Our Daily Bread

An old black-and-white photograph sits before me. Twenty-five people stand on a southern Illinois porch in 1906. All in this farming family of Greggs and Wilsons and Humphreys are wearing their Sunday best. My father’s mother, Grace, is toward the right, a girl of fifteen. My great-great-grandparents sit surrounded by children and grandchildren. What occasion brought all of them together? The celebration would have included a big meal. Yet those in this picture are slim. To be satiated after a meal would have been a rare treat.  On this day in the early twentieth century, they came together. They ate and were satisfied. 

Most U.S. citizens in the twenty-first century are not slim. “To eat and be satisfied,” for many, is a daily occurrence. The Greek word for “satisfied” means “to be gorged”—for the well-fed, gorged implies gluttony. And yet, we ache in a different way. Depression,  anxiety, and despair abound; though physically gorged, we hunger spiritually. My farming ancestors sacrificed to build a future for their children. Today, many have lost hope that the future will be better.  Dreams are dashed. Deism, not Christianity, carries the day—many believe that the God who set this mess in motion has walked away and does not care. Though we hunger, nothing satisfies. 

Today’s feast speaks to those hungers. Five thousand people came together. They were probably also slim. The Lord didn’t just take the edge off their hunger: they gorged until they absolutely could eat no more! And there were twelve baskets left! He who was the Bread of  Life gave abundantly: the people ate and were satisfied. 

He provides abundance for us as well. He has not walked away.  He is here. He is with us now. As family, we come together for his meal. We are fed. We are satisfied. 

The Bread of Life wants to nourish us. “Come to me,” he says. “Come hungry.”

Consider/Discuss 

• Human hungers can catch in our throat: We long for the past. We ache for fulfillment now. We are homesick for a better future. (Even those who  recognize no god will admit to not being totally at home in this world.)  Take a few moments each day this week to pray and allow the Holy Spirit to awaken you to the hungers that you carry. Don’t be afraid to look at them. Then when you come to the feast of Corpus Christi on Sunday, hold  your hands open to offer God those hungers as you receive the Body of  Christ. How does that heavenly food fill your soul? 
• As I look at the picture of my ancestors, my great-great-grandfather  looks particularly thin. What crop failures and winters of hunger did he  experience in the pioneering years of the nineteenth century? “Give us this  day our daily bread” must have been very real to him. Think about your  own times of hardship, whether physical or spiritual. How has the Lord  provided for you, given you your “daily bread”? 

Living and Praying with the Word 

Lord, we bring you our aches, our yearnings, and our longings.  A piece of dark chocolate satisfies for a few minutes. Then it’s gone.  The adrenaline rush of a football playoff pleases us for a time. Then it fades. Making a wad of money feels good. Then it gets spent.  Watching the sunrise brings joy to the new day. Then by evening, we’re weary. Earthly things are good. They are gifts from you. But they do not satisfy. Only in you can we find lasting satisfaction. Bread of Heaven, we open our hands to you this day. We offer ourselves.  Take the offering of our lives, bless it, break it, and hand it back to us transformed. Thank you, Lord of Life, for nourishing us so abundantly!