Starving in God’s House

We sat around the table sharing. Four women, laughing and talking after the Bible study had ended, the golden light of the setting sun casting a glow over the room. Our voices rose and fell almost in harmony—half laughter, half confessional. Most of the other ladies had left, but there were still a few quiet conversations in different corners of the room. I was newly divorced, and I did something a bit reckless. I shared the truth.

To a small group of Christian women, I admitted that I missed sex since my divorce—that celibacy was not something I wanted, and now it was a reality I was living. I told the three women that my secular friends had suggested I buy a certain plastic, battery powered electrical device to help me through the divorce. I explained honestly that this was not something I wanted. What I missed was true intimacy—someone who loved me, physical closeness, not a bodily sensation.

One of the ladies in that small group was a pastor. She approached me later to let me know I had been inappropriate. That some women could not handle that degree of graphicness. I should be more careful what I shared. I looked at her bewildered. The other women in the group were grown adults. They had shared similar stories with me in one on one contexts. I had shared a struggle with a small group of women in a Bible study. I had revealed my humanity to Christian peers and opened myself to their wisdom. I did not share my story in mixed company. I shared it with mature Christian women in a biblical setting. They were all my age or older. If I couldn’t share a spiritual struggle here, where could I share it?

I learned a lesson that day, but it was not the one the woman’s pastor intended. The truth was not welcome here and neither was I.

I had come hungry and came away hungrier.

As an English teacher, I often find common threads in great literature. In The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, the old sailor tells his story. It is one full of supernatural occurrences and suffering. Long ago, for some unknown reason, he kills a beautiful albatross with a crossbow. The senseless killing of the bird begins a supernatural chain of events that leads to the sailors fighting for their lives on the open sea. Despite having water all around them, they descend into dehydration and starvation.

“Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink.” This is the cry of lament from the sailors as they descend into death.

After the crew suffers under the heat of the sun and the wind refuses to move the ship to safety, the crew forces him to wear the dead albatross around his neck, a physical symbol of his shame, a penance for his recklessness. When an enigmatic ship appears in the distance, it carries two spirit-like figures who gamble over the fate of the ship. One represents Death and wins the crew, while the other wins the Mariner. After the gamble, the crew members mysteriously die one by one, their eyes open as they meet their maker. Everyone dies except the Mariner, who carries the weight of his shame forever.

It seems a strange epic poem. The Mariner, the one guilty of killing the albatross, lives to tell the tale, while all those on board suffer and die. Is it a true story or the invention of an old man? It is a story of hunger and suffering—men fighting against the elements to survive, hungering and thirsting, but never finding sustenance.

The poem recognizes two truths about our humanity. The first is the senseless killing of the albatross. We are, by nature, destructive in our actions. The Mariner initiates a senseless act of violence, which disrupts the peace of the journey. Second, the result of that destruction is suffering, suffering that hangs over us in both death and life. In the aftermath of the killing of the albatross, the crew descends into a state of base human survival—the need to drink and the need to eat.

Hunger is a concept that resonates with us. We know what it means to hunger and thirst and still not be satisfied. When we hunger and thirst, it is often coming from a place of survival. Our bodies seek sustenance because we know that without it, we will wither and die.

When modern science mirrors great literature, I pay attention. The term food desert is a popular term among nutritionists. They bemoan the deteriorating health of our citizens and lament the future. The American diet presents a similar paradox offering both plenty and nothing. Food that is colorful and fills shelves, yet offers few nutrients. Dariush Mozaffarian, Dean of the Tufts Friedman School of Nutrition, said recently, “Americans…are, for the most part, eating poorly everywhere.” How strange to be one of the wealthiest nations in the world, yet have our citizens slowly descending into disease and malnutrition. It’s exactly what’s happening as our society embraces processed foods. In our grocery stores—food, food everywhere, but nothing to eat.

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