Christian vegetarians can be as selective with their arguments as they are with their food. If you see a couple of them spurning the roast pork at a church potluck, go ahead and pepper them with questions. They're used to it. But be careful. They're good debaters. They have to be quick to spit out their answers in between bites of green bean casserole and broccoli salad.
Holy Cow!: |
I should know. I am one. At least, I used to be. I eat meat occasionally, which is enough to disqualify me from the ranks of vegetarian purists. I am also a weak-willed father, so I let my children eat meat. This puts me in a moral dilemma. Do I snatch their leftover meat in order to teach them not to waste food, or do I abstain, in order to teach them that moral principles should be practiced consistently? Usually, it is simply too tempting to satisfy my carnivorous cravings under the convenient guise of frugality.
Eating meat is exciting for me because I do not fall off the veggie wagon very often. When I do, I feel like I am doing something slightly naughty. Try going without a burger for a year, and you will see what I mean. Charred cow flesh has a bewitching power over the senses.
Chances are, you need no convincing. We do not think of meat as an addictive substance, but most Americans cannot go a day or two without it. Once, when my wife was pregnant with our first child, she suddenly demanded fried chicken. I didn't have to be asked twice. The aroma of the bucket I brought home turned our meat-free house into an ancient temple. Even the dog and cat went crazy with smells that conjured up their ancient species instincts. The experience taught me a lot about the primordial appeal of animal sacrifices.
We never heard the end of it from our friends. Why Christian vegetarians should be subjected to special scrutiny puzzles me. Single Christians who defend chastity are not publicly questioned about their personal lives. But as soon as you advocate vegetarianism, someone will ask you if your shoes are made of leather or why you occasionally eat fried chicken.
Hope Egan's Holy Cow! gives semi-vegetarians like me reasons to cheat. While Egan flirts with advocating vegetarianism, she spends only one page on the inhumane practices of factory farms. She is after bigger game. She wants Christians to cut down on their meat and learn about the Old Testament at the same time. She wants Christians to eat kosher.
Egan's style is brisk and her tone warmly personal. What this book lacks in scholarship it makes up for in enthusiasm and packaging. Egan is an editor for First Fruits of Zion's Messiah Magazine, which might explain the attractive cover and the aggressive marketing. Don't be surprised if you find a copy of Holy Cow! (which might be better titled Holy Pig!) placed strategically beneath a jar of bacon bits at your next potluck.
Egan recounts two spiritual journeys. She was raised in a fairly secular Jewish household, but even so, she had to make some sacrifices when she converted to Christianity. The argument of this book is that she did not have to give up her Christianity when she started keeping kosher.
Egan is part of a growing movement of Christians who draw their moral principles from the Torah, the Hebrew law found in the first five books of the Old Testament. These Christians might be called neo-Ebionites, after the 4th-century Syrian group that traced its lineage back to the earliest community of Jewish Christians. The Ebionites honored the memory of James, the brother of Jesus, who was known for not eating meat. They also rejected the teachings of the Apostle Paul. By trying to be both Jewish and Christian, they ended up creating a new religion that was neither, and eventually disappeared from history.





