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\u201cWe\u2019re only having hamburgers.\u201d Only. It was that one word which arrested the attention of William as he formed the ground beef into patties. Sure, he heard it uttered from his youngest son, Westley, as he directed his friend, Brian, through the house to the backyard to play catch until dinner was ready, but \u201conly\u201d was not a proper word to use in William\u2019s thinking. There is heritage in these patties which this boy knows nothing about. <\/p>\n
William\u2019s grandfather and father had both been butchers. While William, or Billy boy, as they used to call him when he cleaned up the shop after school, never aspired to the honor of the trade, instead opting to head towards college and the professional life, he never forgot the family recipe for the best ground beef the neighborhood flocked to every week. Westley never witnessed the care that William took in selecting the choices cuts of chuck, brisket and short rib, embellished with just the right amount of marbling which cast a perfume of living on the open range when you smelled the searing meat on the grill. The care to grind the meat in their individual portions first before combining them together for a second course grind and the need to chill another day before passing through the final medium grind never entertained a thought in the mind of his boy child.<\/p>\n
Heritage of this caliber had kept William\u2019s household from the onslaught of fast food burger joints around the community much to the consternation it offered his offspring who pleaded to partake of the fare their peers enjoyed weekly, even sometimes daily. He stuck to his principles, having himself indulged for a brief period of time when he was working as a crew member in a concrete company during his college years. His daily intake of single and double cheese burgers, fries and ice cold cola while working on a particular project which lasted for over a month, across from a national burger chain, pushed his appetite clearly away from anything that would ever again resemble the notion of a manufactured meal.<\/p>\n
Wrestling back the memory blitz of cardboard tasting burgers and stale business lectures of economies of scale, William offered the first patty to the flickering coals of the grill. The sound of searing meat sent a hush across the yard of juvenile delights. Transfixed by its sound, the boys sauntered over to the grill to pay homage to the male ritual of offering meat to the gods of appetite. Closing their eyes, tilting their heads back, deeply they inhaled the intoxicating aroma of the smoke which swirled about them as rendered fat dripped onto the white-hot embers, flashed into a small flame and sent smoke heavenward. \u201cOh man!\u201d came the guttural cry of Westley and Brian frozen in a primordial trance of appreciation to their good fortune. \u201cWhen can we eat?\u201d Brian excitedly asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cIn few minutes. You guys need to go get washed up,\u201d William proudly responded as once again the heritage of family pierced the hollow shell of modern industry. Within moments the efforts of his destiny would rest between the comforts of a split bun, caressed by a slice of cheddar cut from a block, not one wrapped in plastic, slathered with ketchup, mustard and mayo, and adorned with pickles, tomatoes and lettuce. Eager hands would reverently lift the creation to mouths wide to the anticipation and at once feel the liquid explosion of juices trapped within the seared patty seeking to vacate its natural domain before the inevitable bite.
\n\u201cThis is the best burger I have ever had!\u201d Brian mumbled around the chewing. \u201cI\u2019ve never tasted anything like it. How did you do it? My mom needs to know how to do this,\u201d he excitedly exclaimed preparing to delve into another bite.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a family secret. Stick around enough and maybe you\u2019ll pick it up,\u201d William beamed with pride as he looked at Westley. \u201cAfter all, it\u2019s only a burger, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
In these days of pre-packaged sermons by slick franchised gospel purveyors, the taste of authentic grace, not chemically fortified to fit your anemic spiritual appetite, is what is most needed to lift you out of the malaise and drought of religiosity. You need a grace that bites you when you nibble at its corners, one that slaps you with sloppy kisses when you least expect it, and ultimately shakes you to your very core when it\u2019s immoral nature bursts through your frustration. You need a grace that leaves you (yes leaves you, as in good-bye, adios) just so you know that what you\u2019ve thought to be grace truly was just a mythical aberration of your creation. Then and only then will you experience the fullness of grace, not of your creation, your hopeful meanderings, your wishful thinking\u2019s but His grace with a past rich in gratitude and reverential awe. Hopeful you\u2019ll be able to distinguish the difference between the two. Then, and only then, will you be able to pass it along to another. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cWe\u2019re only having hamburgers.\u201d Only. It was that one word which arrested the attention of William as he formed the ground beef into patties. Sure, he heard it uttered from his youngest son, Westley, as he directed his friend, Brian, … Continue reading