beginnings and endings:€¦ · web viewthe servers at the restaurant are volunteers, and their...

Beginnings and Endings:St. Martin’s Community, Song of the Open Road, and the roles of food and blessing in community

Jillian Stein

Jillian SteinEducation in the CommunityFinal Paper 12/21/102

In 1984, the year I was born, St. Martin’s Table first began serving lunch in

the ethnically diverse and dynamic Cedar-Riverside neighborhood. Wedged

between the bustling University of Minnesota West Bank campus and Augsburg, a

private liberal arts college, the small café set itself apart by running a business not to

make money, but instead to give it away. Twenty-six years later and over $700,000

of funds raised for different causes around the world, St. Martin’s Table has closed

its doors.

St. Martin’s Table began as an outreach project of the ministry of the

Community of St. Martin parish, housed in the upper levels of the same building. The

Table’s vision was to serve simple, healthy, vegetarian cuisine during the lunch

hours at affordable costs, and act as a center for peacemaking and justice seeking.

The attached bookstore housed titles that highlighted its religious roots, but

represented many denominations of faith and subjects spanning from gardening,

food ethics, children’s books, music, and philosophy. Local artists’ work hung on the

walls on monthly rotations. Authors and musicians engaged audiences at nighttime

events, and the local community often gathered at The Table to have discussions on

topics ranging from social justice, religion, community-building, politics, art, and

working towards peace.

The restaurant, like the parish, was founded to commemorate five different

Martin’s who served as models of change, truth, and resistance in the Christian faith.

Martin Luther, the 16th century theologian that initiated the Protestant Reformation.

Martin Luther King, Jr., the African-American civil rights leader who preached non-


violence in the face of bigotry and oppression. Martin of Tours, a fourth century

Roman soldier turned pacifist. Martin de Porres, the Spanish-Indian healer that

served Peruvian poor in the 1600’s. Lastly, Martin Niemoller, the German priest

imprisoned for his nonviolent resistance to the Nazis during World War II (St.

Martin's Table). The namesake of the restaurant and bookstore has served as

continuous inspiration to be a leader in the community and to be a positive

contributor of goodwill around the world. The servers at the restaurant are

volunteers, and their tips are the funds that raise the money for charities. In

donating their time to help support The Table’s causes, they also get the chance to

spend time at the special place and be a part of the St. Martin’s Table community.

‘Good food, doing good’ is what St. Martin’s Table has done for nearly three decades,

and their model of social enterprise and using healthy, mainly local, vegetarian, and

sustainable foods as a vehicle to bring people together for meal and authentic

conversation strikes me as an especially noteworthy institution of how to create and

find community and alternative sources of learning in an urban landscape.

While having grown up near Highland Park in St. Paul, I only first discovered

St. Martin’s Table this year when I moved to the Seward neighborhood and had my

first visits to the West Bank. I remember the first time I visited the small restaurant.

The sign outside the building was a large friendly arch announcing I was in the right

place, and the door with a red frame around it invited me in. The space was smaller

than I had imagined, with the bookstore taking up the left side of the lower level,

and the table and chairs for the restaurant taking up the right side. Even though it


was on the garden level, the space still played with your eyes and sense of

dimension, with short sets of stairs providing raised a raised level for tables that

looked out to street level. I sat at one of those tables, and I passed the time waiting

for my lunch companion by watching the foot traffic outside the window. I had the

sensation of the world quieting down, slowing down, and I felt as though I almost

stepped out of the ‘real world’ and into a safe refuge away from the usual chaos. At

the same time, though, as I observed the people and activity that was happening

outside, it suddenly seemed so much more friendly and good-natured from the

viewpoint of this particular window. I knew that it could not have been the world

that had changed, so it must have been myself. It was not only the people outside

that I suddenly felt a greater affection and connection with; I felt that even though I

did not know them, the other patrons at St. Martin’s Table were my friends. This

experience now reminds me of Walt Whitman’s poem Song of the Open Road. In the

poem, he speaks of the dynamic and complex cityscape, with its bustle of activity

and life dramas being played out before his eyes. He says,

You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!You doors and ascending steps! You arches!You gray stones of interminable pavements! You trodden crossings!From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to your-

selves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,From the living an the dead you have peopled your impassive sur-

faces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicablewith me.

(Whitman, 1856)

I had just discovered St. Martin’s Table, but I thought of all the people who

had filled its chairs for the past twenty-five years, what their conversations


consisted of, what influence the place had had in their lives. One of my favorite

activities is to roam the streets of a city—Chicago while I lived and studied there for

six years, my hometown(s) of St. Paul and Minneapolis, as well as the numerous

cities I have traveled to over the years. There is absolutely nothing in the world that

puts me in a more meditative and contemplative state while also invigorating and

heightening my levels of awareness as walking the city streets does. I used to spend

hours roaming the streets of Chicago, walking miles from my apartment or getting

off at random bus or train stops to see what kinds of discoveries I could make. Each

walk would teach me something different about the landscape—a dedicated bench I

had never seen, a park statue, a new business, or a stained glass window in a

historic house. These features, along with the other ordinary details of the street, all

enhanced the relationship I felt I was building with the city as a whole entity. The

city was like Whitman’s road to me, an extension of myself. He says,

O public road, I say back that I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you,You express me better than I can express myself,You shall be more to me than my poem.(Whitman, 1856)

Then there were the contributions that were made by the human presence in

the city. The loud noises, the smells of food, laundry, cigarette smoke, and cars, the

conversations you could pick up a line or two of as you passed, and the momentary

connections you had when you caught another person’s eyes as you passed them on

the sidewalk. I wondered what was going through these people’s minds, where they

were headed, what their lives were like. Whitman expresses similar sentiments in


his poem. He does not know the people he passes on the road, but he feel an affinity

to them, for he knows that for all their differences, they are also the same. He wants

to reach out to all of them, shrugging off the decayed façade that is the invention of

modern society and recruit them for the kind of life he sees possible for all people,

filled with truth and goodness. “Whoever denies me it shall not trouble, whoever

accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.” Almost every time I walk the

street I have spontaneous and rich exchanges with strangers on the street. The only

times I do not is when my own character has turned is so inward and my spirit is so

anchored to an immovable weight that I prevent those unknown dialogues from

occurring. Whitman expresses how we essentially shape our own realities through

the way we project our spirits into the world. He refers to this as the efflux of the

soul and that a life of value and fulfillment begins, more or less, with a life-

embracing attitude. He sees a kind of universal life force energy, similar to the one I

have been learning to access through Reiki energy healing, and imagines a society

that can access that energy both individually and collectively.

The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.(Whitman, 1856)

He paints this vivid picture of a dynamically moving world, and how this can

be exhausting and isolating if we do not uncover how to engage in it and embrace it

on our own authentic terms. If we can access what never tires in the world, we can

use it to aid ourselves in the necessary task of moving forward. Whitman tells us


that even if we settle upon circumstances that are welcoming and safe, we must not

become complacent. We will be rendered obsolete in a constantly evolving world if

we do not continue to move forward.

Allons! Whoever you are come travel with me!Traveling with me you find what never tires.

The earth never tires,The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is

rude and incomprehensible at first,Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop’d,I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.

Allons! We must not stop here,However sweet these laid-upon stores, however convenient this dwelling

we cannot remain here,However shelter’d this port and however calm these waters we must

not anchor here,However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted

to receive it but a little while.(Whitman, 1856)

Another aspect of the poem that I am drawn to, and see parallels to what St.

Martin’s Table accomplished, is finding what is divine in humanity and on this earth

and having the courage to put it on display for everyone to see and adopt. St.

Martin’s Table clearly has its roots in Christian faith and Samaritanism, their model

springing from their parish’s faith in the community, centering around the life and

teachings of Jesus, and seeking to provide hospitality to all people in their journeys

towards peace, justice, and wholeness (St. Martin's Table). In my experience, I felt as

though St. Martin’s Table had an incredible graceful way of expressing divinity in the

restaurant in a completely all-encompassing and wise way. The Table itself seemed

a blessed place, and all that were inside its walls were blessed too. The bookstore


held titles about living a full life that represented all different religions and

viewpoints, and I believe that the mission of St. Martin’s Table was to gently remind

us that in our mission to continue moving forward in this life, we also must take the

time to savor what is good, what is holy, and what kinds of learning and knowledge

we want to place value on in our lives and society. Song of the Open Road declares,

Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof, Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,Is the certainty of the reality and immorality of things, and the

excellence of thingsSomething there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it

out of the soul.

Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the

Spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.

(Whitman, 1856)

St. Martin’s Table was an example of religious teaching leaping off the page,

lecture room, and pulpit and into the Cedar-Riverside community. The Table

addressed the sacredness of certain things that all humans need to have a full life,

regardless of religious backgrounds and beliefs. The Table saw real food, food that

was made from simple wholesome ingredients, prepared with hands right there in

the kitchen, and served by volunteers with love, as a real way to nourish the

community. I felt so much humility, thankfulness and gratitude, and deep

understanding when I ate the food at St. Martin’s Table. I felt like it would have been

very fitting to say a blessing before beginning to eat my soup and sandwich. I am

hardly the most religious person you will ever meet, but I do feel a loss that prayer


(especially in any sort of public arena) seems to be looked upon as threatening or

non-inclusive to others not of the same beliefs. Prayer has such potential to keep

humbleness and appreciation for all the blessings we have each day in our lives.

When times get rough, as they always will, it is infinitely helpful to have a pattern of

saying thanks for all the little things, looking around and seeing the bits of beauty

and surprise in each moment, and savoring the richness of life while it is happening.

It is nearly impossible for me not to see real food like the lunches served at

St. Martin’s Table or the meals cooked in my kitchen as absolute miracles. The bright

green of an avocado, the wrinkly skin and hundreds of seeds in each dried fig, or the

spicy bite of fresh arugula make me believe that all life on earth is interconnected

and everything is meant to play its part in maintaining balance on the planet. The

miracle of food becomes even more miraculous when you start to consider things

like cheese! I am sure you can very precisely explain in scientific or even historic

terms the presence of dairy products around the world, but when you actually

witness the rennet work on the other ingredients, or taste the complexity in a piece

of nutty parmigiano reggiano or melted gruyere it is hard not to look to the sky and

thank whatever higher deities brought this small blessing onto your plate. What

about bread, for Heaven’s sake? The feeling of kneading dough with your hands, the

process of the yeast causing it to rise, and the smell of it while it bakes makes me

feel more complete and human. It also makes me feel as though joy is a necessary

part of life, and to embrace the opportunities I see for happiness, because my

happiness will continue on a continuum for others to find joy.


I know that when I cook from a joyful place, my meals look better, taste

better, and are received by those who eat them better. Cooking is meant to be done

with and for others; it is perhaps the oldest and most sure way to create community

among people. Who can argue that seeing loved ones gathered together around a

table eating dishes that were made from scratch and love is not the kind of

experience we hope for on a regular basis? Digging back into our memories, I

suspect that most people will find scenes like that to have been the setting for some

of their most warm and fond experiences. When we can let go and let the food have

its effect on us, we might find a simpler solution to restoring some of the things we

find missing in a modern society. Growing food, finding local sources for food,

preparing food with our hands, and sharing our food with others might keep us

looking younger and living longer (and happier). These processes help us to realize

that we are not only cooking the food, the food is cooking us as well. Cooking

teaches us patience, mastery of skills, creative expression, working with others, and

how to care for ourselves. We are more apt to see the interconnection of things and

find more meaningful ways to evaluate ourselves and fill our daily routines. In using

wholesome ingredients rather than processed foods, we can remember that our goal

is not to manipulate a grain or vegetable, or child or coworker, but to help them

fulfill their purpose on the world, and thank them for the part they have played in

shaping our own existence.

This may all sound a bit too feel-good, I realize. I clearly feel as though food is

a significant source of wisdom in my life, but that is not to say I live every moment


like the ways I am declaring here in this paper. I buy some canned and frozen goods,

premade loaves of bread, and sometimes bananas in January. I could recycle better. I

never learned to garden, and I am working towards that. I admit I have a long way to

go before being the type of steward I aspire to be to the planet. In terms of my

personal relationship with food, I struggle there as well. I constantly am concerned

about my weight, how many calories I’ve consumed for the day, my sense of self-

worth hanging on what the scale says. It is a seriously conflicted way to live,

believing so deeply in the value of food but also often seeing it as my enemy. What

has personally helped me is investing in the processes of making my food from

scratch, trying to be as involved with as many elements of how food got on my plate.

This reminds me that food is not a commodity, it is more than just fuel and it is more

than just taste. I have visited countries that do not have the access to food like the

United States does, and I try to put the affluence of my birth right in perspective. I

try to see my curves as a link to the nurturing and life-giving miracle that I posses

and the newly emerging lines on my face as signs of my stories and experiences and

quest for wisdom and grace.

Something I loved about St. Martin’s Table was that for twenty-five years

they broke the mold that a business in a capitalist society had to compete, had to

keep God out of it, and that making money was the bottom line. As the era of St.

Martin’s Table comes to a close, the deep sadness that longtime patrons feel is

already tinged with a silver lining, that something beautiful can rise from the ashes.

When I attended the farewell party last Saturday, December 19th, I was


overwhelmed by the heartfelt emotion that outpoured from the large crowd. Local

musicians lead group singing and beloved staff talked about The Table and shared

stories from over the years. In my life at the moment, I am very in touch with the

need to say goodbye, to cherish last moments, to reflect on memories, and bravely

look to the future of what may lie ahead. I felt those sentiments at St. Martin’s Table,

as a safe haven, a learning center, and a home away from home now ends its journey

in its current form. All those memories, the books bought, the recipes passed on, and

friends made, will continue to live on throughout the rest of the patrons’ lives. St.

Martin’s Table, as a source of knowledge and wisdom, can be liquidated and

permeate communities in new and unexpected ways. Perhaps Whitman would see

the closing of St. Martin’s Table as part of his belief that change is constant and

unstoppable, a natural and necessary part of the celebrated cityscape, and that the

closing is part of the process to make way for new ideas of doing good in the world

and fostering community. What St. Martin’s Table stood for and what happened

inside its walls can never be lost in the memory of the universe. Embracing change,

while holding the past in our arms and hearts, is a key part of each human’s life.

Inevitably we will be forced to face circumstances we would have given anything to

avoid. How we meet these challenges, how we find grace and peace in tough times,

and how we continue to find the true efflux of the soul or life-affirming attitude are

our humanly tests. St. Martin’s Table, while only becoming a part of my life a short

while ago, will continue to live on as I look for authentic ways to participate and

form community in my life. The fact that such a beloved place is closing reminds me


not to take anything for granted, not to wait to visit, because it may not be there

when I get around to it. What if I actually did all the things I thought I would one day

get around to doing? This chapter of my life has taught me to savor each moment as

a blessing, reflect on the value it has given me, then meet the next chapter with a

whole heart and open mind.

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