resistance baking

To hear Brandi read this week’s essay, click here: https://youtu.be/lhuCExhPHjw

I’ve been baking in a frenzy lately. Cookies, brownies, chewies, biscuits, waffles and pies. Sounds delicious, but baking for me is like church and therapy and confession and entering rehab all at once.

I like to think of myself as a self-aware person, but, alas, I am often late to the party when it comes to acknowledging deficits in my mental, emotional or physical health. To compensate for these blind spots, I look for familiar markers to help me recognize the moments when I am no longer crushing it. For instance, if I find myself screening calls or hiding from a knock on the front door, I usually—finally—realize that something is going on with my internal everything. It’s not rocket science. I’m even a little ashamed of it. How can I think I’m doing well when I’m clearly not?

I have an iron will that pushes me to keep going no matter what, and that will tends to bully my mental and emotional need for restoration. I insist things are all good, even if another part of my soul and body know they aren’t. My problem is that those parts don’t communicate super well, so part of me thinks I’m great while the other part of me is barely hanging on.

As an educator married to a physician with 4 school-aged children, the impact of the pandemic is everywhere. My students struggle to function and learn, my husband faces impossible life or death situations more frequently, both of us can’t find the joy that used to come easy, and my children don’t remember what if feels like to learn collaboratively in environments where they are safe, known and celebrated. The pandemic has taken a lot, and with the rise of Omicron, we all fear it will continue to do so.

Amidst this mess, I felt bombarded by updates from the cases of Kyle Rittenhouse and the killers of Ahmaud Arbery. Then a fifteen year old in Michigan got a gun for Christmas, openly fantasized about shooting up his school, and then did so.

Suddenly, I felt a rising need to bake.

The weekend after a man killed children at Sandy Hook Elementary School, I made homemade cinnamon rolls for the first time. After George Floyd was killed, I perfected scones and waffles. When my psyche feels overwhelmed by terrifying grief that defies easy processing, that undermines my trust in the world, I feel a weird desire to bake or cook complicated, intimidating recipes. I don’t really understand it, but I’ve learned to trust it.

When I’m baking I am not conscious of the battles that rage within me. I don’t realize that I am searching for a way to ground myself, to trust that the center will hold even as evil swirls around my family. Still, somehow, baking becomes my creative act of resistance against the evil of this world. A biscuit becomes my mark of defiance against the dark. A scone bears witness to the fact that I believe God cares deeply about the injustice we face, that Christ laments alongside us, that God brings healing and restoration to ruined people and places.

Advent reminds us that God comes toward us. Jesus knows all is not well, and brings miraculous justice to speak good news over bad realities. Advent is an invitation to reflect on the parts of us that need hope and healing. “For those who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” These are words for people covered in flour, trying to work out their salvation with fear and trembling in the kitchen.

Wherever you go to find the ground beneath your feet when the world throws you, I pray you will lift your eyes to the God who sees and knows you. I pray your broken heart would feel bound up by your Maker, that you would find some freedom from your captivity. In the community of God, a rolling pin and a pastry cutter can be sacraments, blessed to bring healing to a weary world. In this Advent season, I hope you begin to recognize your need to push back against the dark and make room for the light. Give yourself fully to those traditions, and enjoy a God who can heal you through ridiculous routines.