Potions

Have you noticed how SERIOUS this blog has been getting lately? I know. I must be in winter mode where I brood about the troubles of the world while drinking hot beverages in my dark apartment. But there are some light-hearted things happening around our house including POTION MAKING.

I may not have mentioned before on this blog my penchant for gin. (What?!?! A pastor who loves gin?!??! Yes. And give me a break. It's not like I'm Methodist or anything...though I do know some nice Methodists who ALSO love gin.) Anyway, the truth is I love it. I love gin. Sooooo much. Of all varieties. And I especially love it when it's mixed with tonic.  (At this moment I'd like to give a shout-out to my brother-in-law who first introduced me to this heavenly combination while on a family vacation. My life would never have been the same without this loving act of gin-vangelism. Also, I would have still been able to fit into my skinny jeans, but that's a story for another time. So thanks, Bro!). Now, back to the matter at hand.

Though you may not have known about my gin obsession, you certainly may have already deduced my tendency to get obsessed with things. And so it may not surprise you that when I found out several months ago that one could make one's own tonic, I was on a quest to do so. And so it began.

And it went something like this:

Step One: Procure illicit substances from abroad. 
So it turns out the main ingredient of tonic is quinine. In case you don't know what this is, I'll save you the trouble of searching Wikipedia and share with you what I've learned. Quinine is a chemical found in the bark of the Cinchona tree, a tree indigenous to South America where its medicinal qualities had been well known for some time.  In the 16th century, when malaria was a rising problem in Europe, a Jesuit missionary and apothecary in South America became aware of quinine and suggested it as a potential treatment. It worked and the demand for it in Europe skyrocketed (It's tough business colonizing the entire global south leaving behind centuries of unrest and paternalism....there are tons of mosquitos down there!)  The problem was (no it wasn't colonialism), it was that quinine had an extremely bitter taste (If you ask me, a small price to pay for not dying from malaria, but what do I know?). And so adding water, sugar and a bit of lime and some gin (you can always use a little gin!) to the concoction became the custom and the Gin and Tonic was born. (Yay!) Quinine is still used today to treat malaria, though other better treatments have since been developed. Unfortunately, the FDA thinks this is the only thing you should use it for.*  All this is a long way of saying: you can't buy quinine in the United States. Unless you have malaria and a prescription. So you have to search online and pay some sketchy website in Canada to send it to you. Which I had no qualms about doing, of course, unless the person reading this is from the FDA in which case, I'm so sorry, I had no idea.

After several weeks, my package arrived choc full of quinine! And I was ready to get started!

Step Two: Make a Syrup with a Lot of CRAZY Ingredients
The next step in making your own tonic is to brew up a special tonic syrup. It helps if you have a partner in crime (Mr. LIOLI), several hours, some wine and a good sense of humor.  We decided to make a half batch each of two different recipes, which can be found here and here. (We ended up liking the second much better).

The main ingredients are quinine powder, sugar (or agave if you are super hipster), lemongrass, citric acid and citrus zest.

You mix these together, add heat and boil away until all is well distilled.

Then you strain it. Many, many, many times. And then you strain it some more. We did this in several stages. Once through a regular metal strainer, several times through cheesecloth (which of course we had on hand already....such a small world!) and lastly through several coffee filters. We weren't really sure when it was strained enough so we just gave us when we got bored and tired. 

What we produced was thick brownish red potion about the consistency of maple syrup.


 Step Three: Make some carbonated water. Mix with syrup and gin. Enjoy!

The idea is that you will mix the syrup you just made with carbonated water (from the SodaStream machine I'm sure you already have) add gin and enjoy. We hit a bit of a snag here as when we did this for the first time, we managed to produce a beverage that somehow simultaneously tasted WAY too sweet and WAY too bitter at the same time and kind of made us want to die. Rather than melt into a puddle of emotional goo, which was my first response, Mr. LIOLI suggested that we postpone judgment until after we had a massive Tonic-concocting-taste-testing event in which we tried to carefully replicate the exact taste of Schweppes tonic water. We were able to several nights later and enjoyed our first homemade G&T. Yum! So good. So homemade. Cheers!

Step Four: Get a second job. 
As it turns out, we didn't quite get the economies of scale down the first time around. I estimate that the entire endeavor cost about $61 which in retrospect was not a huge savings over bottles of tonic that cost $1.  But I will not give up hope. Next time, I think I'll buy more quinine in bulk and make it WORTH it. (This may remind you of the time I tried to make all my own jam and faced a similar economies of scale challenge. I'm working through it.)

Now, if you think it hasn't escaped my attention that it is actually possible to distill one's own gin, you've got another think coming and a need to keep your eye out for a future post about my secret plans for a foray into distillation!


*Other interesting things about quinine??? It glows in the dark under a black light. It is sometimes used to cut cocaine and other street drugs. It can cure restless leg syndrome (or you could just put a bar of soap under your sheet. Seriously) You could have read all this on Wikipedia....but isn't it more fun to read it here?

Tribute

The world and the church have suffered a great loss today. Peter J. Gomes, Minister of the Memorial Church at Harvard University and Plummer Professor of Christian Morals at Harvard Divinity School died last night. He was a truly unique individual and, in my estimation, one of the greatest prophetic voices of this generation.

Anyone who has known Professor Gomes is aware that calling him “a character” would have been an intolerable understatement. He was larger than life. His diminutive size was more than made up for by a big personality, a brilliant mind, a biting wit and a booming voice that was somehow a graceful symphony of southern drawl, British English and one of the Muppets. He was a world renowned teacher and writer, and was often acknowledged as one of the best preachers of our time. He was a tireless voice of reason for stemming the tide of religious fundamentalism and biblical literalism that threatened to undermine the true Christian gospel. As an out gay man, he was a constant advocate against bigotry and oppression. But most importantly, he was also my preaching professor.

Professor Gomes' preaching class was notorious for being both exclusive and intimidating. Only eight students a year were offered the opportunity to subject themselves to the formative guidance of Gomes' unique method of instruction, a process which involved preaching a number of sermons extemporaneously (without notes) and then allowing them to be heavily critiqued by one's classmates and professor. This was not the class one would apply to be in if one were concerned with building up one's self esteem in a direct way. But year after year, students showed up in droves for the unique privilege of trying out.

Naïve as I was, I tried out the first term of my first year in seminary (thinking if I was rejected, I'd still have a few more shots!). However, by some strange quirk of the selection process, I became one of those guinea pigs. I joined 7 of my colleagues on this journey: the eloquent and philosophical son of Puerto Rican Baptist preacher, a Jesuit priest, two candidates for ministry in the United Church of Christ, one of whom also happened to be a devout practitioner of Zen Buddhism, a African American Baptist, one methodist, another Presbyterian and me. Over the course of our term, we met each week for three hours in the basement conference room of the church, taking turns presenting our exegesis of the passages we had been assigned and, eventually and with much trepidation, offering our sermons on them from the hugely elevated pulpit in the chapel upstairs (about which Gomes loved to declare allowed one to be “15 feet above contradiction.”).

The stakes of each of these meetings were high (the adrenaline of the extemporaneous exercise, as it turns out, can make it very difficult to recall the exact details of one's carefully crafted sermon!) and the criticism was real. Critiques offered by Professor Gomes were rarely effusive but instead direct and critical almost always offered with great, maniacal joy on his part. In the course of our term, he likened various students' sermons to cars flying off cliffs and exploding, a peacock that couldn't fly, and (one which sent him into fits of hysterical laughter) a Star Wars ship jetting through a meteor belt with no idea what it would hit next. At various points, he told students he disliked their voice (mine!), that their illustrations bored him to tears and that they were fundamentally just not that interesting. He didn't feel badly about this, he told us, because, in his words, “this is the last time in your life someone will offer you honest feedback on your sermons.” He thought it would help us. And in a strange way, it did.

I don't know that I would say Professor Gomes taught me how to preach exactly (I rarely use the extemporaneous method he used, though it is nice to know I could in a pinch!), but he was most certainly a teacher to me. Though he wouldn't have even known who I was after that term ended (and there was some question as to whether or not he knew me during it, as he periodically called me Jennifer.), he had a profound effect on my theological education and my vocation as a pastor. Because what I took away from that class was a respect for the office of preaching that I will carry with me forever. In his criticisms, suggestions, jibes and jokes, what I believe he taught me was how the job of preaching was to be taken seriously. If he thought our sermon was a theological “salad” (as opposed to the theological “meat and potatoes” he was expecting), there was always an underlying sense that he was saying so because he wanted us to know that as preachers more was expected of us. This was the WORD, and it was to be treated with dignity, especially by us as its stewards.

It was a grueling 15 weeks, but we all made it through, most of us better for it, I believe. We celebrated the end of our term as guests at a four course dinner at Gomes' home. It was, to this day, the most pretentious experience I've ever had, and I mean that in a good way. No expense was spared as we sipped sherry, enjoyed terraines, drank too much good wine, and toasted (and roasted) each other and our Professor.

Some might have looked in on this as a demonstration of arrogance. But I don't see it (or him) that way.

What was so special about Gomes was that he brought to his offices of teaching and preaching the pomp and circumstance which he believed it necessitated.. He taught us, in a very small way, to do the same by honoring us with his instruction and his hospitality.

One of the last times I heard Professor Gomes' preach was on the radio as I was on the way home from my own church where I was by that time a pastor. It was the occasion of the 25^th anniversary of his ordination. His sermon was about his gratitude for God's grace in the face of all the ways he had failed to live up to the vows he took at his ordination. Even he world famous advocate and preacher of the gospel, carried a humility about God's grace to the end. He did it with integrity and incredible theological depth to the end. Hearing his voice on the radio that day made me cry. As did the news today of his passing.

So, here's to you, Professor. I know you are now at peace with the One whose Word you taught us to proclaim. God bless you for all that you were and all you leave behind.

Your student,

LL

Here is a somewhat awkward photo of our class at the dinner described above. It certainly doesn't do justice to Professor Gomes or the event, but it is a good memory for me, so I thought I'd share: 

Responsibility, What's Your Policy?

I started writing this post two weeks ago (when this was actually a current event!) and then got overwhelmed with other life stuff that is less fun but more imminent than blogging. But I figured it was still relevant, so why not post? 

Image courtesy of Agence France Presse/Getty Images via the Wall Street Journal. Available here.

I was very moved by coverage of the recent events in Egypt, moreso than other world events have effected me recently. I think it was something about witnessing the passion with which the citizens of Egpyt, especially the young citizens, demonstrated with such integrity their values and ideals. What I observed in them, though the words and images I was able to access, was the tangible sense of responsibility they felt for the future and well-being of their nation. What brought it all home for me were actually not images from the protests themselves, but images of the days after, in which thousands of Egyptians, young and old, men and women, Chritians and Mulsim, many of who had turned out en force to call for the end of the regime, made their way back to Tahrir Square bearing not arms or signs, but brooms and trash bags.  That the protestors returned to the site of their victory to clean it up indicates something very subtle, yet very important about the nature of that community: a serious sense of corporate responsibility, a palpable demonstration of ownership. Almost to say, "Yes, of course, it matters who is in power, and to care for your country is to dedicate oneself to that process.  But that dedication would be meaningless if we did not also care enough to be good stewards of what we are fighting for."

I often worry that my generation of Americans doesn't feel that way about anything. I look at the movements of my parents' generation: the Women's Rights movement, the Civil Rights movement, the Anti-Vietnam protests, etc. and I see something that I find inspiring but that (in all honesty) I cannot really identify with. Of course I feel strongly about many things and am dedicated to them, but not in that same public, self-sacrificial, passionate way. Current studies of trends in this generation suggest that we are more committed to local, organic movements. We're more likely to commit small, local acts of volunteerism related to things we care about and to which we are personally connected. It's not that we're doing less, some will say, it's that we're doing it differently. But I still worry something might be missing.

And so I want to thank our Egyptian brothers and sisters for really motivating me to think about this and to considering taking more responsibility for my own community and our political process. I hope we here in the states can live up to your great example of what it means to pursue democracy.