Review of Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion, by Sara Miles

Food is at the heart of this memoir - preparing, eating, sharing food. This is not unusual for those accustomed to the Christian practice of Eucharist, or Holy Communion. However, this book is an intriguing slant on the practice of communion, offering a deeper understanding of a ritual that is so ordinary today, so commonplace that its weight and spiritual significance can be lost in the shuffle up to the altar for thin wafers. The story of Sara Miles' unlikely conversion, coupled with this reflection on the spiritual significance of communion was an engaging read.

In the early days of her spiritual conversion, she carried her faith around like a dirty secret, guiltily sneaking off to church, with no idea of how to admit this secret to her friends. This is exactly where her writing is appealing to a reader who feels connected to Christian spirituality, but who dislikes some of the cultural overlay. She understands what it's like to dislike Christianity, and Christians. Miles speaks honestly and openly about the parts of her that don't fit conventional notions of Christianity,. It is refreshing to read that her conversion was not a personality transplant or a cultural divorce, separation from real life in San Francisco. Conversion did not efface her colorful personality and background into bland niceness.

I heard echoes of the bad old days, of public dialogue based on crass generalizations of red states and blue. When religion in the US was reduced to trite stereotypes of coastal liberals and the heartland faithful. Reduced to a bumper sticker, Miles is as blue as it gets. For that reason, she is an unlikely convert. She does fit the stereotype of the 'godless' West-coast progressive sort.

Thankfully, those labels already feel dated. in the real world, only a few conversations suffice, to demonstrate that faith is far more complex than surface identifiers, statistical generalizations and snap judgments based on social class. While some general trends might be true, cultural trends are far too narrow to contain the complexity of spirituality. Miles' reflections on faith felt inviting, so that I wanted to spend time with her, to hear more from her, because I did not feel condescended to or preached at. This memoir felt like breathing space.

In this narrative, she spends her time focusing on what matters most: her actions. She lives her spirituality out through the food bank that she organized, insisting on justice for people who do not have enough food. This food bank serves people with dignity, in a beautifully decorated setting, where they can come and get food, free.

This memoir clearly makes a point about the way the world ought to be. At the same time, it is not a manifesto, driven on the strength of ideology or an agenda. Nor is it a morality tale, populated with flat characters. It is sensitively written and honest, and that honesty puts readers in a receptive position. In writing about the faith that Miles now calls her own she does not expend energy trying to convince the reader that her beliefs, lifestyle, or spiritual practices are true. Rather, this is an invitation to see, through her eyes, a journey toward a lived, living spirituality. And this is much more appealing than a set of answers.

Miles tells stories about herself, and narrates her doubts honestly. Transparency is an appealing quality in a memoir, especially in spiritual writing. All too often, stereotypes, false impressions and surface judgments - easy answers - dominate in this genre. It is especially gratifying to consider food, faith and ritual in a new way, that is more community-oriented than individual. The food bank at St. Gregory's extends the theology of the Eucharist beyond the altar, beyond the individual eating the bread and drinking the wine. Just as Holy Communion invites believers to participate in an act of faith, this food bank opens the church doors wide, to invite everyone to the table. To receive food when in need, with dignity.

While the twists and turns of her journey toward God drives the story, in a way that is not the most important thing. Faith is to be lived, not showcased or displayed in labels. What is most important? There are hungry people in San Francisco. Feed them.