02.28.08

The Mottled Vine

Posted in Orthodox Christianity tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , at 3:06 pm by AR

A little Mother called Ruth prayed to the Lord one night.

“Is it really my wrongdoing that estranges me from my fellow humans?” she cried.

She woke in the gray hours of the morning and found an angel standing by her bed.

“Who are you, lord?” she said, crossing herself as she spoke.

The angel said, “Come.”

So she followed him into the garden. She saw there among the melon vines a plant that she’d never looked on before.

The angel showed her at the end of the vine a broad, spotty leaf that trembled violently though the breeze was so slight it could hardly have been measured.

“What is this?” she said.

“Agony” he answered.

Then he moved his finger further into the vine and showed her a thick, sickly-white stem.

“And this?” she asked.

“Terror.”

Then he showed her a sound green shoot.

“This is the true desire for what is good” he said. The shoot was small but it was firm and clung tenaciously to the ground. A little stream of water flowed to it and the shoot seemed to be drinking up the water as if it wanted to form its own roots and become the whole plant.

“Is this the true plant, after all?” she asked hopefully.

But the angel directed her gaze further along the vine and showed her a large purple stem; or perhaps it was a tumor swollen on the stem. The little Mother began to trace its form among the leaves with her fingers. She never reached the end, for as she felt it she asked once more, with disgust, “And what is this?” But he never answered.

So she woke in her bed wondering.

02.21.08

Poem XIII: Holly Brightweed’s Final Thought of Justin

Posted in Holly Brightweed, Poems tagged , , , , , , , at 5:08 pm by AR

…then at last it slipped my gasping grasp
and shot down in that white abyss
where all things go that
Could Have Been,
but are not.

My hand still held that stiff clammy clasp
around the hole it left. How this -
this outcome? How? Flat
I sagged then,
hope hissed out.

Then He came - and spoke, as once before:
“Who grasps will lose. But loose to me…”
The loss done, duty
was consent.
I writhed and

Groaned, not in regret - but I was sore.
Then I spread my hand. Aloof, He
as at some beauty,
gazed, and sent
with His hand

A streak of something bright upward.
Heaven, that I falter faint toward,
In a new star glows.
What is it?
Well. He knows.

02.17.08

The Eulogy I Read for My Grandfather’s Funeral

Posted in Life tagged , , , at 12:04 am by AR

I think grandchildren have a special vantage point. By the time we meet our grandparents, they’ve probably made most of their mistakes and learned most of their lessons. Their secret journey, unobserved by others, has imperceptibly carved itself into their faces. When a little child looks at grandpa she knows who he is…maybe in her innocence she even catches of a glance of his eternal face.

I also think that there are lives that are so whole that when they end, you realize they’ve told the story of all of our lives. Alvin, my grandfather, had that kind of life. As I knew him, he was handsome and debonair and defiant; and he had his own brand of funny. If you listened to him you found he was a deep thinker with a penetrating and progressive mind. He felt deeply, we all knew that, even though we respected the veil he often tried to put over his feelings. Most amazing of all to me, he didn’t seem the sort of person who simply let life happen to him. He was always an actor in it. We all know about the amazing amount of knowledge he discovered in the last ten years of his life alone.

Grandpa always loved good things. And I think for me that defines him most…he was someone who adored goodness. He founded a thriving, happy family, and he married a lovely, accomplished lady. He loved the good things of this life; and then when he finally stood on the threshold between worlds, and looked into that life that invisibly penetrates this one, he seemed to see, more clearly than many of us who talk about God all day long, the Good. He saw what was Good. And just as intelligently and eagerly as he embraced living this life, he then embraced the Good of the life to come.

“You can’t stop being Alvin.” That was one of the last things I said to him. And I think for those of us who love him, that might stand for the whole story. For us grandkids, for all who knew him, he’ll never stop being Alvin.

Grandpa…
May God rest your soul.
May Angels escort you to your place
May the name of Jesus be ever on your lips
May these eyes that closed in death open upon Life Eternal.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us sinners.

02.07.08

Poem XI: One Dryad to Another

Posted in Poems tagged , , , , , , , , at 4:51 am by AR

 I wrote this one year ago today: February 7th 2007. 

Come, neighbor;
Breathe my perfume and I will taste your fruit.
We shall not be divided, you and I,
Since our particular roots have stretched themselves and fingered down
Through sanded clay, through dank edged dirt,
And dipped with selfsame thirsty joy
In one selfsame,
Deliberate, Resplendent, Surgent Source.

02.05.08

Poem X: Psalm One in Verse

Posted in Poems tagged , , , , , , , , , at 1:19 pm by AR

In the tradition of Isaac Watts, this rhyme is rather brittle but expresses biblical piety. Also in his tradition it conflates New Testament gospel with Old Testament song…and in my case I threw in the ten commandments.

It’s a relic of my search for true religion, about the time immediately before discovering Orthodoxy. I think it’s apparent…or at least it is to me…how I was progressing toward the Church without knowing what it was I was coming to.

In line 12 I would probably say “make” rather than “mark” now.

 Will I have eyes to gaze on God,
May I feast with all his saints?
At his judgment will I stand,
Rest within his sacred gates?

I must not gladly look on sin
Nor with irreligion play,
Speak as those who scorn my God,
Nor with liars make my way

For God beholds the paths of men
Righteous men he warmly knows.
Those who make their way profane
Mark themselves Jehovah’s foes.

O Let me reverence God’s dear name,
Hate all lying, theft, and strife
Sacrilege and lust abhor
Honor those who gave me life

In whole then, let me worship God
True affection offering
Jesus Christ will teach me this,
Cleanse me of my heart’s failing

Then when heaven’s ways I’ve learned
Walking them by faith, while blind,
I shall travel there to walk
The ways of God in a new kind

02.03.08

Well Stars: Installment III

Posted in City of Wells and Stars, Stories tagged , , , , , , , , , , , at 9:03 pm by AR

People noticed as the four friends became regular in one another’s company, and the Lower Salon Gaurds took every opportunity to stare suspiciously at their tightly-wrapped clothing for any tell-tale swellings of flesh.

Cyrulla was becoming almost ungovernably irritable at home, but took care to hide the fact from Hugo, who was giddy. Maerion felt that he was girding himself for a race or a battle. Perspice steadied herself as if for a storm at sea, and grew quiet. Within three weeks their debates had ceased as everyone found himself too nervous, distracted, or irritable to perform publicly.

“If this is it” Cyrulla muttered one afternoon, “It stinks to heaven!” Perspice sighed.

“Steady, my friends, companions, and partly-betrothed” Hugo whispered distinctly. Cyrulla smirked; Maerion looked above fiercely.

“It seems to go on and on now” Perspice said. “I wish something would happen to which we might devote our energies or attention, or that would bring about some change!”

“I wish the whole city would burn down” Cyrulla muttered.

“Come, come” said Maerion. “It’s as if we’d put ourselves into the Cage before our time! Let’s have a game.”

It was nearly half an hour later, as the four friends distracted themselves in a marbles game, that someone entered the Salon who who would induce change to an extent and of a kind none of them had dreamed of.

The doors closed to prepare for the formal presentation that meant a newcomer was to be introduced to the Lower Salon. Everyone below stood, the four friends with too little attention, perhaps. The doors were opened again, ceremonially, by two guards, and then four family servants entered, stood aside, and presented their master’s daughter.

She was a lovely girl who stood modestly, gaze downward, between her two parents, who seemed tense.

Maerion felt his mouth grow dry and something scrabbled at his innards. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and tried to look somewhere else, but then realized it would be rude. He looked back at the girl and found himself craving a ripe juicy peach. A sudden quietness above, and then a violent stirring and scuffling, signaled that the crowd in the Upper Salon was just as interested in this new arrival as those below.

“She’s out” Hugo whispered. “How unusual. What will they do?”

“The guards will certainly maim her” Cyrulla answered with awe. “She has been out unsupervised in her Heat and certainly cannot be a virgin.”

“I say she can” said Hugo. “I say there are ways to preserve one’s Virtue other than the Salon and the Cage.”

Perspice shuddered. “But the guards will see it differently. How did her parents not have the sense…?”

But that question was answered when the girl’s father presented her.

“My daughter” he said, “Sworn and protected, a virgin; Janet. Seventeen years of age.” He handed papers to the chief soldier.

“Send her up here! She’s ours” came shouts from the Upper Salon.

The guard looked at the papers dubiously. No doubt they contained a record of oaths as to Janet’s virginity. Then he was questioning the father quietly and the mother’s face grew taut in terror. Janet appeared unaware of any impending doom. Her father answered the guard, and the guard answered again; and then the father answered more loudly.

“I tell you, she is only seventeen! Do you allow maids of sixteen to enter the Salon?”

“No, certainly not” the guard answered gruffly. “Nor do we allow women out of the bud to enter this Court of Virgins. How could this city give her in marriage to one of our devoted men when she might be polluted? I do not care to tempt the Goddess.

“I swear to you, this girl has been as well protected as anyone here!” the distraught man shouted. “She grew early in everything. The Goddess so willed. That is not her fault.”

Janet had begun to seem frightened and her gaze lifted at last to the staring group of younglings in the Lower Salon. She tried to shrink back into her tight child-clothes, but the swellings of bosom, thigh and inwards could not be hidden.

“This is very sad” Perspice said, looking down at the table.

“Much sadder in light of our new questions” Maerion said in a shaky voice that cracked for the first time. “Suppose virtue is not dependent upon the Salon and the Cage; suppose the father did protect her as well as we have been or as those hoodlums above have been from their raging folly. Should she be punished whose virtue has been preserved at such cost?”

“If they do it they raise their hands against the Goddess herself” Hugo said in a violent whisper. Cyrulla stared at the unfortunate young woman.

“If” Maerion began ponderously, “If that is true - then these guards are but blasphemers and someone should, in turn, raise their hand against them. Is that not what all our education has taught us?”

Hugo looked despairingly at his slim muscles. “I would make the attempt” he said, “and believe it heroic - history would sing our names - but I doubt of our success.”

“Still, the Goddess would approve the venture” Maerion replied.

Perspice murmured agreement. “But quietly” she warned, “or you will have no hope at all.”

About that time, Janet was dragged away, followed by her stern-faced father and weeping mother, toward the Upper City.

The whole place broke out in loud discussions and exclamations. Perspice half stood, saying “If you discover where they are taking her you may find a way to help her to escape to sanctuary in the temple.”

“But there she will become a prostitute” the boys objected.

“No!” Cyrulla insisted. “Some rich man will come and pay for her hand. You can find someone!”

Hugo stood. “Then let us bid you ladies farewell” he said (here Maerion stood as well) “for we have some inquiries to make.” Cyrulla and Perspice watched them stride out of the Salon and beckon to their excited slaves who crouched near the doorway.

Cyrulla grew nearly hysterical in a suppressed, silent sort of way. “I want to burn this city to the ground, I really do!” she protested when Perspice tried to hush her. Perspice beckoned to her own slave and Cyrulla’s.

“Go home, dear Cyrulla” she pleaded. “You will endanger the boys!” But when Cyrulla stood up, Perspice and their slaves made her sit down again quickly, for there was menstrual blood on her marble seat.

Perspice’s slave happned to be wearing a red cloak which she lent Cyrulla for the walk home, and they all wiped the seat unobtrusively with handkercheifs. Then they helped her to go to the guards and declare herself.

Cyrulla’s mother received her daughter’s friend hospitably when she had helped Cyrulla into the long-anticipated clothing of an adult woman; and Perspice spent the night at their house. Neither of them slept very much, wondering and worrying about the boys and poor Janet.

02.02.08

A Former Protestant Tries to Explain Sacraments

Posted in Miscellaneous, Orthodox Christianity tagged , , , , , , , , at 7:10 pm by AR

This post has a strange history: it got a lot of attention when I first put it up, but after continuing to learn about the Christian faith I felt that my explanation was inadequate and perhaps even slightly inaccurate, and I wanted to erase it. However, instead of deleting the post as I often do with those with which I am dissatisfied, I left it up so that people could still read the comments, which I thought had merit.

Since then this page has been in my top post list. Most of the hits come from searches and I’m aware that people are likely not following the link to this article just so they can read the comments section. So, unwilling to disappoint my readers, I’ve decided to take another stab at it. This will not be a technical doctrinal thesis. My desire is to be able to tell people how I, as someone raised anti-Catholic, was able to embrace a faith (the Eastern Orthodox Church) that includes a very strong belief in sacraments as a normal, effective part of Christian life.

First of all, the endeavor of my personal religious search (going on 10 years now) has been to discover what is truly Christian. In so doing I have learned that though there are many teachings that are called Christian, they are not all equally authoritative. In our time there are tens of thousands of sects, and all of them claim to be understanding the Bible in the proper way. But there was a time, in fact a very long time, when the Christian Church was so committed to unity that it could travail and struggle through the most serious doctrinal questions and come out not only with a concensus but with a formulation - a way of speaking about the mysteries of the faith - that was specific and that became regulative for all Christians ever after.

We all, including Protestants, benefit from these things to this day. Without the struggles, the councils, the authority of the holy theologians and the faith and obedience of the first Christian millenium, there would be no sense that it’s orthodox to consider Jesus as God, to believe in the Trinity, and to list a specific group of New Testament books as scripture.

In other words, what’s become clear is that if I want to escape the hermeneutic nightmare and resulting fragmentation of modern-day Christianity, I must owe interpretive allegiance first of all to the established Christian teachings of the first millenium.

That means a lot of things, but for now we’re just talking about sacraments. Or, to use the Orthodox word, Mysteries. Today’s queasines about seeing grace attached to a physical object was never thought a Christian idea until very modern times.

There is always something about a Mystery that defies pinpoint definition. That’s why the Roman Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation was so odious in the nostrils of the reformers. It’s not that we can’t talk about the mysteries of the church within the church; it’s not that we can’t say what we are meeting there and what it is doing for us. But there will always be more there than we can say. Religion is made to be enacted, lived, and walked in - not primarily to be talked about. A true theologian is a person who communes with God, not one who mistakenly thinks he can define the Almighty. (My reluctance to define God should not be confused with the “Emergent” reluctance to say anything precise and confident on religious subjects at all. They are part of two very different ways of approaching religion.)

A Mystery - what is sometimes called a sacrament in Western terms - is a sort of bridge from the world of our senses to the world of our hearts, where God meets us.

It is an enactment of a religious truth that, through the power of grace, becomes an experience of the religious truth itself. In the Lord’s Supper, for instance, it is not simply the bread and wine that are symbols. Our eating them is likewise a symbol - a symbol for the fact that we must imbibe Christ for the nourishment of our souls, that our life comes from him. What Christians believe is that in participating in this enactment a person is participating not only in the symbol but in the thing being symbolized. Your actons represent “recieving Christ” and at the same time you are actually receiving Christ. You recieve him in eating the bread and wine; and if you want to be as bold as the mystical theologians of times past you can even say that you are eating his flesh and blood and that mystically the bread and wine are his flesh and blood. It is not that far off from a few things that Jesus himself said if you are not afraid to take them in their plain sense. It only requires some faith and a religious imagination that struggles to free itself from the materialistic viewpoint of our modern day.

However, if you want to know what this looks like in an actual service I will say this much. During the service, the bread and wine are brought out to pass between the people of the congregation, established a connection between the Body of Christ in the Church and the Body of Christ in the Eucharist. After much prayer and praising, the elder who stands in the altar for the congregation prays for mercy because of his owns sins, and with a certain amount of fear prays that God will “make” or “show” the bread and wine to be the body and blood of Christ. The people, kneeling, pray “Amen” all through this because it is the offering of all of the congregation. Then, remembering Christ’s sacrifice, everyone comes to eat and drink, believing that they themselves have in a mystery become present at that very sacrifice through their remembrance.

So in the Eucharist a Christian is really recieving Christ. This grace is attached to this form. If he approaches it with faith he will recieve Him to his benefit. If he approach sinfully he recieves Him to his damnation because although the grace is always there, the person has made himself unfit for this grace and it will not agree with him in that state.

Since we are talking about how a Protestant comes to accept such a thing, I think it would be well at this point to talk about The Protestant Sacrament. Yes, they retain one, though they don’t call it that.

Perhaps the most important moment in my spiritual life as a Baptist took place at camp. A rather politic, learned, gentle man in his own sphere was talking to us about how to read the Bible.

“The scriptures” he earnestly intoned “can literally become your spiritual food. You can be reading the page and seeing the Lord beyond the page, and it will literally be for the nourishment of your soul.”

This preacher was unusually articulate and was not in the habit of using the word ‘literally’ for mere emphasis, so I knew he meant it. If wanted to, I could stop reading the Bible as a mere text, and begin to feed upon it. I began to pracitce this and over time I learned to recognize that sense of hunger in myself when I had not fed. To this day I can open my Bible and because of practice I can derive a certain flow of life, if I may so describe it, as I read the words. It is coming through my physical and mental action of reading, but I’m aware that there is a certain presence of God resting upon the whole meeting that gives it such effectiveness. This presence of God, unlike other types of prescence, is no dependant upon the right timing. It is something that is always there. It is a grace that has been given to the scriptures and which I can expect them to retain to my benefit, whenever I choose to expose myself to it. In college I learned that this is an aspect of the word’s identification with the Word - Christ and the scriptures are in a sense one and when you take in the words by faith you recieve the Word.

In other words, I’ve been experiencing mystery for a long time.

Then there was marriage. In studying the scriptures I began to discover that the act of physical union between man and woman was a symbol for the union of God and Mankind. Not only was it a symbol of it, but it partook of the reality in a sense. It was meant to be the same kind of bridge or meeting place.

And finally, there was The Sinner’s Prayer. This was a moment, for those of evangelical stripe, at which your physical action of praying a certain prayer could and indeed must be expected to met with a very real infusion of grace. It was equated with being born again.

As I read the scriptures it became clear to me that it was the protestants who balked at a literal interpretation when it came to Baptism and the Lord’s Supper. It is obvious if you read between the lines that the early Christians used Baptism as we use the Sinner’s Prayer, and that they expected exactly the same results from it. The simplest way to prove this is to get out your concordance; make a list of all scriptures mentioning baptism; and read each of them assuming the interpretation I’ve given above. Suddenly they make sense.

When evangelicals balk at referring to baptism as regeneration, they are forced to substitute another ritual in its place - the sinner’s prayer, or walking the aisle. Only very strict Calvinists sometimes conjecture that God may infuse the grace of regeneration unsuspected when faith is born in the heart, completely independant of any form of action or choice on the part of the sinner. I still don’t think that is impossible in certain circumstance. Orthodox Christians do not believe that God has limited himself to bestow new life in Christ only through Baptism. All the same it is dreadful to knowingly slight the office of Baptism, since Christ has appointed it. It is the normal way to become a Christian and as such God has been so good as to attach a certain grace to it.

I have yet to experience the grace of the Eucharist. But I no longer have any qualms about doing it when the time comes.

I do not fear that it is superstitious to imagine that grace can be attached to a physical object or action. It is in the nature of Christianity that grace is more often incarnated in this manner than not. God is saving physical nature, not discarding it and that is why Christ, first of all, was enfleshed. What’s more I don’t believe in this grace in any “magical” sense, and nor do any Orthodox Christians. That is, even though we believe that the grace for healing and salvation is always present in the sacrament, we do not believe that it automatically saves a person who merely goes through the motions. Where there is no faith and no love that grace will be destructive, not saving. In this light I Corinthians 11 begins to make a lot more sense. 

Nor do I feel that I am indulging in “works salvation.” Since the Orthodox Church does not believe that heaven is attained through merit, there is no sense of merit accruing to our account with God when we enact the Christian Mysteries. They are acts of faith and obedience and I expect God, in his kindness, to make it to my salvation simply because he has promised to do so. (I have only to add that when an Orthodox Christian speaks of “salvation” he is not referring to a one-time event that marks the beginning of the Christian life. In Orthodox vocaublary, following  the Greek in which the New Testament was written, salvation is any rescuing, healing, santification, or preservation which God gives us through any means - either directly or mediated through other Christians on earth or in heaven, through sacraments, through dreams or thoughts, through icons, through authorities, through our own faith and love, through the ministry of his Spirit that penetrates all these things - in short through everything within his kingdom.)

Because I will be doing so within the Eastern Orthodox Church, I do not feel that I am doing something “Catholic.” Note, I do not consider the RCC to be my particular enemy. I hope I can count as particular friends all who worship the Lord Jesus as the Only-Begotten of the Father and through Him, the Holy Trinity. However, the doctrine of transubstantiation (so intellectually unacceptable to all but those who invented it,) certain confusions about the nature of grace that have sometimes existed within Western Christianity, and the power that authoritarian clergy have sometimes wielded over people through the Catholic sacraments, have created such suspicion that I know it will be to some people’s relief, as indeed it was to my own as well, to realize that the original Christian Mysteries exist outside of the RCC. My Catholic readers will not be able to agree with me in this belief but we will agree in trusting to the mercy of God to save what can be saved and sort all out in the end.

Finally, I am very happy in the thought that I will be doing something that can truly be considered established Christian doctrine and practice. This is not just my interpretation - I have the whole Church behind me. It is what all Christians everywhere did and to a great extent believed, until materialism and modernism enacted the present-day strict division between the spiritual and the material world.

02.01.08

Google Searches that Brought Me Readers II: Getting Kids to Eat Eggs

Posted in Parenting tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , at 2:33 pm by AR

For kid-friendly egg recipe scroll to the bottom of the post. 

I continue to be amazed by the search phrases that bring people to my blog. Just to reassure everyone, there’s no indication who made the search or where they were coming from, at least not that I know how to or care how to find.

Last time I wrote about the amusing search “mean poems to say to enemies” and obligingly put up a few. Since then not a day goes by when I don’t get three or four hits from people with similar searches. Some of them say “mean poems to say at guys” and some simply “mean poems.” I think I may safely guess the gender of most of these searches. It makes me think there might be an unrecognized market out there…hmm, book idea.

One search that nearly broke my heart was the phrase “need Orthodox friends.” I’m not sure if that was Christian or Jewish Orthodox but if anyone needs friends all I can say is that I too am largely reduced to looking for them on the internet and I sympathize with this need. Feeling alone in your faith is not the normal way it was meant to be. However my husband likes to quote “Athanasius against the world” to me, reminding me that those times do come upon the Lord’s people and probably are coming upon us.

Who knows what monstrous deception is overtaking our world…what with epistomological questions, and tens of thousands of splinter christianities, and funamentalism darkening the face of all religion. It may be that in the Church of our Lord Jesus Christ many will find themselves alone in the coming centuries. But he will come again to judge the living and the dead. We wait for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. Oh yes, and, if anyone wants an Orthodox internet friend, I can’t promise instant bff status but I would love to chat with you and see if we don’t hit it off. My prayers are with you, anonymous searcher.

 More practically, I recieved a hit from someone looking for ways to get a kid to eat eggs. Now people trying to get their kids to eat veggies or eat at all are another almost daily phenomonon. But to the question of eggs I do believe I have something to add.

 Kid’s tummies, if I remember my own, are far more sensitive than adult’s tummies. I was not able to eat eggs until I was in college. And as I remember I always liked the taste but as a child they were so rich that they made me ill.

My mom used to get eggs into us by making french toast. That is, you whip up a few eggs and milk, dip a slice of bread into the mixture, and fry it up in oil. Add syrup, honey, or powdered sugar and you are in business.

The problem is that it’s difficult to make good french toast. It takes a lot of time, it’s messy, and likely as not the bread is going to collapse under the weight of the eggs and come out dense and hard. And all that oil…yuck.

I’ve just perfected a whipped egg-and-bread pancake recipe that comes out exactly like a perfect french toast. And my Johnny loves it. If I have real maple syrup in the house I put a little on and tell him it’s “tree honey.” If not he eats it anyway. Now Johnny likes eggs so he is not a perfect test-case for those of you who’s kids can’t handle the stuff, like the child me. However it’s an idea to try. Here’s the recipe.

In a small cup, whip up an egg and a jug-capful of milk (about half a teaspoon?) Blend quite thoroughly with a fork.

Tear the crust off of a slice of bread. (The wonderful thing about this is that you can use whole-grain bread as it’s not going to be too dry or rough in the recipe.) Lightly shred the bred in small peices and drop them into the cup of egg and milk mixture. Stab the bread repeatedly with the tines of the fork, until it is throughly saturated with the eggs and milk.

Melt a small pat of butter in a frying pan. When the butter starts to bubble, turn the cup upside down and let the mixture plop in the center of the pan in a disc.

Now you can cook this mixture exactly like a pancake. Not too hot or fast, don’t scramble, test the edges. When it starts to puff up and the edges are becoming solid, turn it over with a spatula. Both sides should be brown and puffy and the center should be bouncy when you tap it lightly with a finger or spatula.

Of course we all know how to introduce new food to a toddler: show it to him, give it an exciting name that relates it to a food or object he’s already familiar with, let him see you cut or prepare it in some way, and eat a few bites in front of him as if you are tasting it to see if it’s any good and finding that it is. And then ask him if he wants to try it. If his mouth opens at all pop a little bit in to see if he cares for it.

He’ll let you know.