On Sandwiches

Can a sandwich do any good?

I asked this question to myself, last night, as I stood, hands covered in flimsy plastic gloves, arranging bread, bologna, and cheese into my share of 1,000 sandwiches in a church kitchen. Probably about 15 of us stood over metal trays, and with assembly-line like efficiency, created bologna and cheese sandwiches over jokes, small talk, and in the case of the foursome at my tray, awkward silences brought on by one man's cranky pants. We were making sandwiches for Martha's Table, an organization, that through several different channels, including the mobile soup kitchen McKenna's wagon, tries to meet the needs of the hungry in the DC area, and for Foundry United Methodist's Walk-In Mission that helps people to obtain identification, a lunch, and clothing should they need it. All of this is done under the umbrella of the Community Mission at Foundry.

I have long maintained that food makes us part of a larger community, and that preparing food for others connects you to people in a very intimate way. Why should that change if you are preparing an elaborate pasta dish for a gathering of friends in celebration or bologna sandwiches for people who you may see everyday, but may not notice or know?

I am reminded, by the name of Martha's Table (I have no idea if this story is the basis for the name, but I am reminded nonetheless), of the Biblical story of sisters Mary and Martha, who are visited by Jesus. Mary sits at Jesus's feet, listening to him teach. Martha works in the kitchen, preparing a hospitable table for her guest. Martha becomes upset that Mary does not help, and Jesus scolds her, but not for preparing food. He scolds her for her anger at not being helped. Both women are engaging in worthwhile pursuits. I grew up feeling that Martha got some poor shakes, because I am a Martha (in the sense of this story, not in the A Handmaid's Tale sense). The greatest joy for me lies in hospitality. The best way for me to access faith is through action: words are beautiful, and moving, but actions speak very clearly. In fact, I often have made the mistake of defining myself by the number of actions I undertake, until, like Martha, I emerged stressed, upset, and distant from the initial reason behind the action. But, if I truly believe that action is important, then even small actions, even the making of a few dozen sandwiches, matter immensely.

What good can a sandwich do?

Someone will eat those sandwiches, and they may be the only nourishment that someone gets on that particular day. It is hard for us to conceive of hunger if we've not experienced it: right now, I've got a box of fruits and vegetables sitting on my counter that was delivered this morning. It is difficult for me to conceive of hunger. As I made those sandwiches, I tried to imagine being grateful for one. In a real way. In honesty, I might not have eaten one - I don't really like bologna. But I tried to picture a world in which I met McKenna's wagon, and accepted that sandwich as a person who needed it. I don't know that I did a very good job of picturing that, but I realized that the small cares we put into making the sandwiches (carefully centered cheese slices, turning the heels in in case someone would reject that part of the bread) would mean a lot to someone in a position to receive them.

I am incredibly fortunate. I have my fruit bowl overflowing with fruits no one has eaten. I have a fridge that needs to be cleaned out. I have two loaves of homemade banana bread sitting on my stove. I am lucky. I am also lucky that I am in a position to go out and make sandwiches on a Wednesday night so that someone else can eat.