I find the work of Hong Yi amazing. The Shanghai-based artist uses coffee cups to create portraits that are both true and beautiful. She’s a beautiful  young woman whose blog also shows her creating art with a basketball, with sunflower seeds, and with chili paste on a plate.

During my weeks in India, food became something to think about several times each day. As a traveler, you don’t always know where your next meal will come from, or what it will contain. There’s an element of surprise to it, and more than a little trust involved. There was certainly no lack of food for us and, despite more walking, I came home two pounds heavier than when I left. Food was given generously and graciously with a lot of attention to our Western tastes.

In homes and in restaurants in India, there’s an intentionality about food; real planning is involved.  Meals there consisted of smaller portions, but more dishes.  It wasn’t uncommon for 10-12 items to be placed on the table for each meal: salads, a variety of breads, curries, fruits, rice, sauces, vegetables, and potatoes…and that’s just for lunch.  Breakfast and dinner had similar quantities and varieties of items.

Food is eaten with the hands in India, as it is in many places. That’s more than a little disconcerting to us who are used to forks and knives. Meats are pre-cut into bite-sized pieces, often covered in gravy–some spicy, some not–to be mixed with rice by one’s fingers. There’s a lot of movement on the Indian plate with diners constantly mixing and moving items around with their hands. I tried their method and used my fingers for a couple of meals, but I was rather sloppy and it was clear that I’m much more comfortable with steel utensils to deliver the goodies to my mouth. But there’s something basic about using one’s hands. Somehow the experience ties a person to the food they are eating. Dinner is more organic, not in the sense of being “pesticide-free”, but in the experience of eating with one’s whole body.  The hands and eyes experience the temperature and the texture of the food before the tongue ever tastes it. There’s a sense of integrity about it all.

There’s much less manufactured food, too, as most dishes are from scratch ingredients and fresh produce. We had pineapple right out of the garden; papaya and mango, tomatoes and guava from the back yard. There were more varieties of banana than I could count, and figs and pomegranates and coconuts everywhere. Chicken and lamb often come from one’s own village.

The Indian palate is vastly different from the American one. India is the source of many spices, and dishes reflect the richness of those flavors, some familiar and some exotic.  The American diet seems terribly bland and flavorless to Indians, I was told. It seems to me that Indian food is full of opposites: fiery hot curries with a side of cold plain yogurt to reduce the inflammation, tender meats and crisp salads, well-seasoned lentils with plain rice, salty fried breads cooked with biting black pepper, and for a finishing touch, sweet, creamy ice creams and puddings. I tried it all and then some, so I guess I’m lucky I only brought two pounds back with me.

I like the English tradition of afternoon tea in India, with the hot beverage (whether coffee or tea) steeped darkly and mixed with steamed milk and a generous helping of sugar.  There are always cookies (“biscuits” in the English parlance) with tea. Often potato chips or a piece of cake showed up at tea time, too.  I was reluctant at first to have hot tea in the 95-degree heat, but our hosts were convincing that a hot beverage in the afternoon actually helps the body handle the heat better.  There’s mid-morning and mid-afternoon tea.  Evening dinner was often after 8 p.m.  Lunch tended to be the heavier meal.

Getting home, I was desperate to return to my bland daily bread: dinner was a ham sandwich, some overly salty Cheetos and a glass of milk. No sign of any spice anywhere. My tongue needed a break. But damn any diet, my sandwich had both cheese and mayonnaise. I’d been craving dark chocolate and ate most of a bar before I collapsed from jet lag.

The other thing about food that’s on my mind is the inequitable distribution of it. I saw women in India cooking a pot of white rice over coals, throwing a few leaves and chili peppers in the pot for flavor. They were cooking on the hospital grounds for themselves and their patients, and rice and a few veggies were all they had. I watched children eating rice three times a day, the only variation a few lentils thrown in the pot. I saw farmers who struggle to raise enough rice to feed the people of their village. And I throw away more food than I can ever justify.  Supermarkets here look like palaces of gluttony. There’s too much food in my country and my part of the world, and not enough in other parts.

Doesn’t it seem right to share? On getting back to my duties at work, it’s my pleasure and responsibility to guide our congregation to do something about hunger during the Mission:1 program this November. My time in India has prepared me and opened my eyes to some of the realities of food injustice.

Food is something that we all share in common, but is distinct to each of our cultures. The way we produce, distribute and consume food is crucial to our shared future, and the unhealthy imbalance of food scarcity in the developing world and food over-abundance in the developed world is unsustainable for us all.

May God bless us with a spirit of sharing, not because the hungry of India need our handouts, but because we wealthy people have a need and a responsibility to give.  Resources like food are meant for the sustenance of all God’s people.  It’s wrong to keep more than our fair share.

I’m generally not a big believer in the idea of God testing us, but if there is a test, it might be this one: God gives food to sustain us, and when some have enough and more than enough, perhaps its an examination to see if we will selfishly hoard the blessing, or if we will help others be blessed.

When we help others, Jesus told us, we are participating in the kingdom’s work. May we be found faithful with our food.

Dr. Vijayakumar is an Executive with Global Ministries, the organization that coordinates missions for the United Church of Christ and the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ).  His area of responsibility includes Southeast Asia, of which India is part.  After getting to know Vijay and his work, I once commented that I’d love to travel with him to see India through his eyes. From that, a trip plan was hatched.

We’re going for several purposes: to give encouragement and support to churches and mission projects that our denomination shares partnership with, and to share in the culture, food, history and sights of that beautiful country. We’ll be traveling from Delhi in the north to the very southern tip of the country. I’ll do my best to add some photos and notes here over the next two weeks as we travel.  Internet availability is unknown, but we should have access several times during our journey.

Keep us in your prayers.

One of my favorite portraits…an Israeli boy in Tiberius. While he looks angelic here, I caught him throwing rocks to break windows in an abandoned historic building.

Background here.

[via Daily Dish]

Bill became a good friend during my spring journey to the Holy Land.   I joined a small group of travelers from our Holy Land pilgrimage who went with Bill to visit the Bet She’an National Park, an ancient Roman and Egyptian city.  Bill’s enthusiasm for history greatly added to my experience there.

Check out his blogposts through the link provided here.

Walking with God (williamcmills.blogspot.com)

[via The Daily Dish]

To my knowledge no one close to me has ever experienced such violence. But clearly a large percentage of rapes are never officially reported or prosecuted, so I’m sure that a large percentage are never told. Survivors who speak of their experiences do so with great courage and emotional strength. There are issues of “fault” and “blame” and “shame” that quell the telling. There are men who are abused as well as women. There are family members who perpetrate crimes on family members. Such things are hard to speak of.

Sunday’s Plain Dealer had a special section (now online) which detailed the rape of a Cleveland woman–a reporter, in fact, who tells her own story. I saw the section in the Sunday paper and set it aside to read later, but not really sure if I’d get around to it or not.

On Tuesday I picked it up. Author/survivor Joanna Connors walked me through the thoughts, the fears, and the pain of her own experience while exploring the life of her attacker as well. The writing is compelling. The sharing is an outpouring of the trauma and fears and hopes of this gifted writer and survivor. The photos helped share the story too, in a way that aided the story without being too graphic in themselves. It’s a story I would commend to your reading.

That night, I went to the first rehearsal for “Sing Out! For the Rape Crisis Center”. It’s a fundraising event, a concert of Cleveland area leaders who form a choir for one sell-out performance. I’m in it because a church member invited me, and I thought “eh…why not?” But, having read the first hand story of brutality and survivorship, I now think of it as a very good way to make a difference.

It felt good to use my voice to offer songs of hope on behalf of those who may feel little hope. The concert will raise a lot of money for the Cleveland Rape Crisis Center which uses the funds to provide free care and counseling to those in need. Fourteen thousand persons were served last year; two thousand more than the year before. There’s a lot of pain out there, and it is pain that lasts for a lifetime. Somebody’s got to give voice to hope. I’m glad I can help in a small way.

The singer across the pew from me was Joanna Connors, using her own voice in new ways to offer hope for others.

[photo via Cleveland.com]