Water and Stone Soup
Year Delivered or Published: 2007
Author: Neal Jettpace
Author's Faith: Unitarian Universalist
Date Submitted to Inspiration and Issues: August 22, 2007
Topic: Spirituality
Water and Stone Soup
By Neal Jettpace
Today we mark the beginning of our church year with our traditional water and stones ceremony. For newcomers I will describe how this transpires shortly, but before I do I would like to relate another beginning and what it ended up meaning to me. Namely my first day of kindergarten. First days of kindergarten and notorious and mine began on a decidedly inauspicious note. I cried continuously, wailing “I want my mommy!” over and over until she returned four hours later. This went on for the next two weeks, and so impressed my peers that when I introduced Lynn to a schoolmate at our ten year high school reunion, she remarked “Oh Neal, I remember kindergarten when you would start to cry just after your mom left, and you not stopping until she picked you up after school.” Luckily for me school got a lot better. But I wasn’t really sold on the idea until my first taste of that kindergarten rite of passage: stone soup.
For those of you not in the know, stone soup is the epitome of the liberal ideal of American Assimilation. The story goes like this. There was a village of early Americans who were going hungry. One family only had carrots to eat, another potatoes, and perhaps another only celery or beef. One poor soul was so bereft of food they only had one stone, worn smooth from the sun and rain. Individually, no family had had a complete nutritious meal. They went day after day, each eating what they had, but still wanting for what their neighbor had. Of course one family didn’t get to eat at all as stones aren’t known for their nutrient content. This continued until the family with the stone had an idea (after all, necessity is the mother of invention). It was to have each family put a little of what they had separately, together in one big pot. Once assembled, they would add water and cook it into a soup that everyone would share in the eating of.
The family with the stone went first, dropping their solitary stone into the pot. Thusly encouraged, the family with carrots went next. Then the family with potatoes threw in some from their larder, followed then by the family with beef. On and on, each family of the community contributed what they had until the pot was full. Then they added some water and put the pot on the fire to cook. When finished, each family dished out their portion astonished at how tasty and nourishing their collective soup ended up.
Our kindergarten teacher, Mr. Smith, read us the story of stone soup in preparation for the Thanksgiving break that fall. We all sat captivated by the colorful pictures and gripping story (the kindergarten imagination is easily kindled). And we all cheered when at the end she announced that our class would make our own stone soup. Our enthusiasm lasted a couple of hours until we realized that none of us had ever had stone soup and had no idea whether it would taste good or bad. As kindergarteners, we had a fairly uniform fear of strange food, and stone soup seemed all the more suspicious from the name alone. How would it taste? Would we have to eat it if we didn’t want to? Would there be anything else to eat? What if we didn’t like it? Our own hesitation seemed to mirror the community’s in the story.
We were each assigned something to bring in for the Wednesday prior to Thanksgiving. Our teacher, kind soul that she was, assigned the stone portion to herself, and now writing this I realize that she must have saved that stone from year to year, kindergarten class to kindergarten class, as a reminder of the continuity of humanity.
Though I don’t remember what I brought I do remember my astonishment at how tasty our collective soup was. The broth was rich with tomato and beef, slightly sweet with soft orange carrots, salty from the celery. Even the stone itself seemed to lend a richness that one would miss should it not have been included. At that moment of first tasting I decided that anything that could produce something so delicious must be okay, and my days of crying came to an end.
There are exceptions (god bless them), but kindergarteners aren’t known for their sophisticated moral reasoning. The lesson I got from stone soup was that individually we may be lacking in something, but if we bring what we have collectively we can thrive together. Stone soup was a vivid demonstration of that sage wisdom so out of fashion today: from each according to his ability, to each according to his need. Who needs Marx when you have stone soup? But as I pondered what message to bring to this particular water and stones ceremony, it occurred to me that there was another, more profound message to stone soup. It is that the most precious gift we bring to one another is the gift of ourselves.
Though we’ve all heard it said that a church is not made simply of bricks, mortar and rafters, it bears repeating that a church is really made by and of its wondrous members. And I say wondrous because we are. Each of us is a unique product of the universe, nurtured and shaped by those we have known and those who have known us. What a gift to share of our unique selves with one another each Sunday morning! And all the more so that we choose to, because we love and cherish one another, we care about each other. In the sense of not living by bread alone, we even nourish one another simply by being our wondrous, unique selves.
And the river of humanity runs even deeper than that. Consider: we are still being touched by those who originally built the edifice we now worship in. Few of us know who they are or were, and even fewer of them know us. But every Sunday morning we gather in the building they built for fellowship with one another. As we gather we also remember those who have passed from our lives. We remember Ray Stewart sitting in his usual pew in the back corner. We remember Amy Reyes sitting with her husband Ray and her son and daughter. We remember Alan Robb and Cal Knapp. We also remember those still living but elsewhere: Judy and Ed Hanson, Katherine and Karl Ellert. Each of these people, though not here this morning are still touching us, the gift they gave of themselves is still present, still quickening our hearts and minds.
In a moment, I will ask you to come forward and share something of your summer by pouring some water into our bowl at the front, and placing a stone in as well. I will begin by pouring some water taken from last years service, which began by pouring the water from the previous year’s and so forth. In this water is literally water that Ray added, that Amy added, that Alan and Cal added. As with every year, the stones that they added are part of our church landscaping as will your’s be, and next year’s. And as you pour your water and place your stone, please realize that by sharing your summer you are really sharing yourself, the most precious contribution you can make to our sacred soup of stones and water.
