Bread That Satisfies

I'm still thinking about Jesus describing himself as the Bread of Life.

This week it's a poignant image, as I've struggled for several days with a cold and stomach bug that has left me able to eat little except bread.

I've been hungry as I've gone whole days without being able to stomach any food, and nothing has sounded so good as a slice of toast.  Nothing has sounded as good as bread with perhaps a little butter and jam or honey.  I literally ache for that bread to fill me and satisfy.

I thought about that this morning, pondering the moment where I found myself wandering through the grocery store, stocking up on foods that would be palatable, and finding myself genuinely excited over the prospect of purchasing a freshly baked loaf of soft bread.

And I wondered, as I walked and pondered that excitement, how often do I also hunger for Jesus in this way?  How often do I ache for Him, the Living Bread, to come and fill me?  How often do I allow Him to satisfy my hungers?

It's a reminder I needed this morning, and one I will continue to ponder.

Bread

Lately in the Look at Jesus course that Christianne has been teaching, we've been talking about the metaphors that Jesus used to describe himself in the book of John.  As I pondered some of them the other night, the one that particularly caught me was his description of himself as the "Bread of Life."

Bread is an image that immediately evoked a sensory response.  Smells and tastes and memories sprang to mind.

I thought of standing in the basement of the student centre at the university and smelling the aroma of baking bread emerging from one of the sandwich shops and wafting to fill the corridors.

I thought about the experiences I've had this last year as I've worked with yeast doughs for the first time - not making bread yet, but learning what it is to work with yeast, and to knead and work dough.

And I thought about all the different breads I've eaten.  The various loaves available here in Canada - loaves with seeds and grains.  Crispy french bread spread with a layer of butter.  All sorts, really.

And I thought about the bread I ate in Malta.  Maltese bread is something pretty special.  It comes in round loaves, and is dense, with a hard, crispy crust.  It was a staple of nearly every meal I ate during my time there, and I think my particular favorite way to eat it was spread with butter and jam.  So good.  I've never found anything quite like it here in Canada.

So Jesus reminds me that he is bread, and I think about the different kinds of bread - the ones that melt in my mouth, and the ones like Maltese bread that require a bit more chewing, a bit more work.  He reminds me that He is bread, and I think of what I know of history - how bread has always been a staple of survival, how it is central to so many middle-eastern, european and western cuisines, how it was bread that the devil suggested Jesus form from stones during the temptation in the wilderness.     I think about yeast and how carefully it must be handled to ensure it multiplies, and about kneading dough, repetitive, hard work if ever there was such a thing.

I think about these things and ponder how they are true of my relationship with Jesus - how there are things about him that are easy to swallow and absorb, and things that require much mulling, chewing, wrestling to absorb.  I think about times I have fasted, and how the one thing I wanted more than anything was bread, spread with butter, how it was an immense temptation to smell those things.  I'm pondering the realities of yeast - how it must be carefully cultivated for it to multiply and grow, and then how it must be kneaded into dough, mixed and turned until it is spread and absorbed.  How true is it that I must carefully cultivate Christ in my life, and turn and mix His words until they are absorbed within me and grow new sprouts of life and healing.

It's quite some time since I've been so struck by an image of Christ, but this one, this one of Him as bread - as sustenance, basic sustenance, though not always the easiest form of sustenance to absorb - this is an image that has captured my heart the last few days, and one that I am meditating on as I look at the days ahead.

And you - is there something that the image of Jesus as the Bread of Life evokes for you?  Or is there perhaps another image of Christ that is standing out for you at the moment?  I'd love to hear!

A Day for Pushing Through

This is a mixed up sort of day.

Maundy Thursday. The day we mark the washing of the disciple’s feet, the institution of the Eucharist, the agony in Gethsemane, and the betrayal by Judas. A bloody day, filled with questions.

My baby brother is having surgery today, to hopefully correct a wrist injury he’s suffered from for nearly two years. An injury I’ve written about here before. T. has taught me so much as I’ve watched him struggle through this season. He truly felt it was God’s will to study worship and music, to major in guitar. He’d spent a year seeking the heart of God for his life after high school, and made the decision to pursue music. Within months of beginning school, he was forced to give up playing the guitar because of this injury. Over the last year and a half he has asked Jesus the hard questions, he’s struggled with the pain, and he’s walked into increasingly deep sensitivity to the word and spirit of God. Today the surgeon will shorten one of the bones in his wrist, in the hopes that the pressure that the bone creates will be alleviated, and that T’s ability to use his arm without pain will be restored. I have seen patience and depth sprout in him through this season, and today, as I mark again the body broken and the blood poured out, I am praying that God will restore wholeness to my brother’s body, because I know that the glory will be given to God alone.

March 20, 1212. The day Clare of Assisi left behind her riches and went to St. Francis to be blessed, to assume a life of poverty and devotion to Christ. I’ve been reading about Clare lately, talking about her a bit with a friend. She is the patron saint of eyes – significant in a season that has been about “seeing” with the eyes of Christ. One of only three female saints to be depicted carrying the host – the body of Christ – significant in a Lenten season that has time and time again driven home the idea of the body broken and the blood shed.

This is a day for pressing through. For remembering the verse in Hebrews that reminds us that joy comes after the suffering. “For the joy set before Him he endured the cross…”

I’ll go home from work tonight, and break a fast I’ve engaged in for the last week with bread and maybe with wine. Remembering the body broken and the blood shed. I’ll eat, and I’ll read, and I’ll pray, and I’ll rest. But until then, I’m pushing through, and the slogging feels slow and heavy.

I am hungriest for God

“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” (John 6:35)

I woke up this morning, crawled out of bed, and realized, with a sinking sort of feeling, that this was the day I’d set aside this week to observe a fast of some sort. I generally work to avoid the idea of fasting, and particularly fasting related to the consumption of food, but during Lent, I try to set aside one day per week where I in some way abstain from food.

This morning, I decided on what I thought would be the easy way out. I would do a fruit and vegetable fast. From the moment I woke up, until the moment I woke up the following day, the only food I would consume would be fruits and vegetables. I could give you all of the justifications for choosing this over a complete abstaining from food (I was exhausted, and would need energy for work etc.), but I’ll be really honest. I wanted to be able to say that I’d practiced the discipline of fasting this week, without really giving up food. I like fruit and vegetables – I eat them in fairly large quantities on a daily basis. It seemed like a healthy idea to eat only fruits and vegetables for a little over 24 hours. What I neglected to take into consideration in my bleary eyed morning decision making process was exactly how much starch and bread based products are also part of my daily diet. How many things I eat for the quick “energy boost” or “sugar fix.”

At about 1:00 this afternoon, as I was sitting at my desk, waiting patiently for our bookkeeper to return from her lunch hour and take over answering the phones, giving me my own lunch hour, it hit me. I didn’t want carrots, or snap peas, or a kiwi fruit or mandarin orange. I didn’t want another glass of water, or a cup of roiboos tea. I wanted bread. Badly. Or maybe a cracker. Something in the starch and grain based food category.

I couldn’t shake the thought. I “needed” bread. Now. There would be no waiting until tomorrow morning. It must be now.

I tried reasoning with my body. “you don’t really ‘need’ bread. You just want it, because you’re used to it. Because you love it, and I indulge you by feeding you the thing that you love on a regular basis. You can live without it for another 18 hours.” Nothing doing. My body would not be satiated with rational arguments.

I tried to distract it by feeding it other things. “Here’s some baby carrots and snap peas, fresh from the farmer’s market. Or maybe a kiwi, would you like a kiwi? An orange? A sip of water, or a cup of tea?” It wouldn’t be distracted.

And somewhere, in the midst of the reasoning, and the attempts at distraction, I became aware of a voice whispering in the background, “I am the bread of life…”

Lauren Winner, author of Girl Meets God and Mudhouse Sabbath, and a convert from Orthodox Judaism to Christianity, describes a conversation she’d once had with her rabbi, arguing that she was more likely to focus on God on a high feast day if her stomach had be satiated. She writes:

Rabbi M. did not roll back thousands of years of rabbinic instruction and tell me to eat a bowl of Chex on the morning of Yom Kippur. Instead, he said the hunger was part of the point. “When you are fasting,” he said, “and you feel hungry, you are to remember that you are really hungry for God.”

And that has become my litany, my chant. When I sit at my desk on a Friday afternoon and wonder whether one little blue corn tortilla chip with a dab of black bean spread would really hurt, I say the words out loud: I am hungriest for God, my truest hunger is for God…

Rabbi M.’s words make clear that, like the liturgy, the fast accomplished a repositioning. When I am sated, it is easy to feel independent. When I am hungry, it is possible to remember where my dependence lies.

And so, I began to pause and listen to that voice. “I am the bread of life.” A friend and I have been having an ongoing discussion this Lenten season about hungering and thirsting for God, for deeper things of God.

I chose a fruit and vegetable fast this morning out of laziness and obligation. A desire to say I’d practiced a discipline, without the sacrifices that should generally accompany the practice of a discipline. I spent my afternoon realizing a deeper hunger. A desire for bread.

The craving for bread remains. I am anticipating with great eagerness the moment tomorrow morning when I will break my fast with a hot crossed bun from an excellent local bakery. But as I passed through the afternoon, and my body continually reminded me that it would really appreciate it if I would stop ignoring it’s request for bread, I was reminded of my own, much deeper hunger for God, for the satisfaction Jesus promised when he said, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”