Eating Dirt and Finding a Church

In my last post I wrote about reading Circling Faith, a book of essays by women about Southern Spirituality.  One essay that deserved more than simply sharing quotes was Beth Ann Fennelly's "Taking Terrior in Faith."

I learned a new concept from reading this essay, a practice called 'geophagy,' and it basically means the consumption of dirt clay.  Yes, from the ground . . . people eating dirt.  It brought a whole new meaning to the practice we joke about as a childhood pastime, making mud pies and cakes and joyfully feeling the mud between our fingers and toes.  

Fennelly writes, "The practice has been found on all continents, in various peoples, even in animals.  And in all times: Apparently, people have been eating the earth since they've been walking the earth . . . In the United States, geophagy has become associated with the South - usually with poor rural pregnant women, especially African American ones . . . slaves brought the habit with them to plantations, where it became known as Cachexia Africana" (53-4). It has now become an 'underground' activity, (you can purchase it on the internet and have it shipped to you in the mail) but is still commonly practiced by many people.  However, it's not like people are going out in their backyards and scooping mounds of earthworm-filled, gritty dirt into their mouths with a spoon.  Most of the actual clay comes from the South and it's taken from beneath ground level where it is uncontaminated with "manure, parasites, or pesticides" (56).

Source

She says there are five basic theories for why people eat dirt: (1) it satisfies hunger (2)  it provides minerals that might be lacking in people's diets (3) it can neutralize poisons (4) it has been known to reduce nausea and indigestion and (5) dirt is good for us.  

So what does geophagy have to do with faith?  Fennelly says that studying, researching, and considering why people consume dirt is similar to her "more serious quest to understand what [she] feel[s] about religion . . . now [she] see[s] that [her] interest in geophagy has mirrored the pattern of [her] interest in faith.  The questions they present are similar.  Both faith and geophagy are, for many, deepened by daily ritual.  They are frequently site-specific . . . we can find ourselves hungrier in some seasons than in others for their mysterious nourishment.  Both tastes are passed down, inherited from out parents.  Both seem absurd to non-practitioners" (59).  It seemed a pretty unlikely comparison to me, but it does seem to make sense, and I was certainly intrigued to learn about this unique practice that I'd never heard of before.  

She also discusses her search for a church, and it reminded me of my husband and my recent search for churches.  When we first moved to Dayton we went to so many churches I can't even remember all of them, carefully trying them on.  Which one fit?  Snug and comfortable, but leaving toe-room for growth?  

We finally found a small Episcopal church about 50 minutes away from us with friendly parishioners, a dedicated rector who delivered beautiful sermons, and a great mission to their community.  But we became frustrated in the commutes (especially in the wintertime) and in our inability (again, because of the commute) to become involved.  It seemed just right, except for its inconvenient location.  For the longest time we told ourselves that maybe a church this great meant we needed to work for it - God didn't think it should come to us that easy.  We were going to have to put in some effort.  But eventually a couple missed Sundays turned into weeks and months and we haven't been back since last summer.  And we've missed church.  

We attended several others close by for a couple months each, but nothing seemed to be working, not to mention the hospitality seemed nonexistent in some places (which seems to be another problem in churches altogether).  Then, we had what some call 'home-church', reading our Bible and Christian/Spiritual books together on our balcony or on the couch.  But I think we've both recently come to the conclusion that it's just not enough.  We want to be part of a church, even if we've had numerous bad experiences with them.  Similar to Fennelly, we feel a "vague, gnawing hunger, a hunger for food [we've] never eaten yet" (60).  Now, we hope to continue this search with a renewed appetite, and an invitation to a church our friends have recently started attending.  

Because of our own church-hunting experience, Fennelly's final words of her essay really resonated with me: ". . . we allow the body of another to become our own; the eating of the bread, the symbol of the body, brings about rebirth . . . I'm sticking with Sunday services though the dreamed-of clarity has not yet descended.  So many others have found nourishment here.  Maybe educating my palate is the first step.  Maybe the leap comes next" (61).