For Lent this year, I am reading Lent in Plain Sight: a Devotion through Ten Objects, by Jill Duffield. It has been very good so far, and I wanted to share the devotion from Monday, because it really resonated with a practice that I am trying to embody throughout this season. She reflects on Exodus 16:4-12, but specifically verse four: “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day.”
She begins her meditation by talking about a friend who uses the expression “bread from heaven” perhaps overly-liberally. It might be a dress on sale in her size, a parking spot close to the building on a rainy day, whatever. Duffield says, “While I admired her ability to see downpours of loaves, I confess, I also inwardly rolled my eyes and wondered if she was stretching the biblical metaphor.” But then she goes on to say this:
Moses told the people God would provide all the bread they wanted, and God did….They got exactly what they expected, day after day. They even came to complain about the repetitiveness of the provision before long. They took it for granted and wanted more and other. They forgot to give thanks, be surprised by grace, delighted by tangible signs of care, profuse in their gratitude. They got complacent and comfortable and forgot that everyday bread from heaven is worth rejoicing over every single day. They forgot that bread from heaven should surprise us every single day. They came to forget that everything, absolutely everything, from dresses to job offers, from breath to a day at the beach, is, in fact, bread from heaven, a gift, a blessing, something worth celebrating.
I confess to be one of those forgetful people too much of the time. So often, the daily blessings that are both ordinary and precious get taken for granted and recede into the shadows while I instead shine a spotlight on the problems, tasks, or daily busyness that so easily consume my thoughts. In this framework, work is more important than prayer, fixing problems is more important than sharing gratitude, and acting is more important than listening and paying attention.
How well might you imagine that works out for me, most of the time?
So, Lent is a great time to step out of that framework, and lay down my preoccupations that turn my heart from gratitude. When I do this–when I stop, breathe, and exhale–I am able to notice how very hungry I am for bread from heaven, how I long to live out of God’s rich abundance instead of always scrounging around for crumbs. When I do this, I experience anew the joys of giving thanks, the wonder of being surprised by grace, and the precious delight that comes in tangible signs of God’s care [often shared through the care of others].
And, of course, when I do this, I also experience the irony that bread is all around me, if I only stop and look. God never fails to deliver; God’s gifts never fail to satisfy; God’s generosity never fails to surpass my expectations. Daily bread always comes, every day, without fail–bread enough for the journey, bread that is truly and surely life-giving.
Everyday bread from heaven is worth rejoicing over every single day. I’m trying to remember that this year, in my walk to the cross and the empty tomb.
Happy Lutheran 