Romans 14:14-17

Do not by your eating destroy someone for whom Christ died.

When the Apostle Paul began his missionary journeys around the Mediterranean, I don’t think he expected ethical dilemmas about food and eating together to be the most divisive theological issues. Paul was well equipped to debate the finer points of law, his understanding of the cross and resurrection of Jesus, and even Greek philosophy, but churches often devolved into food fights. Likewise, we may not expect moral issues on the menu or in the supermarket. But if you follow famous chefs like Mark Bittman in the New York Times, his maple Dijon Salmon recipe may include how to buy fish that are raised sustainably. Or you have heard about the mission of World Kitchen and Chef Jose Andres to provide fresh food for humanitarian relief, especially after one of their food trucks was bombed by the Israeli Army in Gaza. Food has moral and social implications. 

Paul had successfully navigated the first significant split in the early church. He knew that he could not create a diverse and open church if the dietary codes of Leviticus were enforced. It didn’t work to say, “Love your neighbor unless they serve scallops.” The church in Rome put a new twist on the moral implications of what people could eat. The meat from animals sacrificed to Roman gods was sold at the markets at a discount. It’s hard to turn down a bargain on a choice cut of filet mignon. But one of the Deacons was upset because the bull might be sacrificed to the god Jupiter in a celebration in honor of Emperor Nero. He would happily send us to the Coliseum to be sacrificed to the lions. Eating that steak would break the first commandment to have no other gods before the true God. 

Paul has argued all over the Mediterranean that no particular food makes you unclean. It is not what you take into your body that makes you immoral, but what matters are the fruits of the spirit that come out of your life. You are free to eat anything, thus free to eat with anyone. If Paul makes an exception on meat sacrificed to idols, he opens the possibility of renewed controversy in the church. But standing against the idolatry of Empire, especially when Rome often persecutes Christians, is a significant value, too. Paul has an elegant solution to this quandary. First, he says that meat sacrificed to idols is clean and can be eaten because everyone knows these are false gods, so they can’t harm you. But before you take the discount, think about your neighbor. Idolatry is offensive to them. Think about Joe’s son, who lost his job because he didn’t bow to Jupiter. Consider not eating meat sacrificed to idols out of respect for others in the community. 

I will take you on a brief journey to explore what Paul’s words might mean today. I did not learn to cook for moral reasons. I learned to cook first because I nearly died when my intestine split open after surgery, and eating was part of my healing. Second, I was in love. After surviving for ten days with a feeding tube up my nostril, I was desperate for the taste of food. My first bite from a square of red, jiggly Jello was like the Hallelujah chorus in my mouth. I did not care that it was made of citric acid and pig hooves. I only wanted the joy of eating again. Food has too often been my enemy as I dealt with complications of Crohn’s disease. Pepperoni Pizza was a Trojan Horse designed by the devil to undermine me from within. I learned to cook because I needed to know what was in my food, and I did not want to live on Boost, toast, and rice. I wanted to enjoy eating while being healthy.

Did I mention that I was also in love?   I was dating a wonderful woman who graciously let me recuperate at her house while she took care of me. This temporary act of generosity has now lasted 18 years. I felt guilty because I was out on disability and not able to do much helpful until I recovered. Maybe I could lend a hand cooking. I had a cooking repertoire of hamburgers, hot dogs, mac and cheese, and stir-fried chicken. But Jeanne was a vegetarian. More precisely, she is a pescatarian, meaning she eats fish, eggs, and dairy, but not land-based animals. I did not know what I would eat beyond salad, so I dove into Google searches for vegetarian cooking since I had nothing else to do.

Jeanne decided to be a vegetarian after reading about the Cairo Population Summit in 1994. The major takeaway was that the rising meat consumption was damaging the environment and diverting land resources towards feeding cows rather than poorer humans. Here is one clear example. It takes over 4000 gallons of water to produce one kilogram of beef. In contrast, a kilogram of tomatoes takes about 57 gallons of water. Even rice, a water-intensive crop, takes only 660 gallons per kilogram. Over half the water in the Colorado River Basin in the dry West goes to raising cattle. We are eating ourselves out of house and home here on planet earth.

This change was a massive leap for me as an Iowa farm boy, but the case was compelling, so now I only occasionally eat meat. I began to cook because I had received a gift of grace when I was too weak to take care of myself. And I wanted to return the gift of hospitality by making delicious food. What I have learned over time is that every bite of every meal is a gift of grace that comes from the Creator of all living things. With each bite, I take the sun, rain, and soil from places I have never seen. My coffee’s aroma is a whiff of the volcanic soil of Sumatra. Each squeeze of lime emits the hot, humid breezes of the coast of Veracruz, Mexico. If I add it to something with a jalapeno pepper, I can hear the Mariachi band playing in my kitchen. The rich, flat earth of Kansas comes through in my toast, enriched by honey from Barter’s Island bees, who may have buzzed through the clover in my yard or at the Coastal Maine Botanical Garden. 

Each bite connects me to the many hands who grow, cook, and transport our food. Food has a story:

My garden is full of tomatoes, garlic and basil. (You would think I was Italian rather than Scotch-Irish!). I know how many weeds were pulled and how many sucker branches were trimmed from the tomatoes. The garlic is planted at the end of baseball’s World Series each year and harvested at the All-Star break. When I thaw pesto in February, I remember the hot summer afternoon when the basil almost doubled in size. There is likely a drop of my sweat mixed in there. I don’t love gardening, but raising some of my food and remembering connections to the earth feels good.

At the Farmer’s Market a few years ago, one booth had many tomatoes selling at discount prices. When I asked why, the farmer said she had to pick everything last night before the hailstorm hit, or she would have lost the entire crop, so everything was priced to move that morning. This story reminds me of the hard work and risks farmers absorb in producing food. 

The more local our food, the more we know these stories. But just because we got our food from a display in Hannaford’s, boxed, shrink-wrapped, or the freezer section, doesn’t mean our food has no story. All our food begins with the story of creation and the abundance and life energy from God’s generosity. Give us this day our daily bread reminds us that food is a story of gratitude and a gift from something once alive. Some food stories are sad, like the year when a warm February and March weather caused the peaches to blossom too early, and then the snow killed them, so there were no peaches. Climate change robbed us of our cobbler. 

Some food stories are sad because people are exploited and paid little for their labor. 

When the state of Alabama passed the strictest immigration laws in the country in 2011, thousands of farm workers left the state. Due to labor shortages, tomatoes rotted in the fields, and farmers lost over $391 million. We are told stories that undocumented immigrants are all sent from prisons, murderers who steal American jobs, and a drain on our social resources. But farmers in Alabama say they can’t find American workers who will work as hard as their Mexican crews. One farmer said he had to hire 20 Americans to replace a crew of four Mexicans. That point is that winter tomato from Hannaford’s has a story, and we are connected to it. 

These are complicated stories that don’t fit into our cultural warfare ideologies, which is a great reason to tell them. The Bible is full of food justice stories.

What might the Apostle Paul say about our ethical challenges, how our food is raised, and the issues of the environment and justice? In Romans, he gave both sides something to think about. Our choices at the table reflect our values and our faith. As Paul taught, it’s not about rigid laws but about love and respect for one another. Each meal is an opportunity to honor the Creator, support our community, and care for our planet. Eat with conscience and compassion, mindful of the workers and stories behind our food and grateful for the grace that sustains us.