The Sacred & the Succulent

by Angela Hart

Usually, when I have a swig of wine in church, I’m on my knees, acquiescing to the mystery of transubstantiation—the transformation of bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. It is the rare and happy occasion to be at church sipping luscious Pinots and eating locally baked bread and fare, juxtaposing the sacred with the succulent!

The event was Edgefield Uncorked!, the fifth annual wine-tasting fund-raiser at St. Ann’s Episcopal Church in East Nashville. With flickering expectations, my friend and I donned Saturday-night versions of our Sunday best and headed out. Being West Side girls, it’s always a treat to cross the Cumberland, and this perfectly mild September night, crowned with a full, dazzling moon, was no exception. We were met by the thud of African drums, beating in a tent outside the church; East Nashville’s version of a red carpet, we presumed. African dancing at a wine tasting? We were all in—after a few rounds of vino, of course! Inside the church there was live entertainment throughout the night, with performances by local musicians Brooke Waggoner, The Love Drums, and Ariana Terrell.

We did our once around, taking in the food, wine varietals, and music from each corridor and sanctuary of this neighborhood church. We felt like we were flirting with apples in Eden, all curious, smiley-faced and big-eyed, swooned by the aesthetic of good wines and wholesome foods in such a hallowed setting. I felt sympathetic to poor Eve’s plight; I too have such little discipline when it comes to objects of my affection. Thankfully, the troubles of the human condition were not weighing heavy on me this specific night. Au contraire, I was ready to throw my particular troubles to the sky, allowing God and wine to alternately work their miracles.

After a steamy summer when nothing sounded better than crisp white wine, I was ready to go home to my first love, red wine. I started with a Pinot Noir, a 2005 Mark West blend from California. It was rich in color and flavor, reminding me of the white raspberries I was relishing throughout the night. It tasted lovely and familiar, like a favorite childhood hymn you never tire of singing. Another choice pick was the 2005 Heron Pinot Noir from France. This blend was more complex in flavor, both elegant and aromatic. I sipped this wine fantasizing over a menu, including Cornish hens and roasted veggies, that has sat dormant in my minds-eye waiting for the quintessential grape juice to consecrate the meal. This is the wine, I thought! I felt like a sleuth, stumbling upon the missing clue, or wine, for the dinner party in my head.

The food was equally compelling. Vendors such as Provence Breads and Cafe, Matilda’s Fine Foods, and The Heartland Bakery offered fresh fare and delectable cuisines. Favorites were the white raspberries, which tasted like just-picked red raspberries on steroids, chocolate-dusted almonds provided by The Turnip Truck, and the scrumptious crab cakes with mango chutney, courtesy of Alexander’s Catering.

Rounding the corridors into the main sanctuary came the voice of Brooke Waggoner, a cool and tender vocalist and classical pianist. I was moving into poetic assessments (obviously the wine was kicking in!) contemplating beauty in simplicity, as her voice and lyrical content were so quietly profound, like the church, the food…the vino. My friend and I decided to take our wine, stories, and mini plates of food outside the church, where we created our own little curbside confessional, swapping tales of love, hope, and remorse. With the moon blazing down like a benevolent cleric, exonerating us of our mis-haps, we mostly just laughed. And don’t forget the tent, bellowing the sounds of African drums, summoning us to chill out and dance, which of course, after a while, we did. We danced and ate and drank and listened to gifted musicians, while raising money for things that matter and this entire bustle took place in God’s gracious homestead. I think that’s what Jesus would’ve done.

As we were dialing down the night, one of the percussionists came up to me wondering why I was leaving so soon. It’s uh, over, I thought, but kindly replied that we needed to go home, sleep, change dresses, and go to our own respective churches the next morning. To that he drummed up (literally) a little goodbye riff and walked us to our car, bongo in tow, serenading us and wishing us well on our journeys, uh, home. We got the red carpet pulled out on the back end as well, we mused, feeling like it actually mattered that we were there. Now that’s church in its finest hour—leaving its participants with the feeling of significance.

Comments

[Howard McEwen]

That was beautiful. Wine, music, and nature have brought me to a closer feeling of God than any sermon - ever. I wish more churches got that.
Love this blog!

[dan perkins]

Awesome... now if we could just get the church to produce this kind of fruit everywhere... Jesus said, "I am the true vine and you are the branches... if you don't bear fruit you are seperated from me." Unfortunately some folks think staying connected to God means having to be seperated from wine... It's a cultural norm that needs to be broken.

Any ideas?

Here's mine... let them drink a really good Pinot Noir to help them forget their throw-up sessions, while back in high school, from drinking Boone's Farm and MD 20-20!