A Succotash Sermon

A Succotash Sermon

by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

Welcome to the Pot, baby! I'm glad the wind done blew you in haha! It’s time for supper. Now go wash up and help me set the table. Let me tell you, we gon’ eat well today body, mind, spirit, and soul.

Now let me tell y’all somethin’ real quick if you ain’t never had a good bowl of succotash, I need you to call somebody’s grandmama immediately, because you have been spiritually deprived and culinarily misled. See, succotash ain’t just food. Naw. It’s a testimony. It’s a whole soul story simmered in a pot, handed down through hot kitchens, soft prayers, and firm wooden spoons.

See, where I come from down in that good gumbo-soaked air of New Orleans we don’t just eat to fill our bellies. Oh no. We eat to remember, to heal, to laugh, to cry, to pass time, and to give thanks. And succotash? That’s one of them dishes that show up right when you need it most humble, hearty, and holy.

Now let’s break it down, baby.

You got corn golden, sweet, and stubborn. That corn don’t play around. It’ll pop, roast, boil, fry, or sit in a pot like it been waiting all its life just to bless you. And spiritually? Corn been symbolizin’ life and divine provision since long before anybody ever typed it into a grocery list. Corn say, “You might be broke, but you ain’t forgotten.” Corn is your daily bread in Technicolor. And Lord knows, some of us been livin’ off corn and faith alone.

Then you got the lima beans. Now hold on don’t scrunch your face. I know some folks turn their nose up at lima beans like they owe 'em money. But them beans? They got hope in their soul. They soft, buttery little reminders that even when life is bland, you can still be tender and full of flavor. Lima beans whisper to you, “Baby, it’s gon’ get better. Keep simmerin’.”

Now, let me tell y’all a little folklore my granny Celestine once told me while we was snappin’ peas on the porch and swattin’ away mosquitoes big enough to carry a small child.

She said there was once an old root woman named Miss Liddie, deep in the swamps near Plaquemines Parish. They say Miss Liddie had a pot that never ran out. You’d come to her broke, busted, disgusted, and she’d ladle you out a bowl of succotash so powerful, it’d make you remember your worth. Folks said that pot had been blessed by her ancestors, stirred with the prayers of a thousand mamas who ain’t never gave up.

Now, one day a man came to her, down on his luck, mad at God, mad at himself, mad at everybody. He said, “Miss Liddie, I lost everything.”

Miss Liddie didn’t flinch. She said, “You ain’t lost everything, baby. You still got breath and a belly. That’s enough for now.”

She dipped him a bowl of succotash. He ate it slow like it held answers. And when he was done, he cried. Not 'cause it was sad. But because sometimes, God speaks through lima beans and corn. Sometimes, He says "I love you" with steam risin’ up from a battered pot on a rusty stove.

Now if that ain’t a sermon, I don’t know what is.

Let me tell you, succotash teaches you some things. That growth takes time, that bitterness softens, and that different things can come together and make somethin’ better than they could alone. Baby, if that ain’t like life, I don’t know what is.

See, a pot of succotash don’t care what you’ve been through. It don’t judge you. It don’t need you to be perfect. It just needs a fire, a stir, and some time. The corn bringin’ the joy. The beans bringin’ the resilience. The onions cryin’ so you don’t have to. The bell peppers shoutin’, “You still got some spice left!”

And the whole thing? It’s simmerin’ in grace.

Proverb say, “Better is a dinner of herbs where love is than a fatted calf with hatred.” Honey, give me a bowl of succotash with love and wisdom over steak and sadness any day.

Now spiritually speakin', that pot is like the Creator’s love always makin’ room, always stretchin’, always invitin’ folks who feel like they don’t belong. And ain’t that somethin’? Ain’t it good to know that even when life got you broke down, and folks act like you’re too much or not enough, the Creator still got a pot with your name on it?

Another proverb say, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” And I swear, when that spoon hits the bottom of that pot, and you taste that joy, that peace, that soul-seasonin’ you realize, hope ain't dead, it's just been cookin' slow.

Now let me get a little emotional with you.

Sometimes, in life, we feel like the lima bean. We feel overlooked, mushy, like we ain't everybody’s favorite. But God still puts us in the pot. God still says, "You part of the flavor." And other times, we feel like the corn sweet, bright, but too loud, too big, too much for folks to chew. But the Creator says, “I made you golden for a reason.”

And then when you really hurtin’ when life got you dry as old cornbread and bitter as burnt roux you realize: it’s the combination that heals you. It’s not just the parts of you that folks like. It’s the whole you, thrown in the fire, seasoned, stirred, and loved through the process.

Now don’t think I forgot the sarcasm 'cause listen here. If you show up at the cookout and ask, “Is that succotash vegan?” baby, you gon’ get looked at like you asked if jazz comes in gluten-free. Down here, we don’t check labels, we check spirit. If it was cooked with love, you gon’ eat it. Or at least take a polite spoonful and pretend you ain't confused by the texture of a lima bean.

But here’s what I want y’all to remember: succotash teaches us that you don’t need to be fancy to be holy. You don’t need caviar faith or filet mignon worship. Sometimes, you just need a little corn, a few beans, and a whole lot of grace.

And if your life feel like it’s missin’ flavor right now if it feel like everything bland, gray, and underseasoned I want you to know: your Creator is still cookin’. The pot ain’t done yet. You still got purpose. You still got joy waitin’ for you. You still got prayers simmerin’ on low.

And just like that succotash full of history, laughter, struggle, and soul you too, are made up of things that survived the heat, came together, and became beautiful.

Final Word

Now don’t go runnin’ off just yet with your mouth full and your spirit halfway stirred. Sit your behind down for a second I ain't done with you. You done ate from this pot, now you got some responsibility, baby. This ain’t no drive-thru blessing. This here’s slow-cooked, soul-fed, Divine Energy simmered food. That means you can’t leave here the same way you came in with your attitude crunchy and your faith undercooked.

Look, if life got you actin’ like an unsoaked lima bean hard, bitter, and sittin’ at the bottom of the pot unmoved baby, it’s time to let the Creator’s warmth soak into them crusty places. Let go of that dry, stuck-up, “I got this all figured out” mess. We both know you one missed text away from spiralin’ and cryin’ in the Dollar Tree parking lot.

And yeah, I know what you’re thinkin’. “Kateb, these lima beans give me gas.”

Yes, baby, they do. That’s just the price of nourishment.

But be respectful now don’t go blowin’ the trumpet at the dinner table. Get up, take yourself to the powder room, handle your business like a grown-up, and spray that air freshener before you leave out. Don't be out here settin' off smoke alarms with your testimony.

Now hear me good: if you been tryin’ to be sweet like corn but life done stripped all your flavor, just know the Divine Chef still ain’t finished with you. Sometimes the best parts of us show up when we let ourselves cook slow, soak long, and blend with others.

So when life throws you in the pot again and it will don’t you run from it. Stay in there, stir your faith, and let the heat bring out what God put in.

And if anybody ask you why you glowin’ lately, why you got peace in your step and laughter in your eyes, just wink and tell 'em:

“Honey, I been in the pot… and I came out seasoned, not salty. And yes I used air freshener.”

Amen, and pass the sweet tea.