In the presence of food that is for sale, we tend to ask, “What do I want?”, “How much does it cost?” and “Can I afford it?” The locus of consideration is the self, the same one doing the asking and the answering. The same one we disparagingly call a consumer.
In the presence of free food, we tend to stuff our bellies and our pockets. We tend not to worry about where the food came from, how it became available to us, or what it means for us to eat it.
“I paid for it” and “I got it for free” result in the same market-specific condition we might call “freedom from relational responsibility.”
In the presence of food that is a gift, the wellbeing of others springs to mind: “Surely someone needs this more than I do.” In their gentle protestations, I hear people asking, “Am I worthy, or could I imagine myself so?”, “What is an appropriate portion size?”, “Are all the other neighbors being sustained?” and “How might I go about making sure that is the case?” This is the sound of gratitude creaking into motion by turning the human heart toward relationship. This is the sound of a consumer becoming a sustainer.