The Gospel According to Pie Crusts and Potlucks

A love letter to the church cookbook, the women who wrote in the margins, and the stories that still rise like dough in every kitchen.

I’ve always had a soft spot for those spiral-bound church cookbooks. You know, the kind with cloudy white plastic rings that never quite close, printed by the Lutheran Basement Women (what?) or the ladies of St. Paul’s Methodist to raise money for the roof fund. They’re always a little funky, a little smudgy. My grandma had a whole shelf of them, and over the years, they’ve found their way to me...grease-stained, hand-labeled, and soft at the corners from a lifetime of use.

We come across them often at our estate sales. Sometimes they're stacked beside the flour canister, sometimes tucked behind a crockpot, or nestled in a drawer beside the measuring cups. Every time, I pause. There’s something about those recipes: Scalloped Potatoes for a Crowd, Cherry Delight, Funeral Cake. It feels like a hug from another era, and I’m here for it. I own about 100 of them. Don’t judge.

Inside the pages, the ink fades and the paper curls, but the voices still speak. There always seem to be little notes in the margins like “add more salt,” “pray while it bakes,” “good for company” that seem like bits of everyday wisdom. They weren’t just feeding people; they were caring for them. My grandma would write things like, “they seemed to care for it,” or, “don’t try again.”

Maybe that’s why I love them so much. They remind me of women who stretched what they had and still made something beautiful. They were women who fed their families, neighbors, and church communities with grace, grit, and a good sense of humor.

We’ve sold many of these little church cookbook gems through The Root Cellar, and I smile every time one finds a new kitchen - for the handwriting in the margins, the heart in the recipes, and the reminder that food has always been about more than just the meal.