The Taste of Memory

“Bring the food that you eat, when you need to know you are loved.”

This was our final assignment in a doctoral seminar class on the Eucharist. We were to bring enough of whatever food it was, to share with the class—sixteen doctoral and advanced masters’ degree students.

I didn’t have to think very hard about what to bring. Of course it had to be the lemon wafers.

These cookies are simplicity itself, which undoubtedly recommended them to the ladies organizing the Vacation Bible School at the Methodist church in Liberty, Texas that summer in 1978. One lemon cake mix, one egg, one cup of vegetable oil, mix and drop and bake at 350 for ten minutes…even the very youngest children could help.

When my grandmother picked me up that day at noon, I carried a plastic sandwich bag with a few lemon cookies in it, and the recipe printed on a half-sheet of typing paper. We shared them on the short drive home—still warm and soft in the middle, thin and crumbling brown at the edges.

Thereafter, these little treats were always available at her house. Gram made them in huge batches (they make a lot anyway) and froze them, layered between waxed paper in large shallow tupperware containers. When guests came to visit, she would ask “Would you like a cookie?” and unfailingly produce a plate of the bright yellow-gold circles.

On June 22, 2000, less than a month after I graduated from the Episcopal Theological Seminary of the Southwest, my grandmother died at home, in her sleep. She had lived a long, rich, full life, and yet when the minister asked me if I wanted to have a role in the service, I answered, “Yes. I want to sit in the front row and cry. That is my role today.” And it was, and I did.

Nearly a year later I was ordained to the priesthood in St. Paul’s Church, Waco, Texas. At the reception which followed the service, on the long buffet table in the middle of the hall, was a large platter of lemon wafers. I had never seen these at any St. Paul’s coffee hour or gathering before, so I asked my friend who was coordinating the reception, “Where did these come from?” She didn’t know. She asked her friends who were helping, who had arranged all the food and drink for the gathering. They didn’t know. No one was able to identify the source or origin of the lemon wafers that night. Nor were such ever seen again at a St. Paul’s event, in the two consecutive years I served there.

A coincidence, no doubt. Somehow completely explainable to even the most rational mind. Yet for those of us who seek the patterns, the connections in this world, the wondrous moments when the magic sparkles in the corners of our eyes…much more than that.

“Bring the food that you eat, when you need to know you are loved.”
“I made this just for you.”
“Take, eat… do this in remembrance.”