Photograph by Syd Wachs via Unsplash

Episcopal priest and agitator of all things holy, Barbara Brown Taylor, once wrote, “Earth is so thick with divine possibility that it is a wonder we can walk anywhere without cracking our shins on altars.”[i] I can testify to her ponderings.

I’ve cracked a shin, suffered a hockey-worthy hip check, and pinched several fingers on one such altar resting in the parsonage kitchen – a massive rolling tool cabinet.

My spouse and I picked up the hefty addition for the extra countertop and storage space in our first home in North Carolina. Lugging it around ever since, our industrial stand mixer, food processor, and other kitchen gadgets have either filled its drawers or sat upon its sleek wooden top.

When we landed in Connecticut, we petitioned a few extra sets of hands to help us squeeze it through the hallways and doors. Its wheels came to a halt right below a salvaged pot rack where a collection of Le Creuset and cast iron hangs with an admiration usually reserved for works found in the Louvre. Wrapping around the cookware, a dozen nails hold the vintage copper Jello molds, filling in the little wall space we have left.

Some might say it’s a lot to take in.

And I haven’t even mentioned the books yet.

A growing number of them have found a home on the top of the cabinet. Works range from well-known chefs turned authors to spiral-bound church cookbooks with dog-eared pages. All are lined up in no particular order.

I like to tell people it’s a living altar, meaning it changes, growing in its meaning and complexity. New pots, pans, and books become part of it regularly.

The Just Kitchen: Invitations to Sustainability, Cooking, Connection, and Celebration is the latest offering that’s made its way onto our family’s sanctum sanctorum. Its authors, Derrick Weston and Anna Woofenden, have created something original. The Just Kitchen isn’t really a cookbook, nor is it a call-to-action collection of essays urging the reader to join the Slow Food Movement or tackle broken food systems head-on (although all these are good ideas to come away with). Instead, Weston and Woofenden ask the reader to plant themselves in a kitchen, suggesting one’s time there is transformative. “What we discovered and what we share here,” Weston and Woofenden write, “is that our kitchens hold a lot more than food.”

While Weston and Woofenden act as co-chefs de cuisine, they invite various voices to join them. Co-conspirators and would-be sous chefs appear in each concept-driven chapter. Many of them have had a prior relationship with the authors through their Food and Faith podcast.

Folks like Nikki Cooley of the Diné (Navajo) Nation. Cooley shares her upbringing on a reservation and how her grandmothers taught her to cook over an open fire, making fry bread, in what she calls the cha cha, a small shack house. Author and podcaster Bruce Reyes-Chow describes his kitchen as sanctuary – a space that allows him to unwind and create.

The Rev. Emily Scott inspires in describing her dinner church, St. Lydia’s Kitchen in Brooklyn, New York, an experimental community that is “working together to dispel isolation, reconnect neighbors, and subvert the status quo.” Yours truly even makes a gracious appearance, preaching the gospel of biscuits and suggesting the kitchen is where people can taste memories.

Insights and personal stories from Weston and Woofenden are peppered throughout, guiding readers through their still-evolving views of kitchens. A reoccurring question appears often, asking contributors what gives them hope. Some of the responses are worthy of being tucked away in a recipe book for a cold and rainy day. And while I said The Just Kitchen isn’t really a cookbook, it has a helping of recipes ranging from red beans and rice to berengena guisada (stewed eggplant).

Finally, there is a liturgy at the end of every section. Weston and Woofenden are open about blending their faith and passion for food but don’t see this as a limitation to The Just Kitchen. “At times in this book, we use specifically Christian language, but we do so to illustrate truths we believe are universal.” The liturgies are one such example. Working more like inclusive invocations, I could see many of them being substituted as a blessing over a dinner table or escaping the lips of someone eating a cold piece of chicken in front of an open fridge, alone after a challenging workday.

It has been a few weeks since I worked my way through The Just Kitchen. I’m done reading it, but I’m not finished with it, and that’s why I placed it on the rolling cabinet. Be it my faith or Weston’s cherry bourbon recipe, I want that which nurtures and gives me life close at hand. Indulging in this liquid philosopher’s stone late one night, I leaned against my kitchen counter and soaked in the altar I’ve built and am still building. Squinting, I can just make out some of the names etched on book spines. Brock, Twitty, Lundy, and now, Weston and Woofenden. Along with Scott, Reyes-Chow, and Cooley, they are fellow workers and kindred spirits – every last one an altar builder in their own way.

I take a sip and mumble a prayer, the core of which counts myself lucky to be among them.