The Vegetarian Verdict
A Tale of Repentance for the Easter Season

“I mean after all, Jesus was a vegetarian!” My eyebrow raised not slightly at this conjecture, put forth as fact. I was in Carriera, Mississippi sitting at a picnic table with the head of the New Talavan Hare Krishna farm. They are good people who give free meals to the poor and have a “cow rescue” operation on their farm. They buy cows intended for slaughter and let them live their remaining days in comfort, eating the leftovers from the free meals given daily at the Esplanade Temple.

“I’m not so sure of that.” I said in a questioning but nonconfrontational tone.

“Well I don’t know much about it but…” He said dismissively, as if he weren’t just trying to conveniently rewrite history in order to push his agenda. He continued on with his theological points, backing them up with references to such deep and enduring works of philosophy as The Matrix with Keanu Reeves and the movie Contact.

It always shocks me when people say Jesus was a vegetarian. I don’t understand how, in the vegetarian community, this got started. I guess because he used bread at the most important part of the Last Supper, people infer that the twelve didn’t eat the rest of the Passover, which happens to involve consuming a whole lamb–no leftovers allowed. They don’t seem to take into account that the unleavened bread portion would be easier to duplicate on frequent basis because, though they weren’t vegetarians, meat was not quite such a staple then, as it is today in the good ol’ USA.

So I guess I shouldn’t get too mad when I see a billboard promoting vegetarianism with a large picture of Jesus, wherein his halo is replaced by an orange.

God telling Noah that “every creature that is alive shall be yours to eat,” further backs up any Biblical authority that the carnivorous community may wish to level against the vegetarians. There’s also Peter’s psychedelic trip at the house of Simon the tanner in Acts 10. He was hungry, as anyone might be, and had something prepared for himself. While his victuals were simmering, he decided to take a walk on the roof. Why the roof? I would guess he needed some privacy for whatever he might have been smoking up there or maybe he just wanted a good view of the sea. Regardless, he had a vision of all the animals coming down in a tarp. He was told to eat of all the animals, much to his chagrin. He refused, declaring that he was too good to eat any such defiling refuse. Wherein a voice in the vision says, “what God has made clean, you are not to call profane.” Poor Peter was forced to swallow his pride as well as that pork loin he so desperately tried to avoid. For my part I don’t think I would have needed much arm-twisting to eat a sausage. I’m not the biggest meateater, however, as I feel it’s best not to go to extremes when it comes to diet. There are actually many seasons throughout the year during which I generally don’t eat meat.

The other day, I got my invitation to the company picnic, which happens to be at a Zephyrs game, our local minor league baseball team. The e-mail came requesting a head count and I replied, in my unpatriotic demeanor, that I dislike baseball. I added that the only reason I would even think about visiting that game would be for the free beer, hamburgers and hotdogs. But alas, I ended with the fact that it is Lent and I could not partake of such pleasantries. To be in the company of such carnal debauchery would teeter me to temptation as well as an unpleasant temperament. I got my reply from the Human Resources woman informing me that they will have crawfish salad and shrimp there too. My forehead wrinkled like fingers too long in the bath. The wincing of my face accompanied my reply to HR that meat, in my book, accounts for all forms of flesh of any living animal. Her reply was delivered quickly, with no small hint of shock, “What the heck do you eat then?” The final correspondence was to be mine. It consisted of one word. Ash…

Like I said, I’m not one to run from the pork loin, but I’m well aware that people are able to get along without eating meat. That people question such actions is kind of funny. As far as I’m concerned, people can eat whatever they want–just leave me to mine. The shocking point is the overbearing amount of pride on both sides of the issue. Vegetarians are far too judgmental of carnivores and carnivores loathe the presence of vegetarians.

Rebecca and I were walking down Magazine. It was a Sunday morning and we were looking for a place to have breakfast. Not much is usually open on Sunday morning and the only thing we happened upon was Winnie’s. The place looked kinda new and when we walked in, it was obviously a place where those from the Rue de la Course would have no problem fitting in. It was small, dimly lit and decked out with Asian art. An odd look for a breakfast joint, I thought. We walked to the counter and there was a guy in a black knit cap at the register, despite the fact that it was a relatively warm day. One must suffer for fashion. His flavor-saver was so perfectly trimmed into a little square that I had to stare at it for a second or two before shaking myself to my senses and averting my eyes. He must trim it on a very regular basis. His androgynous characteristics gave him the final touch of a bohemian. I developed a quick dislike to this restaurant. Given that it is Lent I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in a restaurant anyway, as it’s better to cook it yourself and burn it properly, to fit the season. But it was Sunday after all, so I allowed myself a break.

I looked over the menu and groaned inwardly at the fact that everything had a side of bacon or ham. I so desired to order just a pile of bacon with grease on the side to dip my bread in, that I clenched the menu in a way that caused it to slightly shake.

“I can’t eat any of this crap,” I scowled to Rebecca.

She was too busy negotiating her order. Rebecca is a vegetarian the whole year round, and has been ever since she moved to Portland and picked up a few nasty habits from the West Coast. She was asking if she could replace the meat in her order with something else. By this time my mind was in deep contemplation. My quandary revolved around eggs. I had told myself at the beginning of Lent that eggs made by themselves, like scrambled or over medium, would be excluded from my diet due to my sacrifice. But egg in something, such as the ingredient in potato pancakes is permissible. I was looking at the “Creole” French toast or freedom toast as it may be called. Actually it had some fancy-shmancy French name which I can’t even pronounce, given that my second language is Spanish. It’s just French toast, and the only reason they label it as Creole or give it the fancy French name is to make it seem as though you’re getting something more than the egg and bread you can make at home. I was therefore debating whether or not the egg actually counted as an ingredient or as a stand-alone serving of egg which would break my fast. My ear caught only small bits of the conversation passing in front of me.

“So are you both straight vegetarians, do you eat fish or…?”

“I eat fish but he’s straight.” I hear the voice of Rebecca say.

It stabbed my heart to be categorized as such. When someone with a flavor-saver like that asks you if you’re a straight vegetarian or if you eat fish he may as well be asking you, “Are you REALLY on the in or just slightly?” The accompanying nod and wink is given much like Peter might have given James, before he ate that bad acid on the tanner’s roof. I wasn’t about to play his reindeer game by using my diet as a fashion statement. I realized I had to act fast and put my temporary vegetarianism in a context so traditional that this lover of newfangled mysticism would be belching mantras for weeks in penance of being fouled by the presence of such an uncouth carnivorous Christian.

“I’m not a vegetarian!” I said with such indignation that a murmur spread through the small dining room as everyone bent to inspect their plates, wondering if they fit the bill.

“You’re not eating meat”, Rebecca said, shocked at my tone of animosity.

“I’m not eating meat for Lent,” I said, to justify my abstinence. I put special stress on “Lent” to drive home not only the temporary nature of my herbivoric tendency, but also to draw attention to the fact that it had nothing to do with any American-Eastern syncretism. I shot a glance at the erudite wanna-be and proclaimed harshly, “One Freedom Toast!” fueling the anti-Franco sentiments of the older patrons sipping their morning coffee in the delight of retired conservatism, not having realized yet that they don’t actually belong in this restaurant reserved for the more posh inhabitants of Magazine. I ate my French toast on the porch reflecting that if I ever come back I’d get extra sausage instead of the side of potatoes I received.

Rebecca and I pulled up to her house Wednesday night and on the overlarge truck in front of us was a bumper sticker that said BEEF . . . REAL FOOD FOR REAL PEOPLE. She fell in love with it and decided that she had to have one for her car. I went on to lay out that it was part of a slowly evolving propaganda war to dehumanize vegetarians. Once they are no longer seen as people by the general populace then they can be rounded up and thrown in camps to be disposed of. I paused to reflect on my judgment of the bohemian cashier and the near riot I caused with the anti-Franco conservatives.

Why do all these groups hate each other so much? Paul’s words in Romans 14 passed through my mind, “One person believes that one may eat anything while the weak person eats only vegetables. The one who eats must not despise the one who abstains, the one who abstains must not pass judgment on the one who eats; for God has welcomed him.”

I repented my disgust at the bohemian cashier and forgave him the “weakness” of a good sense of fashion. I decided that maybe one order of sausage, not two, would suit me if I happened to cross the threshold of Winnie’s again.

It’s like Paul goes on to say, “I know and am convinced in the Lord Jesus that nothing is unclean in itself; still it is unclean for someone who thinks it unclean. If your brother is being hurt by what you eat, your conduct is no longer in accord with love . . .For the kingdom of God is not a matter of food and drink, but of righteousness, peace, and joy in the holy spirit.”

Phillip G.

Literature