“My grandmother came from Russia, a satchel on her knee, my grandfather had his father's cap he brought from Italy,” the song goes. Food from cultures around the world were brought to a table with love and generosity - each to be tasted, appreciated, and used for nourishment, both spiritually and physically.īut as I ate, and watched neighbors across cultural and ethnic lines share food and stories, I thought of the old ‘70s Schoolhouse Rock song: “ The Great American Melting Pot.” There weren’t just hotdogs and New Jersey subs at this potluck there were pans filled with Italian meatballs next to fresh samosas, and Spanish rice and beans were placed next to fresh pasta salads. Located just south of Rutgers University, our church is filled with folks from across Asia, Latin America, Africa, and Europe. If you listened closely, you could hear the stomach of your neighbor rumbling in anticipation. This is commonly known as a church potluck.īy the time the sermon came to a close, the sanctuary was filled with the smell of the food that was in the lobby. Every month, members of the congregation prepare food from their culture and bring it to the lobby of our small storefront church. Earlier this month, my church participated in a radical, historic, gospel-proclaiming tradition that stretches back to the time of Jesus: eating together.
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