Hungering for the God Who Became Bread預覽

Day 3: The Feast

Daily Bread

Isaiah 55:1–3

Psalm 119:11,103

John 17:3

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Jesus says He is the living Bread, and when Mum baked, I believed it because her bread tasted almost sacred. She made bread from the time I was small, flour dust all over her hands and the countertop, and when I was seven, I learned how to make it too. The yeast dying and then rising with the dough, as we will one day with Him. The dough being kneaded into shape, then baked and eaten, even as God molds and shapes our lives so we might one day nourish others. When I tasted Mum’s bread, I pitied the Israelites with their honey wafers.

Bread is a soft place in which to hide. In 1685, when the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes made owning a Bible illegal, Protestant families would hide their Bibles inside loaves of bread, baking Scripture within the folds of dough. The Word became bread, and they carried it and feasted on Manna.

God’s name is “Mana” in Burundi, the heart of Africa and one of the poorest countries in the world. I traveled there recently to meet with pastors, and we feasted together. The bread was hot and round and doughy. I grabbed it, pulled at it, used it to mop up and eat the food on my plate, and it filled me.

And even as the burgundy red was poured and the wineskins filled and we lifted hands to heaven, the singing was like none I’d ever heard. And as I handed out audio Bibles, the pastors began to play them in their own languages, and their laughter spilled over. The Holy Spirit pulling at, grabbing at, our hearts.

It reminded me of lectio divina. I once sat in a room with some ladies who help me run a nonprofit. Together, we consumed a piece of Scripture. We read it slowly, then again, a sacred responding, like a wine tasting, swirling the words around in our mouths, reflecting on the sounds, the smells, the tastes, the depths of the Word. It became one with us, this Scripture passage, and we truly knew it and rested in it, even as we are called to ingest, and digest, the blood, the flesh of our Savior.

Jesus says, “Come,” friend. He says, “Come and receive that which is free and will fill you. Come buy bread that doesn’t cost, and wine without money,” and listen, listen, He says: “and feast on what is good.” (See Isaiah 55:1–2.)

Even as you read His Word today, take time to know it—to know Him—for this is eternal life, Jesus says. Swirl the words around, read them again and again, then swallow, knowing His Spirit is filling you and cleansing you and making you new. Hide His Word in the folds of your heart and carry it, carry Him, everywhere you go. The war rages and the flowers fall, but His Word lasts and fills, forever. (See 1 Peter 1:24–25.)

Table Talk

Sometimes it’s easier to feast on physical bread than on the Word, and I think somehow Jesus knew that. I think maybe He made Himself like bread because it’s so humble, so attainable, and He wants you to know that, friend. He comes to you meekly, dusted in flour, as a gift from heaven, simply longing to be your Savior, to fill you so full that you can’t help but overflow light and love and grace. Will you receive Him today?

Prayer

Dear Jesus, You are the greatest feast, yet I don’t know how to eat. I am hungry, yet I don’t know how to be filled. Will You come, living Word, and fill me? Will You be living Bread and living Wine for me? Teach me to delight in Your commands. Hide Yourself in my heart, make a home in me, and fill me with Your peace, Your light, Your love. I long to know You, Manna who came down from heaven. I’m too weak to reach out, so won’t You reach in? Take hold of me and never let me go. In Your name I pray, amen.