The Peace of Cake and Other Things
- Aubrey Johnson
- 3 days ago
- 6 min read
As a teacher and an introvert, the thing I want most on my breaks from school is peace. Yes, I enjoy fun and adventure (have you read any of my travel posts?), but I covet peace and quiet. No kids saying my name and demanding attention, no noisy neighbors who wake me up early, no busy highways with people in too much of a hurry, no matter what time of year it is. Peace is often tied to a setting, and last year after Christmas, I traveled to Montana, hoping to feel the peace of a small town and the mountains once again.
The Sunday after arriving, I attended church with Dave and Barb, whom I previously shared about in “Mema and Aitxetxe: They go together like strawberries and rhubarb.” I had never attended church with them before, since I had my own church home during the years I lived in Livingston, but I was glad for a change that Sunday. Walking into the Saint Andrew's Episcopal Church in Livingston, MT, I was taken back in time - not that far, just six years.
That was how long it had been since I set foot in Saint Paul's Episcopal Church of Benicia, CA. Saint Paul’s was my grandparents' church. While Barb and Dave, the grandparents to the kids in my Montana family, are closer to my parents’ age, they are still grandparents in general, so attending with them felt natural. If I couldn’t be with my grandparents, I should be with someone else’s.
I didn’t attend many services at Saint Paul’s with my grandparents. Besides their funerals (the last time was my grandmother’s funeral in 2018), most of my memories are from Christmas Eve service, with maybe one or two additional Sundays on a random school break.
The similarities between St. Paul’s and St. Andrew’s in Livingston were felt and seen everywhere, though. There were obvious similarities between the services since both churches are part of the same Episcopal denomination. There were calls and responses to worship, hymns sung from a book vs a projection screen, communion at the altar rail, choir members and clergy in long robes, and prayers read from a typed bulletin or an insert one had to flip back and forth between. Parallels between the settings included traditional wooden pews, which are not found in many modern churches. Thick carpet also seems to be a staple. It can muffle parishioners' footsteps as they walk the aisles on their way to the altar or slip into a seat late. There were beautiful stained glass windows, both colorful mosaics and some displaying Biblical artwork, that let in the outside light. The front of both churches also has detailed woodwork. This is seen in the forms of communion rails, vaulted ceilings with wooden arches, pipe organs, a podium, and, in the case of St. Andrew’s, a rood screen, a decorative barrier separating the nave from the chancel (Church Architecture Terminologies, January 2024).
After the service, I followed Barb and Dave downstairs to the church's Fellowship hall/ multipurpose room, another architectural similarity between the two buildings. We joined the other congregants, who were mostly all close to or past retirement age, for their coffee hour. Everyone filed down the counter to fill a China plate with a snack and fill a mug with coffee or tea. Something special about being in a smaller, especially older, church is the attention to detail. In a large church, no one wants to stay after to wash 50+ coffee mugs and plates. No one would want to stock a kitchen with that many real dishes, either. In a small church, though, it’s simple enough to volunteer to bring a treat, serve on a hosting committee or clean-up committee, and have enough refreshments to go around without causing a burden to any one person. Fewer than 20 people stayed, so the cleanup was similar to that of a large family. The bar held a few pastries, sliced oranges, crackers and cheese, and a delicious carrot cake. When I sat down with Barb, Dave, and a few of their friends, baking and cakes were the conversation of choice. Dave reminded me of my own grandfather, who told anyone who would listen how I baked all of their family’s birthday cakes while I lived in town. (It was a story he repeated to a few people at church, as well as the shopkeeper at the kitchen store we browsed downtown after lunch.) I felt less embarrassed and more loved; I was someone worth bragging about to others. Their friends shared their baking successes and mishaps, such as baking at elevation. I mostly stayed quiet, not that I hadn’t made any mistakes, but I wanted to learn more than interject. (Later that evening, in fact, I ruined a pan of brownies since I didn’t know the bottom of the “sugar” canister was filled with salt. With 1.25 cups of sugar in the recipe, one taste of the top of the canister was not enough! Don’t worry, I redeemed myself after I bought sugar and remade the recipe the next day.)
At the coffee hour, everyone loved the carrot cake and complimented its creator. I shared about a few of my successes, including my Charlotte Royale cake. I made it because Barb saw the cake on an episode of The Great British Baking Show, and I was reminded of the fact that I had only made one so far at culinary school. Once Barb surprised me with a jelly roll cake pan, I knew it had to happen for my birthday. (See a picture of it in “Let Us Eat (Birthday) Cake.”) Another friend of theirs shared about a Fresh Ginger Cake from David Lebovitz. As a ginger lover, I knew I had to try it. She didn’t add that its other main flavor is molasses mixed with the warm spices that accompany the holidays, but once I found the recipe online to confirm they were the same, I was happy to give it a shot. Despite the amount of ginger used (4 oz fresh ginger), the spice mellowed as it baked, and the ginger and molasses blended deliciously. No flavor was overpowering, and the cake was moist and surprisingly light.
Not only did Barb and Dave, who are like family to me, make me feel welcome that Sunday, but the church did as well. This isn’t just the building and its familiarity, but the people. I find comfort in people who allow me into their lives by sharing their stories over a cup of coffee or a piece of cake. Nothing will bring back my grandparents, but it was nice to be in a place, even thousands of miles away, that reminded me of them. At the end of the service, we prayed a closing prayer attributed to St. Francis, which is echoed in Episcopal churches across the country. The words may be routine, but if one takes the time to feel and think about the prayer instead of just the words, the sentiment will reach Heaven as it was intended.
I have often felt stuck in a “here” when I’ve wanted to be “there,” but I have to remember that I am where I am for a reason. I returned to Montana to reconnect with friends and gain some peace in a setting I missed. But, as I am constantly reminded, I shouldn’t have to go “there” to find peace. I may not want to be “here,” but peace is attainable regardless of setting. This winter break, I didn’t travel out of state. Instead, I felt peace while raking leaves on a calm day, watching candles flicker while singing “Silent Night” at the Christmas Eve service, and reading a good book. “Peace on Earth” is a lofty goal, but peace in me is a good starting point.
“Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.”
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