The Magnificent Pig

No.114: July 1, 2022

Welcome to The Square Inch, a Friday newsletter on Christianity, culture, and all of the many-varied “square inches” of God’s domain. This publication is free for now, but please consider clicking on the link at the bottom to become a paid subscriber to enjoy all my offerings! This week’s Monday “Off The Shelf” highlighted a book on Constitutional originalism, and Wednesday’s “Quarter Inch” was a lengthy deep-dive into the overruling of Roe v. Wade. Stop missing out!

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Dear Friends,

I hope your weather forecast for this long holiday weekend is glorious. You know what you should do? You should light up some old-school charcoal briquettes and roast something from a pig.

I would like to explain to you why the pig is the most magnificent animal for human consumption and, more than that, how the lowly pig is a living gospel presentation. So I am going to write about food and about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Not exactly your everyday sort of evangelism. Here goes.

A Cornucopia of Delights

From a culinary perspective, the most amazing thing about the pig is its sheer variety of delicacies. So you’ve got those briquettes glowing, don’t you? What is it going to be? Seasoned pork chops, brined overnight for moisture retention? Or perhaps a couple of racks of baby back ribs, lovingly coated with brown-sugary barbecue sauce that crystalizes and locks in that smokey flavor? Maybe—oh, just think of this—a whole pork tenderloin, rubbed with seasoning to perfection?

No, no, no. Beautiful sunny days call for Corona and carnitas. How about you get up early in the morning and put an entire pork shoulder on the grill along with some variety of wood chips for smoke and you can engage in one of a man’s greatest pastimes: drinking a brewski, listening to an afternoon baseball game, and pretending to watch the grill as it slow cooks its way to glory. When that giant slab of meat reaches the prime temperature, you can take it off, let it rest, and then shred it for tacos. With a healthy layer of pico de gallo, a generous ribbon or two of legendary Huy Fong Foods sriracha (it’s got to be David Tran’s freedom sauce!), a squeezed lime, and—as Emeril Lagassi would say—bam!

Wait. What am I saying? If it going to be pig, it has to be bacon, doesn’t it? Bacon is the universally beloved delicacy! What to do … how’s this? Take jalapeño peppers and stuff them with cream cheese. Then wrap bacon around them and grill them over the charcoal. Now we’re talking. Actually, just wrap bacon around anything you’ve got lying around. Anything at all. Bacon will always improve whatever you’re doing.

But we can’t only eat meat (sorry, guys), so maybe we want to throw together a salad, too. That wouldn’t be complete without showering that salad with bacon bits—I like mine paired with blue cheese and a hard-boiled egg. That’s a meal in and of itself.

Am I boring you? Okay, I’ll speed up. I haven’t mentioned pork sausages or pork belly or bratwurst with mustard and sauerkraut. And ham! How could I forget? What’s an Easter dinner without a giant glazed ham? When you’re done, you can make stock with that ham bone for soup later (just don’t accidentally leave it simmering on the stove when you leave the house, as some of my friends once did—huge insurance claim). Or, if that’s not your thing, there’s always the aesthetically pleasing crown roast! And there’s more! You can deep fat fry the skin of a pig and season the resulting pork rinds however you wish. Some people—it’s a bit weird, I know, and doesn’t sound appetizing to me—make something called “head cheese” from the heads of pigs.

There is essentially not a single part of the pig that cannot be eaten.

That’s why some people don’t bother breaking this magnificent animal down into parts at all. They start a blazing hot fire in a pit in the ground and when it’s down to glowing embers, having for some reason shoved an apple into the pig’s mouth, they drop the whole animal into the pit and cover it with earth for 24 hours. Then they dig it up—a death and resurrection scene, of sorts—throw a giant party, and people just slide the meat off the bones and consume it. It is outrageously delicious.

That’s the next mind-blowing thing. In addition to providing this incredible variety of meats, each and every item is so very good. The Japanese have an elusive culinary term, “umami.” It means something like … well, goodness or deliciousness. That is what a pig is: a factory of umami. And it doesn’t all taste the same! If you didn’t know any better and I blindfolded you and gave you a taste of pork shoulder, a piece of ham, and a slice of bacon, be honest: you would think I was feeding you three different animals. Amazing.

A pig is a living cornucopia whose delights and mysteries almost can’t be fathomed. The pig is the most magnificent of culinary animals.

And God said unto Moses: “You shall not eat.”

The Garbage Can

Oh. There’s that tiny detail. What in the world is that all about? The law of Moses forbade God’s people from consuming “unclean” animals and there are plenty of so-called “Messianic” Christians and others (Jews, obviously, along with Muslims) who still adhere to those laws. Defining what “unclean” means can be pretty involved, but it most famously includes shellfish (like shrimp) as well as our magnificent pig. They’re basically scavengers. Shrimp scurry around on the bottom of the ocean “cleaning up” algae and decay, and a pig will famously eat anything. Anything at all. Pigs are garbage cans. They’ll even eat a garbage can.

I heard a very reliable second-hand story of how the late R.J. Rushdoony, author of The Institutes of Biblical law, notorious for his vigorous defense of and adherence to Torah in all its details, once with his deep, booming voice scolded someone in mid-reach for a pile of shrimp cocktail. “Do you know what the Law of God calls that? FILTH!” It sounds like he was a fun party guest.

Yet even the strict Rushdoony didn’t really believe the dietary laws of Moses were still binding on believers today. Though clearly conflicted, he understood and, I would say, half-grasped that “clean” and “unclean” are terms of religious import, having to do with moral—not physical—purity. These were clearly religious identity markers distinguishing the children of Israel from the Gentile nations around them. It’s a pretty obvious and nifty object lesson, isn’t it? The very first thing you notice about pigs is that they are filthy. And shrimp? Creepy. Literally. If cleanliness and purity is what you’re trying to symbolize, that’s pretty obvious. Like you might tell a child, '“Yeah, don’t eat the dirty one. Or the creepy one.”

The dietary laws distinguished Israel from the Gentile nations. It was a matter of ceremonial holiness, or being “set apart.” Rushdoony admitted this, but maintained that they also served hygienic and nutritional purposes that should continue to serve as a “principle of operation,” but that part, as far as I can tell, is made up. The Bible doesn’t say anything about such hygienic and health purposes; one must read conjectures about the “health benefits” of not eating pork into the law of Moses. And if we just concede, for the sake of argument, that eating these “unclean” animals is really bad for you, it still remains that it is not the law that tells us so. Our nutritional conjectures are not law, and surely those who are meticulous about the Mosaic law should know the warnings about adding to it. Think what you will about hygiene and nutrition, but you should kindly keep it to yourself. Man, I hope that guy dove right into that shrimp cocktail.

Okay, but it’s still a law, right? Filthy animal=Do Not Eat.

Yes. And then something happened. One day the Apostle Peter was hungry, and as the meal was being prepared for him he fell into a trance and had a vision (Acts 10). He saw heaven opened and a large sheet was lowered by its four corners. On the sheet were all kinds of animals—we are told, “four-footed,” “reptiles,” and “birds.” This is Genesis 1 shorthand for every kind of animal. There’s no distinction on this “sheet” between clean and unclean. A voice commanded him—the voice of the Risen Lord Jesus commanded him: “Get up, Peter. Kill and eat.” Notice just how forceful this command is. Jesus is not saying, “Eat this unclean food that is being served to you.” This is not some kind of hospitality or politeness command. Nothing passive about it. You, Peter, kill and eat.

Peter knows it is Jesus because he directs his response to him: “Surely not, Lord! I have never eaten anything impure or unclean.” And the voice replied, “Do not call impure anything God has made clean.”

Immediately following this event, servants arrive at Peter’s door asking for him. They have been sent from Cornelius, notably a Gentile, to invite Peter to come and preach to him and his household. Peter obeys, goes into Cornelius’s house, preaches the gospel, the Holy Spirit comes upon them to great amazement and astonishment, and Peter baptizes the whole lot of them.

This, as it happens, is an unheard-of development and Peter is summoned to give an explanation to the other Apostles for why he is eating with these uncircumcised Gentiles (Acts 11). Peter recounts the entire story about his vision, the visitors, Cornelius’s household, and the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. When he had finished, the entire company of Apostles praised God, saying, “So then, God has granted even Gentiles repentance unto life.”

Ah. There it is. The Apostolic interpretation of Peter’s vision and the command that he kill and eat unclean animals is that the boundaries separating Jew and Gentile are no longer. Jews and Gentiles, “clean and unclean” are all “made clean” through the blood of Jesus and they are gathered together in the heavenly places—that’s where the sheet came from, remember (think: on earth as it is in heaven). The dietary laws of Moses no longer serve their religious and moral purpose because Jews and Gentiles are no longer separate. Christ has torn down the “wall of hostility” and made one “new man” from the two (Eph.2). And Jesus presses this point home to Peter by commanding him to kill and eat unclean animals, and then stresses the point even further: “Do not call impure anything God has made clean.”

This is not particularly ambiguous. Do not call these animals unclean, Peter, because God has made them clean. This equals: Do not call Gentiles unclean, Peter, because God has made them clean. As with the Gentiles, so with the lowly pig. Include the one, you get the other, too. It’s a package deal. That ought to make us more than a bit uneasy about Rushdoony’s booming, “FILTH!,” no? But, actually, his issues are understandable. Wrong, but understandable, as Peter himself illustrates.

I left out a detail on purpose. Jesus had to issue this command to Peter three times (Acts 10:16). As anyone who has ever met a vegan knows, food convictions are strangely personal, religious, deeply held, and they die hard. I am not sure what it is with Peter and his triplets (he’s a man of conviction!) but he denied the Lord three times, said he loved him three times, and now he refuses him three times. “Surely not, Lord!”

If I can have a bit of imaginary conjecture myself…

Surely you don’t mean … really eat it, like eat-it, eat it?

Surely this is some kind of metaphor, right? … Right!?

Okay, Gentiles are in. Got it. But surely the law has hygienic and nutritional reasons that still hold, right? … Right!?

I’m just supposed to eat it when a Gentile serves it to me, right? … Right!? Oh. You said for me to kill it and eat it?

Just put all this into that silly three-part meme you see everywhere of Anakin Skywalker and Padme from those atrocious Star Wars prequels, and you get the idea. Jesus commands Peter three times to kill and eat unclean animals. He means it as seriously as he meant it the three times he commanded Peter to feed his sheep.

Let me wrap up this part of the biblical theology lesson. Would you ever say something like this?

• “Those Gentiles are welcome in the kingdom, but they’re still kind of … gross and dirty.”

• “Technically Gentiles are allowed, but it’s still a ‘principle of operation’ to avoid them.”

• “A little bit of Gentile goes a long way; they’re okay in moderation, but just be careful to not get too familiar with them.”

• “It’s okay to associate with Gentiles if someone offers it, but don’t go out of your way to seek them out.”

I trust not. But that’s how some people talk about shrimp and pigs, so they clearly haven’t understood the lesson.

Once God had withheld the magnificent pig from his people, but he had joys in store. Now, at the end of the ages when the new creation has dawned that restores and reconciles all things, including Jew and Gentile, makes the impure clean, and makes beauty out of ugly things, the “tutelage” of this law is no more.

In fact, it is even better than that. The lowly pig is now something of a new tutor that, if we have eyes to see, noses to smell, ears to hear, and mouths to taste, teaches us the power and reach of grace.

Trash Into Treasure

One of my best friends has a farm in Virginia. Pretty idyllic place with cattle, goats, chickens, and usually a couple of pigs. One day while visiting I finished eating a banana in the kitchen and I threw the peel into the garbage can. My friend leaped up in exasperation, beelined it for the garbage can, pulled out the peel, rounded on me and said:

Brian, I have an amazing machine that turns this into BACON!

He was, of course, talking about his pig. And it is true. Pigs don’t just live in filth and roll around in it. They pretty much consume everything gross—“slop,” I think the old-school farmers like my Grandpa James Cranston called it.

And this animal turns all that trash into treasure. It is nothing short of miraculous. What mysterious, unseen, alchemic power is at work—what in heaven’s name is going on at the cellular and molecular level whereby this stinking beast consumes stinking garbage and turns it into something as gloriously delicious as bacon? It defies explanation. I live in Montana, and if I shoot a mule deer that’s been in the high country eating sage brush, that mule deer is going to have tough, sage-tasting meat. If I shoot a whitetail in a grain field, it’s going to be sweet, tender, and mild. People distinguish all the time between corn-fed and grass-fed beef. A pig? It doesn’t matter if does eat a garbage can. Bacon will still be bacon.

There is some mystery at work here. Trash is transformed into treasure, as surely as grace transforms fallen nature. “Do not call impure anything God has made clean.” Grace—the grace of Jesus Christ and his victorious benefits—makes clean. Grace lifts fallen nature from the muck and the mire and re-creates unto the glory for which it was intended. Is this not so? Is this not a stunning, multi-sensory reminder of the grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ, who by the mysterious power of his Holy Spirit lifts us from the muck and the mire of our sin and misery and re-creates us into the image of God for which we were destined?

I once heard Pastor Andrew Wilson observe (and I think this was taken from this book) how profound it is that bacon, taken from the most unpleasantly pungent animal on the planet, when devoted as a burnt sacrifice, produces the most pleasant aroma known to man. Is that not what the Bible says of us? That our lives devoted to God are a pleasing aroma?

The lowly pig displays for us the power of redeeming, transforming grace.

And the lowly pig displays for us the reach of redeeming, transforming grace.

Remember how I observed that there is almost nothing that cannot be eaten from a pig? How people throw the whole animal into a pit to slow cook and then consume it whole? This trash bucket is transformed practically without remainder. The whole creature is transformed. Just as God’s grace transforms and renews every nook and cranny of fallen creation, and every nook and cranny of our lives and our being, it seems that nearly every piece of trash consumed by a pig becomes in a sense—if I might use a provocative metaphor—glorified.

I meant it when I opened by suggesting you roast something from a pig this weekend. This is not simply for culinary pleasure (for which you are most welcome), but for sanctifying purposes. I am suggesting it might even be of spiritual benefit for you. It is not a guilty pleasure. For you are no longer under the yoke of the law of Moses; the gates of the kingdom of God have been thrown wide for Gentiles and their lowly, yet utterly magnificent pigs, which serve as a reminder that there is no stench that grace cannot make sweet, no trash that grace cannot make treasure, no mud or grime that grace cannot cleanse, and—most gloriously—no sinner whom grace cannot save.

Happy grilling. And throw a few shrimp on the barbie, too, for good measure.