My wife is a cook of cooks. It’s safe to say that she doesn’t compare to my mother . . . she actually does it better . . . hands down. Now I don’t want my Mom to know this (Shhh!) but she is a strong number 2 . . . I suspect however that this would not make her feel good at all.

It hasn’t always been this way with Elaine. I remember in 1976, sometime after our June the 5th wedding, as a newly married pastoral couple, inhabiting the 51 Wilson Ave. parsonage in Presque Isle ME, we sat down for a Sunday feast. Roast beef! The smell was tantalizing and we sat down together. Prayer . . . the first slice in my mouth and we were off to the races.

As we talked and as I chewed, and chewed . . . and chewed, the piece of meat just seemed to get bigger. I think, as I look back, that we were both trying to ignore what we were experiencing, but finally the roast overtook our ability to talk . . . and then we had to spit it out and start over.

It was a rump roast. The taste was fine but the more that you chewed on it the less likely you were to be able to swallow it. It just got bigger and bigger. My mouth was full and my stomach was empty.

I have found theology to be much the same as rump roast. There are certain things that seem to grow bigger the more that you chew on them. At times in my life, my head has been full and my heart has been empty.

It's not meant to be difficult or complicated or relegated to experts.

I could have starved to death chewing on rump. I could starve to death chewing on theology as well.