As you love God, you will not be able to bow down to the brownies! It will be repulsive to eat the second half of the hamburger. You will despise worshiping the food. You cannot serve both God and someone or something else, therefore, the Promised Land is in sight—you will lose weight! Other Christian diets focused on the biblical basis for nutrition, not on the supposed idolatry of the dieter. George Malkmus, who had been converted at Billy Graham’s 1957 New York crusade, claimed that switching to God’s original dietary intentions in the Garden of Eden (organic, plant-based, mostly raw and vegan food) cured him of colon cancer and could eliminate other sicknesses as well; he called it the Hallelujah Diet. The Maker’s Diet (or Bible Diet) promoted by Jordan Rubin in the early 2000s looked to Old Testament dietary laws for instruction on how to eat, resulting in a diet characterized by organic fruits and vegetables, “clean” meat and fish, and no artificial, processed foods. As Don Colbert’s 2002 diet manual asked, What Would Jesus Eat?
A Hearth for Others
Feeding the hungry had always been a moral imperative for Christians and a central concern of Christian hospitality, from Benedictine monasteries to Salvation Army soup kitchens. But from the eighteenth century onward, urbanization and industrialization turned the private home into a retreat from the world rather than a place where the hungry stranger was welcomed. Hospitality increasingly became the domain of inns, restaurants, specialized ministries, and Christian residential communities such as L’Abri, L’Arche, and the Open Door Community.
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In the 1970s and 80s, however, the overwhelming specter of world hunger hovered over the American dining room. The influential Diet for a Small Planet (1971) blamed the crisis on wealthy Americans and the meat industry, and Ron Sider’s Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger (1977) called evangelicals to a simpler lifestyle. An ecumenical curriculum for young people included this prayer: Are you the One haunting me with the agony of the mother who has only cornbread or ricewater— or perhaps nothing—to give her child. . . . What do you want me to do about it? A new wave of cookbooks made it clear that starving children in Africa are not just the concern of politicians, missionaries, and ethicists, but of housewives: you can change the world, they said to Christian cooks, by changing how you make and serve food at home. Most famous among these was The More-With-Less Cookbook, commissioned by the Mennonite Central Committee in 1976 and revised in 2016 “to challenge North Americans to consume less so others could eat enough.” Using simple, economical recipes from around the world, More-With-Less recommends eating organic fruits and vegetables, whole grains, legumes, and nuts; limiting meat and dairy; avoiding processed foods; and growing your own food. In her preface to the 2000 edition, Mary Beth Lind explained the cookbook’s enormous appeal and longevity: What we eat shows our theology. . . . The book speaks, not only to our physical bodies, but also to our souls. It is soul food, and we need it more than ever. . . . Lind joined earlier generations in viewing Christian cooking as simple, natural, and healthy, but not just for the sake of one’s own or one’s family’s physical and spiritual health—for the sake of the world. C H Jennifer Trafton is an author, artist, creative writing teacher, and former managing editor of Christian History.
Christian History
SBenedict tells the monks where and when they ate while they were outside the Monastery, scene from the Stories of St Benedict, 1495–1497 (fresco), Signorelli, Luca (c.1450–1523) / Abbey of Monte Oliveto Maggiore, Asciano, Tuscany, Italy / De Agostini Picture Library / G. Nimatallah / Bridgeman Images Bread—Picture Partners / Alamy Stock Photo
food for soul and body Left: This fresco from a series on the life of Benedict shows him receiving hospitality, probably including bread (below).