this type of food provides may be dubious) and has evolved to include sharing of the cherished dishes of many cultures, after diverse worship experiences.  Such things have both challenged and delighted me, not just because of the culinary dilemmas of eating, say, muktuk, but because breaking bread together, whether in Eucharist, or in its many manifestations of more humble fare, challenges me to live as one with my sisters and brothers of many lands and tongues.