Some of the fanciest restaurants focus on seafood and steak. Shrimp, lobster, and oysters are considered to be the height of cuisine and there are special crystal dishes and silver tools crafted specifically for their serving. There are entire cultures and economies based around fishing and eating food from the water and … I don’t get it. What I often tell people is that I’m allergic to seafood. It is a quick sound bite that helps me avoid a drawn-out conversation.
The truth is, I grew up in northwest Ohio in the 1980’s, and while we weren’t directly on Lake Erie, we went there often enough that my nose can still conjure the fetid smell of rotting zebra muscles washing up on the shore of the lake. And then my parents would catch, dress, and cook walleye at our campsite, all while that wretched pungentness continued to invade my nostrils.
It has been 35 years since I’ve been anywhere near the lake. I’m not interested in reconciling with the fish. I’m not addressing this in therapy. I’m just living my life without eating anything that comes out of the water, and politely refusing it when offered.
Do I judge people who eat fish? Absolutely not. I am under no delusion that this is more than a psychological distaste for water-born creatures on my part.
Will I continue to tell people I’m allergic to fish to avoid a drawn out conversation? In many circumstances, yes. I have suffered for decades through circular conversations about what dishes I should try to ease myself into better quality seafood than what I grew up with. I find it stressful and I prefer to just order a nice chicken dish without having to explain my preferences, thank you.
This Sunday, our Lenten journey continues with a conversation about who we consider our neighbors. Jesus lived in an area that was a crossroads of many cultures, and everyone was afraid of giving up their piece of social, economic, political, and religious control. When any group got desperate to maintain their grip, the easiest thing they could do was strike out against what was different about the others. It is a human instinct that has not faded with time.
On Wednesdays, we’ll use our senses to explore our humanity. I used my story about the smell of fish to explain why I eat the way I do. Imagine the scents, sounds, sights, and other sensations of other parts of the world and how those have affected the habits and histories of entire cultures.
Now imagine if we look at the people we are being asked to call “neighbor” and we take a moment to say to ourselves, “I’d bet they have a really interesting story to tell.” They aren’t obligated to tell us. But acknowledging that there is more there that we don’t know is better than rushing to judgement and not treating people as equals.
What sense experiences have changed the way you interact with the world?
What biases do you think you might be able to see past if you recognize there is more to our neighbors’ stories?
John Johns, Music Director