Andie is on mission in India.

As often as we in the West talk about the weather, the people here in our corner of India talk about food. ‘How are you?’ is replaced with ‘Saptingelaa?’ (‘Did you eat?’) from which flows an entire conversation about what, when, and how much we ate. Beyond surface-level pleasantries, I’ve come to treasure how food is such a beautiful way for us to share life with the Indian people. Preparing and consuming meals in our community are deeply human activities of daily life that connect us to our neighbors who greet us from their front steps as we walk by. It is a shared experience that reaches to something within us that flows from our desires to be satisfied, our capacity to receive and create, and is ultimately oriented toward our nourishment and flourishing. 

Our neighbor across the street, Suriyamma (‘amma’ means mother), sees us many times a day and faithfully asks us if we’ve eaten every single time. She is quick to offer tea, idli, or dosa if I ever show the slightest hint of hunger. One day after she gave me some tea, she said, “I lost my husband on a Sunday, and so every Sunday is very difficult for me. There is a lot of tension in my mind. But when you’re here, I feel free.” Somehow, the trust we’ve built through showing our care for one another through talking about food while sitting on her front steps opened the door to sharing life in a way I wasn’t expecting. 

 The words, “Give us this day, our daily bread,” have taken on a new meaning for me; receiving God’s providence has become a tangible, communal experience. Suriyamma has shown me that not only is the food we eat broken and shared, but our lives are broken and shared. From this shared life blooms child-like trust and freedom in knowing that we’re never alone. Rootedness in communion with our neighbors has allowed me to trust more deeply in the Word Incarnate, Jesus as the Bread of Life which we receive every morning at mass and in every moment through the faces of our friends.