Canning as Spiritual Practice

Post Author: Rev. Kristen Levens

While the calendar doesn’t show it yet, we in the southern US are in summer mode! The weather has brought about some days of oppressive heat already. People are planting their gardens with summer plants, while the early spring crops are growing and blooming, waiting to burst forth with the fruits of their labors. Strawberries are in season. And probably my favorite, the greenhouse tomatoes are really starting to taste like tomatoes! We most often associate summer with relaxation, and while it’s true that some parts of our schedules are less busy, we find other ways to fill our time—vacations, parties, summer camps, gardening. 

One of my favorite ways to spend time in the summer is putting food in jars—canning, pickling, and making jams so that, come the shorter, darker days of winter, we can remember the bounty of these days. Many people are afraid of canning because it seems like it takes a lot of science and physics to get it right, and on some levels, that’s true. But like most things, once you do it a few times, especially with the mentorship of someone else who’s much more skilled in it, canning becomes second nature and easy. You know the ratios and ingredients, the steps to the process, and pitfalls to avoid. And if you’re lucky, you can pass that knowledge on to other friends and family members. You’re stocking shelves for years to come, even!

A collection of ball jars filled with apple pie filling.

Through the years, I’ve come to see canning as a sort of spiritual practice in my own life. The repetitive nature of the process. The mundane work of processing the fruits or vegetables, sterilizing jars, watching clocks and pressure dials. It’s become more than a hobby for me. Why do this mundane and repetitive work? What are the reasons that make it anything more than a hobby?

In much of the Western world, we live in a culture where high-speed is king. Speedy profits are valued at the expense of quality and continuity. In the US, we are hearing more and more complaints about our food and what goes in it. So many of our foods are drenched in preservatives and other chemicals, genetically modified, and highly processed. The movement toward organic and clean consumption is encroaching on the long hold that mass-production farming has had on the agricultural industry. People are beginning to research the food of our culture, and with that research has come demands for more transparency and honesty about the food and the processes it undergoes. Food is highly political and much of it is no longer real food.

This isn’t new, though. Studies have been done since at least the 1990s, and people have been raising concerns about what is in our food for decades. However, ranting about it on the internet does not really help or change anything. So, instead, I can, preserve, and make jams with the food I grow to try and avoid what’s in the more commercial food available. If I don’t grow it, I try to buy it from local farms. I am fortunate enough to have accessibility to such bounty, and I don’t take that privilege lightly. 

There’s no getting around it, though–preserving food is labor intensive. There is a huge learning curve. The methods for these things are not as readily available as they could be (though, the COVID-19 pandemic did help that corner of the internet blossom and grow). I’m convinced that, if you can, the best way to learn how to preserve food is to get in the kitchen with someone who’s been doing it for years and watch, listen, and get your hands dirty in the process. You learn the best tools and tricks of the trade from the mouths and hands of ones who have come before. 

Once you start doing the work, though, your fingers adjust to the job. They become more nimble and efficient, and your mind focuses on the beauty of your activity. The work becomes meditative, fingers and thoughts having found a rhythm. What seemed mundane and repetitive becomes peaceful, comforting, desirable, and natural. 

Then, as you take on the next project, you find yourself tweaking the process just a bit or using a slightly different tool because it makes more sense for your kitchen and for your process. The foundation remains the same, but you begin to chart your own path and make your own way using what you’ve learned. Eventually, you become the one who can lead others into the world of canning and preserving. 

This is similar to the way our faith development works. It takes time and practice to find the best processes and understand the ingredients and how they work together. It’s best learned from and alongside others who have been practicing. While we may never master faith quite like we can master canning, the processes and ingredients can become second nature to us. God can and does run through our veins like the skills we acquire through the years. 

When one project ends, the satisfaction that fills your heart is not an empty pride. Instead, it’s a fullness that mirrors the beauty and fullness of God’s creation, the beautiful produce that nourishes and sustains life. You may feel a tiredness, but it is one that comes from good work, like a muscle ache after climbing a mountain or completing a fulfilling task. You know the work was good. You know the work was meant to be. You know that others before you have done similar work, and you have joined the cloud of saints who seek to love and feed others as God feeds and loves us. 

It is all this and more that makes canning worth the work for me. I know that good food feeds the body, but I also believe it feeds the spirit as well. This reality is what makes canning a spiritual practice.