Three kitchen theologians in their own words

Read The academy needs better theologies of cooking 

When I finished my dissertation on the grace of microbial theology—on the way God meets humans through microorganisms—I went in search of my old kombucha brewing barrel. I found it behind the greenhouse, with an abandoned bird’s nest inside. The competitive pace and demands of classical theology had pulled me from the very flesh of the world I sought to theologize. I found that some of the theologians whose earthy prose drew me to study theology in the first place were no different—their lives similarly poor in the round rhythms of domestic life. The balance is precarious. These days, as a microbial theologian, I work in a fermentation lab, where, if anything, my theological technique has gone the way of that old kombucha barrel, while the microbes take center stage. During good weeks I manage to weave theology back into the labor of getting the chapter written and food from soil to the table. This messier mix of microorganisms, soil, and supper makes for a slower theology, a slimmer CV, and hopefully a heartier theologian.

­—Aminah Al-Attas Bradford is an Arab American 
scholar of religion and Christian thought 
at North Carolina State University.

It is late when I get home. I throw down my bag, jab on the oven, and dump ingredients on the counter—white beans, tomato paste, lemon, garlic, rosemary, mozzarella, parmesan. But the food resists my speed. Rinsing, zesting, mincing, grating, I am slowed by the care these movements require. I waver at the threshold of work and leisure, feeling the pull to finish the task of meal-making and the divine invitation to delight in it. The toil of the day clings to me. Sautéing, stirring, and baking, I watch the ingredients soften and then harden again, transforming into the meal. Spoon in hand, I assent to my own end-of-day transformation, hovering near the flame that melts this threshold of rest and labor.