Tonight as we supped, the misses and I were discussing the various hardships of our hard-scrabble upbringings in the white middle class. As we chatted she unearthed the particularly painful memory of a youth with no Sunday donuts. She sobbed, "Little Presbyterian girls don't get donuts on Sunday morning."
While many people discuss the vital differences between the Baptist and Presbyterian traditions, sabbath donut-eating is rarely mentioned. But I for one believe it is time this paramount issue is addressed once and for all. Sabbatarian Presbyterians have been systematically depriving their covenant children of covenant deep-fried goodness for almost 5 centuries. Just imagine how much worse it was for those early Presbyterians tykes. 21st century children whiz past the donut shop at 35 mph with the windows stingily sealed against all invading odors. Only common grace allows the occasional whiff of that heavenly glazed aroma to eek through the cabin air filter of mom's Explorer. I can't bear to think of the torture that little Johnny Knox must have gone through as he and his family slogged their way past the donut cottages which no doubt dotted the Scottish country side (See my forthcoming work, Pastries in Early Modern England: The Dough of Despond (New York: Devil's Food Press, 2007), for more insight into Reformational pastry sanctions). All it took was a longing glance in the bakery's direction to bring beatings and wild, unfounded accusations of popery. Even though conditions have improved drastically, we cannot overlook the plight of the donut-starved among us today.
The saddest part of this whole affair is that strict sabbatarians have no reason to deprive their children of donuts on Sunday morning. Sure, people will site the Old Testament commands for sabbath keeping, but this completely misses the point. Is it not true that most sabbatarians allow for "deeds of mercy" on the sabbath? Then answer me this, oh skinny sabbatarian, what is more merciful than the dispensation of donuts? Just think of the old donut lady who wakes up a 4 am every Sunday morning to make sure the donuts are hot and fresh. Sure she is "working," and she receives some recompense for her labors, but in my Bible it says not to muzzle the ox that treads the grain. Is there a monetary sum in all the universe that could sufficiently reward such service? Nay. This is sheer sacrifice. And what could be more tragic than to deprive her of her true reward, the warm sense of satisfaction she gets when a small, blond-headed, girl reaches up with both hands to receive her glazed gift. She is a veritable priestess of pastry at that moment, dispensing this sugary sacrament to any who would come to her.
I realize that this issue is likely to continue to divide us for years to come. But I will simply site one last example of the pain that donut deprivation causes in families like mine. Just two Saturdays ago, Lindsay and I visited our local Shipley's Donuts for a breakfast treat. We placed our orders. I selected a plain glazed and a devil's food (my all time favorite at Shipley's), which is a chocolate donut with chocolate filling. She, being somewhat of a donut rookie, chose some sort of glazed cake donut and one other fateful choice, the Bavarian. We took our seats, and immediately I was lost in the rapture of my glazed donut. When I finished the first one, I drifted out of my dream-like Shipley's coma, only to make a horrifying discovery. I can barely speak of it to this day. There lying on the tray was HALF of my devil's food donut. What had happened? My mind raced through the possibilities: large, quick, sneaky donut rats? Or, had my beloved turned traitor? Could I believe such a treacherous thing about this woman sitting across the table from me? Who would do such a thing? Who would steal a man's favorite donut right before his very eyes? I spoke, half in horror, half in disbelief, "You ate my donut!" She had indeed eaten it. Guilt, in this case chocolate, stained her cheek. The reason for this travesty is a direct result of her donut-deprived childhood. She thought my devil's food was her Bavarian. While still shocked, my horror subsided. It was not the treacherous betrayal that I feared, but just a misunderstanding that was easily resolved with 70 cents at the donut counter.
You see, my friends, donut deprivation is unnecessary and dangerous. It has the potential to tear apart families. So think about how regularly you eat donuts. Can your kids tell the difference between a cinnamon twist and a cinnamon roll? A chocolate iced from a chocolate glazed. Don't let your theological whims get in the way of good nutrition and healthy living. Just say no to donut ignorance.
king ordinances of the city of Denver. That's right, Mr. Jackson is taking Christian retail to a new level with his biblically branded Hesed Cigarettes, "Faithful to the last drag."
It remains to be seen how well Hesed Cigarettes will be received by others in the Christian retail industry. Jackson reports already having trouble getting his product into the major retail outlets, but was told by one retailer that if he marketed them more as evangelistic tracts he may have more success. This has lead directly to the creation of a new line of menthol cigarettes coming out this fall named after the Philistine city of Ashdod. Ashdods and Ashdod Lights will feature gospel messages on the backs of their boxes, the idea being that Christians will buy them for their non-Christian friends and neighbors who smoke. Jackson is brimming with excitement about the possibilities. "You know we've got to where you can just about buy everything now that's Christian. And that's the kind of world I want to live in. I want to wear Christian shirts and hats, eat on Christian dishes, and I want to smoke Christian cigarettes. I think there's a lot of other folks just like me out there."