Our back patio, full of puddles from the rain today, depicted sogginess from an overly saturated earth. I have eaten one or two (or more) soggy sandwiches in my life. In fact, I just read a sandwich professional’s take on how to make the best peanut butter and jelly. This expert spreads both sides of the bread with peanut butter; then jelly goes in the middle so the preserves don’t leach onto the bread. Another sandwich expert exclaims, “Why even bother keeping your bread from getting soggy?” Then he proceeds to give tips on how to make sandwiches even soggier! When I dip ciabatta in olive oil, I count on a certain crumb with enough holes to soak up all the goodness. And what’s a meatball sub without a good marinara-soaked bun?
The crumb of the bread determines how it will respond to ingredients placed inside or soaked up. The holes, or voids, in the bread are very important. Brian McLaren says, “A space of spiritual dryness and unfulfillment is a kind of void. A void creates a kind of power. Without a void within it, a sponge would lose the power to absorb moisture. Air would lose the power to transmit sound or scent. In fact, nothing could move if there weren’t space – a void – into which it could pass.” During a time of spiritual dryness, thirsting for life, I felt as if I were a sponge; longing to soak up all the goodness God was eager to provide. The voids are necessary for a flavorful crumb saturated with life. Delicious!