From Bishop Kym Lucas Feeding Others

BY BISHOP KYM LUCAS

Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

— James 2:15–17

Have you ever been hungry? And by that, I do not mean have you ever skipped breakfast and become famished by lunch; I mean have you ever gone to bed hungry without knowing where or when your next meal was coming?

Growing up in the small-town North Carolina, my family did not have many financial resources, but we did have land. And every spring we tilled the soil and planted a garden—it was, in fact, a small farm on half an acre of earth yielding everything from tomatoes to rhubarb. We had beans and peas, squash, okra, sweet corn, and an assortment of greens. We also picked apples and peaches from my grandmother’s mini-orchard and berries from the wild brambles that grew near the creek edging our property. So we also had jams and preserves.

I spent many summer evenings with my cousins prepping the fruits and vegetables for canning or freezing. I remember my mom and her twin getting up before the sun rose, and the steam of the kitchen as they began “putting food up” for winter. Our food wasn’t fancy, but it was abundant and delicious. To this day, I think my mom’s garden-grown, handcanned tomatoes were the best ever. And they probably were.

I never knew food insecurity until I became an adult and moved to New York City for seminary. I

went to school and worked two jobs. Yet there were still times when nothing was left in my refrigerator but condiments, and no money to buy more food. Even in those difficult times, I didn’t go hungry. I volunteered at the shelter run by my friend Ruben and took home leftovers. My field education supervisor and my (now) husband’s roommate always sent extra food with me whenever I visited. When I was particularly in need, I availed myself of the seminary’s community food basket, where fellow students donated food for those who might need it.

My experiences around food, paired with my Savior’s command (“feed my sheep”) stokes my passion for feeding others as ministry, as the Gospel work of the Church. I’ve been involved in everything from delivering food to the elderly, to packing backpacks for kids so they could eat on the weekends, to expanding ministry to the homeless and hungry neighbors who came to Charlie’s Place in Washington, D.C. My mantra has been, “We don’t feed people because they are grateful or deserving or make good decisions. We feed them because they’re hungry, and Jesus said so.”

In 2017, it was estimated that as many as 2.9 million homes struggled with food insecurity. As we emerge from this pandemic, I am aware that many more people will find themselves going hungry, whether or not they work or have sufficient shelter. And we who are blessed with adequate food and we who “hunger and thirst for righteousness” are called to share out of our abundance. James’s epistle reminds us that our faith in Christ is revealed in how we treat others, especially those who are in need. Our piety rings false if it carries no concern for those whose physical needs are not being met.

This is why I am so grateful for all of those congregations in the Episcopal Church in Colorado who have given themselves to the ministry of feeding people: through meal programs, food banks, and mobile food pantries. In big and small ways, Episcopalians all over our state are feeding people; we are nourishing others. We who have been nourished with Christ’s own body are called to work for a world where all are fed.

And there is Grace in this. When we feed people in the Spirit of love, when we engage the needs of our community with compassion and curiosity and without judgment, our own souls are fed.