Yesterday the bread had a
crunch. I am not accustomed to crunch
bread here even though I always like the crunchy bits. When my daughter was a child we had a habit
in restaurants. She liked the soft part of
the bread and I, the hard. So we would
swap with each other. Thus she had twice the soft and I the hard. Poor etiquette I know but fun just the same.
And it was about so much more than bread.
But yesterday there was crunch in
my teeth, a grain of whole wheat it felt. As I walked away I wanted more as the
flavor lingered. Usually I do not, because a different flavor lingers, one of
the soul and the cleanliness of hope. But
what did I want more of? Was it the wheaty flavor, or was it the notion that
nothing remains that might be tossed to the birds? There is something about the birds (or squirrels)
eating the holy I have long told myself is wrong. Or was it the crunch and the
grain in my teeth lingering that I desired?
Or was it the depth, the hope to heal the secret chambers, the few in my
intimate prayer who are never there with me any longer…except by prayer? How does
one know? All I knew was I wanted more.
More until we began to sing the
Hymn of St Francis:
Make me a channel of your peace:
Where there is hatred, let me bring
your love,
Where there is injury, your pardon,
Lord,
And where there's doubt true faith in
you.
Make me a channel of your peace:
Where there's despair in life, let me
bring hope,
Where there is darkness, only light,
And where there's sadness, ever joy.
O Master, grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved, as to love with all my
soul!
Make me a channel of your peace:
It is in pardoning that we are
pardoned,
In giving of ourselves that we receive,
And in dying that we are born to
eternal life.
And the more I desired had
definition, orientation, depth for the coming day.
It being the Fourth Sunday in
Lent we had prayed:
Gracious Father,
whose blessed Son Jesus Christ came down from heaven to be the true bread which
gives life to the world: Evermore give us this bread, that he may live in us,
and we in him; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now
and for ever. Amen.
Evermore
give us this bread that he may live in us.
This now has taste. It tastes of
going beyond myself. There are grains of
hope, peace, light, joy, consolation, love, understanding, pardon, faith…multigrained
is this taste.
And
so now I wonder on Monday as I read the feeding of the four thousand in John
6:1-15 when it ends with:
When the people saw
the sign that he had done, they began to say, "This is indeed the prophet
who is to come into the world." When
Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him
king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.
Did
they go away wanting more? Was it the crunch in their teeth or the longing for
hope? Had he penetrated their secret chambers and healed some inner desire or
wound? Had he opened them to gracious living long ago known and at least for
some lost in the push of life? Did they
want this flavor forever?
And
the generous heart of the boy who gave his bread and fish, what did he desire?
Or was it enough to be swept up unaware into the generosity of God? Did he grow
old remembering what it was to release the bread and fish his mother had packed
for him and to awaken to miracle, knowing letting go, simply yielding to
generosity can change everything about you?
Evermore give us this
bread. The grains still linger.
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