The holidays call to mind thoughts of family and food. Time together and treats to taste. Weeks before our celebrations we plan, shop, bake, and prepare our homes for the ones who will gather with us. Our people and the food we eat go hand-in-hand. Many families have their favourite recipes passed on from one generation to the next – Aunt Cathy’s cake, Grandma’s butter tarts, the treasured stuffing recipe.
As we approach the holidays, our preparations of food can sometimes feel like a chore, but they can also be a link to our family history, a celebration of the ones who came before, a reminder of who we are.
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There is a distinctive sound the rolling pin makes as the baker rolls out the pastry, lifts the pin and rolls again. A sound repeated many times to get it right.
As I roll out dough for pie, the sound takes me back to my mother’s kitchen. I am on one side of the laminate counter with my child-sized rolling pin working the small mound of dough I have been given.
My mom stands on the other side of the counter, deftly working her dough. Her large rolling pin makes a pleasant sound as she lifts it and sets it down again, pushing the pastry out in all directions, repeated over and over. When just the right size, she folds the thin sheet of dough in half, lays it into the glass pie plate, and gently unfolds it again. After pressing the dough into the curve of the plate, excess dough drapes over the edges. Mom takes a knife and cuts the extra away while turning the plate slowly. There is a rhythm to this pie-making, a soothing repetition practiced over time. It is a place where the mind can settle as hands move in familiar patterns.
I form my dough into shapes, a teddy bear, a heart, and a basket to go into the oven alongside the apple, pumpkin, and mincemeat pies mom has made.
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I appreciate the meditative rhythms of rolling out dough. How our minds can be free to wander as our hands are busy at a task. Instead of worrying about how all my plans will go over the season, I can whisper prayers with each pass of the rolling pin. Prayers for safety, for connection, for the elderly aunt who finds herself housebound. I pray for the family I will not see, who will have their own celebrations across many miles. The rhythm of rolling soothes the anxiety I am feeling if I let it. In these moments I do what I can to make our gatherings special, while, at the same time, release my expectations for how it should look. When the days get frantic with busyness, the repetitive movements of rolling dough help to slow me down and practice being present.
The kitchen becomes a sanctuary, a place to offer petitions, holy ground. Prayers mingle with flour and shortening and all becomes a sacrament. Brother Lawrence was famous for knowing the kitchen was a hallowed space, filled with the presence of God. I wonder as we spend time in the kitchen this season if we too could practice what it means to be with God in the washing and drying, the stirring and simmering. I wonder if we could see our work as a way to experience Immanuel.
This making of pastry, pies, and tarts is in my DNA it seems. My grandmother consistently won awards of silver dishes at the fall fair for her baking. Mom displays some of these prizes won by my grandmother as she carries on the baking tradition. Long after I have left home, I repeatedly return to the practice of rolling dough and making pies. Maybe the child I was recognized the beauty of these slow simple movements. I always enjoyed the eating part, but the time spent together, hands and clothes dusted with flour, is where the true treasure lay.
I think of those times as my rolling pin makes that familiar sound. I copy my mother’s movements, which have become second nature to me as well. I replicate her perfect fluted edges as I pinch and spin the plate, pinch and spin. My mother learned from her mother, as I have learned from mine. Skills passed from generation to generation, to feed and sustain our people.
As I pull out the pie plates, tart tins, and rolling pin, to prepare treats for the holidays, I sense the connection to the ones who came before. The ways we celebrate, the recipes we use, connect me to family beyond walls and time.
As you prepare and gather with those you love,
May the ordinary moments of labor be laced with the presence of God.
May your spaces become hallowed,
Each room drenched in the Divine,
And overflowing with Love.
