When heart stampedes wild horse and reigns have flown out of hand and it’s hang on for the ride gulping air or pass out in seizure?
Bread come down from heaven.
This bread of the hard thanksgiving broken. And I’m told what it is. “This is My body,” it’s called.
And I’m more in touch with the “Do this in remembrance of Me” mystery when I’m cracking pecan shells or kneading, and somehow I see it more clearly when I pour the granola or slice the bread.
Known and unknown.
This “Body of Christ” and this “What?” This bread at Passover table to remember Him every time I eat, and this “What is it?” bread when I have no idea what’s going down.
I’m curious about it. How could I not be when it’s called “What is it?” I google and find that in Hebrew it means, “Bread of the Face of God.” Ah. I really like that.
I have made my “baking sheet” list. Separated kernels garnered over years and through generations German and, what am I? Scottish-French? And I eat bread in remembrance untangled. Or try. Because Christ did. He did!
He did share the last meal, unaltered when the Judas stuff was in hand on the table, (see Luke 22:21). And not miss a beat.
He broke the bread. Separated it out. He cared about what stuff every hand at that table had held and did hold. And was not controlled by it. Knew what was what. And did naught to control any of it.
And maybe this is the unease. I am controlled, altered, by what's at hand. I am! And this little codependent admits to controlling those life "whats" in attempt to be unaltered by them. Only it doesn’t work and Jesus did just the opposite and that does work. I don’t know how. Yet. Me thinks I have a lot to learn from this.
Can I gather kernels, twist and roll sheaves, and eat the bread remembering the Body of Christ? With my head in the right place? Heart steady? Unaltered by whatever else is facing me?
Can I do the hard pisteuo even one labored breath at a time? Inhale, “Thank” and exhale, “You” because the bread is the “Bread of the Body of Christ” and is the “Bread of the Face of God?”
I must. It is relief.
Thou known Unknown, dark, radiant sea
-E Dowden (italics mine)
I cry His name.
written by: Carolyn Roehrig