We sit down to eat.

Last week’s poem is called “Eat” by Joy Harjo, who was our US Poet Laureate, and who is also one of my favorite poets. The last line of the poem says, “We sit down to eat.” The poem is about all the ways in which wildlife, as well as humans, and really all of nature, rely on each other as food. For example, there is a really beautiful image near the end of the poem: “The night is swallowing/ Daylight.” In this poem, each bit of nature relies on the consumption of the other parts of nature.

Eating is something I think a lot about, because consuming food is a necessity in this life, if we want to stay alive. But, eating, breaking bread, sharing a meal is also a way for us to build community, grow in love with each other, and learn how to give grace in new ways.

To start with, and this piece is important to me because of my faith, Jesus chose to commemorate himself through food: “While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, ‘Take, eat; this is my body.’ Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, ‘Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.'” (Matthew 26:26-27, NRSV). Jesus could have chosen any other thing to represent himself, but he knew, I think, that food binds people together in a way that really nothing else can. I mean he was building his legacy on top of his own faith’s legacy of the Passover, which is deeply and intricately intertwined with foodways. Jesus reinvented his own culture, and left a legacy of food as a means to wellness, a meal as a healing balm.

I like to think about the ways in which something simple like making my great-grandma’s bakalava recipe binds me back to her and to our shared history. I am not only tied to my great-grandma, but also to my grandma, my mom, my aunts, my cousins. We all share this lineage through a simple dessert. I remember when I was younger, and my Greek family would all gather together for holidays, weddings, funerals, and whatever other occasions, the most important part was the food we shared. My Aunt Aglaia was known for making amazing dolmades, my grandma was known for her spanakopita, my mom for her baklava, and countless other women in my family had their own specialties that they’d bring together to celebrate. As time went on, the gatherings diminished, until recently, we’ve only really met for funerals, which is quite sad.

I also think about the hundreds—or probably thousands—of hours I’ve spent with friends, family, acquaintances, strangers made friends, and others sitting in an uncomfortable booth at Pizza King, a soft comfy chair at a coffeehouse, or at a dining room table in someone’s house sharing a meal, coffee, or dessert, talking, and learning about each other. Food brings out a curiosity and a comfortability that may not have been there previously. We share a meal, we share life, and we come together in a unique way that doesn’t happen outside of consuming food together.

Food creates a social intimacy that cannot be duplicated by anything else. I don’t have words to explain why this happens. I just know it does, because I can feel it when I break bread with others. I know a miracle happens when we sit down to eat.