We are becoming, or have become (depending on your perspective) those people. In an effort to be good stewards or resourceful, we make a lot of our own stuff. We’re not quite at the stage of making our own leather belts or coonskin hats, but if this trend continues, don’t be surprised if I open up a shop on Etsy. For now, our making of stuff has been confined to the kitchen. We make our own kombucha and kefir. Mouthwash, toothpaste (or in our case, tooth clay or tooth powder) and deodorant is produced there as well. The beautiful bride has made a myriad of all natural, homemade salves and tinctures to address a multitude of maladies. So, when she decided a couple of weeks ago to begin making sourdough bread, it just seemed natural (ha, I’m punny!)
Truthfully, I understand very little about what it takes to make sourdough bread. All I know is that there is a glob of dough that everyday must be “fed” and at some point, via unseen actions, it becomes a tasty treat.
This process in the kitchen was going on as I was preparing for the privilege of preaching from the Gospel of Mark. Though sourdough remains a mystery to me, I think I grasp ordinary breadmaking – take some dough, add some yeast, beat the daylights out of it, bake it and whammo, bread. Our church family has been going through this account of Jesus’ life and ministry, and this past Sunday I was preaching from Mark 8, which includes this interchange between Jesus and His disciples, and because making bread was on my mind and in my kitchen, this portion became very vivid to me: