What do cookies have to do with funerals?

"The lowly cookie, tantalizing the taste buds of successive generations, re-presents a life well lived in love, vanished from our eyes, yet still present in the memory of the heart."

I do not enjoy attending funerals. And yet, I frequently come away from a funeral feeling peaceful and uplifted, in a subdued sort of way.  A well-celebrated funeral puts me in touch with humanity, and reminds me that each life has a transcendent meaning. 

As a funeral I recently attended illustrates, the transcendent meaning of a person’s life might be uncovered in something seemingly trivial, like cookies.

Cookies re-present a life well lived in love

On the back page of the memorial card for this funeral, there was a recipe for ginger snaps. During the eulogy, we learned that this was not the standard recipe for the cookie. The daughter of the deceased told us that one time her mother added too much flour resulting in a snappier cookie. Since she liked the cookies that way, she continued to make them with extra flour, and the cookies became a family favorite. As her daughter spoke about her mother’s love for her family, which, in typical Italian fashion, often manifested itself in platters of food at family gatherings, I could picture multiple generations of her family enjoying the crunchy cookie.

Usually memorial cards end up in my blue box, but the one from this funeral found its way into my black binder of recipes.  I have already made these cookies, and I must say, they are the best ginger snaps ever. Who knows, maybe this recipe will one day be inducted into my family’s cookie hall of fame, joining another cookie recipe – my mother-in-law’s famous oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. 

For two generations, before she passed away a number of years ago, my mother-in-law made copious batches of her signature cookie.  When her six sons were growing up, she would make 12 dozen cookies at a time, and on one occasion, two of her sons polished off almost the entire 12 dozen as the cookies cooled on the counter while their mother was out. While her grandchildren were slightly more restrained, they, too, relished her chocolate chip cookies, as I am certain her great grandchildren will in the years to come.

Ginger Snaps and Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies

Of course, cookies can never sum up the complexity of a person’s life, but they may point to a person who lived and loved well. The legacy of the unique crunch of a ginger snap, and the aroma of chocolate chip cookies cooling on a counter trigger memory, and make the person, whose love continues to surround us beyond the grave, present to us once again. The lowly cookie, tantalizing the taste buds of successive generations, re-presents a life well lived in love, vanished from our eyes, yet still present in the memory of the heart.

We do not go to enough funerals

Cookies and funerals remind us that our lives are greater than our physical presence in the here and now. We are relational beings, and our life impacts others long after we are gone. The impact we make on our family, friends and community is very much evident at a funeral in the eulogy, in the readings and prayers, and in the tears that freely flow.  It is there, too, in the reception that follows, where the sharing of cookies and other foods symbolically recalls the loving hospitality and generosity of the deceased.

We do not go to enough funerals. Indeed, funerals seem to have fallen out of fashion, with many people opting out of traditional funeral services, or any kind of communal service at all.  In my view, this is unfortunate because apart from helping us through the process of loss, funerals give us a glimpse of the totality of human life from birth to death and beyond.  In the life of the deceased, we recognize the basic ingredients of all human life, although we each have our own unique recipe for living. 

The recipes:

Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies:
(I reduce the sugar, and often omit the nuts)
1/2 cup shortening
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup quick cooking rolled oats
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup chopped walnuts (optional)

Cream shortening, sugars and vanilla. Beat in egg and 1 tablespoon water. Sift together flour, soda and salt; add to creamed mixture, blending well. Stir in the oats, chips and nuts. Drop by rounded teaspoons onto a greased cookie sheet about 2 inches apart. Bake at 375 for 10 to 12 minutes. Cool slightly before removing from pan. Makes 3 1/2 dozen to 4 dozen. (I never get four dozen - guess I make them too big).

Ginger Snap Cookies
(Again, I reduced the sugar)
1 cup butter
1 1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup molasses
2 eggs
approximately 4 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
2 tsp ginger
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp allspice
1/2 tsp salt

Cream butter and sugar; add molasses. Beat in eggs. Mix flour, baking soda and spices in a separate bowl, and add to creamed mixture. Cool in refrigerator for at least one hour. Roll into 1" balls then flatten with a small glass dipped in sugar. Bake at 350 for 15-20 minutes.

Sitting around the kitchen table

Four generations of women

I grew up surrounded by women of strong character.   My mother, my grandmother, and my great grandmother were able to handle life’s ups and downs with grace. The more difficult the situation, the more determined they were to overcome the problems. 

Their example of grace under fire, their “when the going gets tough, the tough get going,” approach to trouble, has definitely influenced my attitude and my capacity to catch life’s curve balls. It is as if their strength of will has been passed on from generation to generation.

Warm memories of Sunday mornings

Me (in the white), with my sisters on a Sunday morning

I have vivid memories of Sundays with these three women. Together, my three sisters, my mother, my grandmother, and I headed off to church, where we met my great grandmother. She was always there ahead of us, in her usual place. She sat on the right as you entered the church, about halfway up, at the end of the pew.  In her hand, she clutched her black rosary beads, and we were conscious of the clink of the beads as she turned to smile at us before resuming her prayers.

After church, we would go over to her house, which was situated across the highway and half a block down the back lane from the church. Often, my little sister and I would walk with our grandmothers, while my mother drove the car over. Sometimes, we would urge our grandmothers to hurry, or we would rush off ahead, hoping to arrive before my mother in the car.  Other times, we relished the leisurely walk, holding hands as we happily chattered away.

 My great grandmother (center), with my grandmother to the left,
my mother to the  right, surrounded by me and my sisters

When we walked into my great grandmother’s house, we were treated to the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread. We knew that thick slices of buttered toast, accompanied with her delicious red currant jelly, made from the fruit she tended in her large garden, were on the morning’s menu.

The toast satisfied our hunger, but the lively conversations that ensued were the best part of our time in the kitchen. The women always had a week’s worth of catching up on family news, and as we grew older, my sisters and I would chirp in with our opinions.

Roots that reach deep into the past

When I reflect on that time in my life, I am reminded that I have roots that reach deep into the past, before the formation of my earliest memories. The four generations of women gathered in that kitchen tangibly symbolized previous generations. Each generation helped to shape our individual and collective stories.  The story continues to unfold, stretching into the future, as my daughter’s life, and the lives of my sons are interwoven with the lives of these same women.

My daughter and I in the matching sweaters, my grandmother and my mother

Faith and family informed the lives of these women. In the pew, and around the table, I witnessed a living faith, infused with love.  The spirituality in that kitchen may have had originated in the personal piety of my great grandmother’s clinking rosary beads and bended knee, but it strongly manifested itself in familial relationships.

Not every moment of these relationships was perfect. Sometimes, the women argued. Sometimes they exchanged harsh words in anger. But always, the little kitchen was warm with deep affection. There was the willingness to admit a mistake, to forgive an offense, and a readiness to help one another. 

The experience of those Sunday mornings, first as we gathered at church, and then as we broke bread around my grandmother’s table, was foundational to my spiritual formation.  I absorbed many values, and learned about faith and relationships on those Sunday mornings.

The witness of faith

While my faith is experienced in the present, its origins are rooted in the past, in the witness of my family, and in the witness of the first Christians, who encountered the resurrected Jesus, and passed the faith of that first Easter morning onto future generations.

Easter faith, boiled down to its essential element, is the story of God’s timeless love affair with humanity. It is a story rooted in the past, encountered in the present, and reaching into the future.

Easter faith encounters God waiting in the pew for our arrival: God guiding us across the highway: God baking the bread to satisfy our hunger: God dying on a cross to forgive our offenses.

Easter is the story of God and us, of grace overcoming fire. It is the story of a God whose unconditional love for us will stop at nothing, not even death, to sit at the kitchen table with us.