Our daily bread and the prayer of the Spirit--More thoughts on Romans 8:26

 “…the Spirit personally makes our petitions for us

in groans that cannot be put into words…”

--Romans 8:26b

 

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Spirit praying for us, and in my contemplation my thoughts keep turning back to that prayer that the Lord, Himself teaches us:

 Thy will be done,

They kingdom come…

Give us this day, our daily bread…

Deliver us from evil…

 I figure that if this is what Jesus, Himself tells us to pray, then that is probably what the Spirit is praying for us.  While I am busily pleading with God for health and success and the phone number of a trustworthy plumber, the Spirit is petitioning that God’s will be done, and God’s kingdom will come…

 And that one particular phrase, “our daily bread” has stood out to me. Being a bread baker, and biscuit maker, I have my own particular tendency when I hear that phrase—and it leans toward melting butter, crackly golden crust, and orange marmalade (or grilled cheese).  But, as I prayed over this scripture recently, I find myself returning again and again to a different idea about my “daily bread.”  What if our daily bread, refers not just to food for our stomach.  What if it refers to food for our souls as well?

And again, this idea comes straight from the lips of Jesus. In John’s Gospel there is that story about the Samaritan woman at the well.  Toward the end of that story the disciples return with food and urge Jesus to have something to eat, but instead of asking if the waffle fries are still warm, the Lord says to them:

 “My food is to do the will of the one who sent me…” (John 4:34)

and that phrase keeps coming into my prayer—though now (for some reason) I am also thinking about waffle fries. Extra crispy… and a chocolate shake…

But, back to the point.  What does it mean to my prayer life to know that when Jesus speaks of daily bread, He might mean something other than sourdough or pumpernickel. He might be speaking of the sustenance and nourishment that come from doing God’s will.  And so, I am wondering if my daily bread might be God’s will; my daily bread might be the gift of a chance to do God’s will; to lean into a difficult moment and say: Not my will, but Thy will be done…

 The food of doing God’s will is food for my soul, food for the journey, food to sustain me in my time in the desert.  And thinking about this I am reminded of the story we hear at the beginning of each Lent, the story of Jesus fasting in the desert.  Immediately after He is baptized, He goes out into the desert and fasts for 40 days.  During this time, Satan comes to Jesus and tempts Him with promises of good things: food, security, success… and each time, Jesus responds: Not my will, but God’s will be done. 

On the surface, this seems to be simply a story of Jesus turning away from temptation and showing great restraint or will-power or even that He is clever-er than Satan.  But, what if this is really a story demonstrating how Jesus was fed during His time of fasting. The food He was nourished with was doing the will of the one who sent Him. 

To do God’s will, to walk with God, completely, and in complete harmony with God’s will is to dwell in the Kingdom of God’s Holy Presence. His Spirit… Is there anything more that the Spirit could want for us?

 And so I keep praying: Give us this day, our daily bread… And in groans that I cannot put into words, and cannot find on any fast-food menu, what I really mean is: Thy will be done, Thy kingdom come…

 At least, that’s what I want to be praying for, even if I can’t put it into words.

 

Today I set before you two choices: life and death--which will you choose?

As a result of this, many of his disciples
returned to their former way of life and no longer
accompanied him. Jesus then said to the Twelve:
Do you also want to leave?   --John 6: 66-67

How often does life come down to commitment? One question: are you committed or not? Are you all in or just dabbling?  Are we committed or not?  Or the alternative question might be: What are we committed to?  In the words of the old folk song, “Which side are you on?”

First, I will say that I am –I think—someone with commitment issues.  I am always (and much too easily) tempted to just blow things off; it’s kind of my go to reaction to almost any interruption or snag in my plans.

“Dad, we’re out of dental floss!” 

“Honey, cancel those airline tickets; looks like I’ll be heading to HEB this weekend.”

Thursday evening I was planning to go the hospital and volunteer, but by the time I got home from work, I was tired and looking for any excuse to “have to stay home.” This isn’t something I’m proud of, but it is something I live with. I don’t know how much of it is simple laziness and/or how much is a deep-seated psychological problem with commitment. Regardless, it is not always easy to get myself going. But it is always good for me when I do.

When I got to the hospital, I found that the chaplain had forgotten to leave me a list.  My first thought was that this must be a sign from God: Return thou to thy grilled cheese and Dr. Pepper and regular Thursday evening TV viewing habits.  But, something inside me said: probably not. SO,  I walked over to the business office and asked the cashier, showed her my badge, explained the situation and after a brief wait, she gave me a 6-page list of about 40 names (and room numbers). Of course, I couldn’t do them all, but I could do some. So I sat down and looked the list over to see if there were any names I recognized; people I know, or people I have visited before. Nada.  After whispering a prayer, I crossed myself and headed to the elevator. First stop, 3^rd floor; ICU.

Walking through the ICU, you see faces of exhaustion, fear, confusion, resignation; family and friends standing around the edges of a bed, watching a sleeping body, uncertain what to do. Hungering for a word of reassurance.  And in the beds the almost lifeless look of the sleeping patient with the tubes and cables strapped to them, blinking and flashing monitors hovering close by.  As they awaken you a kind of frightened emptiness fills their eyes; an emptiness that seeks only to be filled with comfort, consolation--hope. I have a lot of respect for ICU nurses.

The first two rooms I visit are empty. The beds have been cleared and remade and they await the next round of fear and hope and help.  But in the third, the patient is turned away from the door with her back to me.  She is motionless. Maybe asleep.  And then I notice a sign on the door asking visitors to speak to a nurse before entering.  Of course, this too could be a sign from God. So, I go find a nurse. Instead of telling me that I need to turn back and go home (that Dr. Pepper is still waiting for me…), she smiles and says: It’s okay. Go on in. 

In my heart I was still thinking: it is possible this woman is asleep.   At this rate I could get through all 40 names in less than an hour. Coming back to her door though, I found the patient had turned over and she was looking straight at me. Entering the room, I introduced myself and that was when I noticed the tube coming out of her throat.  Stopping at her bedside, I put my hands on the rail and spoke her name, intending to ask if there was anything I could do for her. But, before I could finish she had reached up and taken my hand in hers and held it so tight it hurt. Her nails digging into my palm, she clutched my hand and waved it slowly in small circles above her. I stood there, just gazing into her eyes, stunned by their fear, their desperation.  She clung to me and I let myself be clung to –there was nothing else I could give her.  We were like that for several minutes. Just staring at each other, holding onto each other; just being there—together—so that we weren’t alone.  And of course, that was when I knew –this is where I am supposed to be. This is exactly where I am supposed to be. Right here. Right now. With this frightened and lonely person, letting her cling to my hand and not saying a word. I was made for this.

As the intensity of her grasp subsided, I could see a calm fill her eyes and asked if she would like me to say a prayer.  In response, the circling became more intense and her head nodded slightly.  So, I did. I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I asked the Lord to let His healing and His blessing be ever present through the hands and the words and the touch of the nurses and doctors and all who entered that room. And I asked that the Lord open our hearts to the grace of His love; His will. And then we prayed the Lord’s Prayer together. I saw her lips moving silently softly forming the words.  We were together maybe 20 minutes. I had never met her before, and will probably never see her again; and she never said a word –but she spoke to me like a prophet with her anguished eyes and that desperate grip and those fierce nails.

Too often when life gets hard, or inconvenient, I retreat to safety, sink into the couch of routine: what I know and what makes me feel comfortable.  Too often, I turn away from the challenges and the difficulties; the places where Christ hopes to meet me.  That night I didn’t.  And thanks to that woman, and her wordless message, I hope to change not just my habits, but my heart.  I hope to…

Over the past couple of weeks the Church’s sex abuse scandal has returned to the news.  And now for two Sundays in a row I have waited for the priest to say something about it, and for two Sundays –nothing; instead we have heard bad jokes and spiritual platitudes… I understand that priests are human, and they get anxious and fearful and even lazy at times; much like me.  But, I think when there is a scandal of this magnitude, we --the people in the pews—are in a kind of ICU moment.  We are confused and frightened –like we are awakening from a nightmare—and we need someone to offer us a hand to hold, to offer us a word of comfort, to tell us that they too are confused by it and they too are frightened, but that they aren’t going to avoid it. They aren’t going to go back to their former life and their old ways and pretend like nothing happened.   As Pope Francis made clear, the best way to heal such a wound is not to cover it up but to open our hearts, our lives, our eyes and get it out into the open and let the sunlight and the Lord begin the healing.

For me, that is the real challenge in life –to face it, to open your heart, to open your eyes and to go forth and face the life God gives you, to receive and be nourished by the bread that God gives you to eat each day, and to find in it the Love of God.  Don’t turn away and go back to your former life; that road leads to the couch, and a kind of living death… 

As Peter said when Jesus asked the apostles if they planned to leave Him:

“Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” (John 6:68)

We are called to be alive; not to be safe, not to be cautious, but to be alive. Yes, life can be hard, the times can be tough.  But a life worth living requires a little effort, and a lot of commitment. Get off the couch and go out into the world and be alive; be a living witness to the love of God.  Don’t hide.  Don’t take the easy way… Don’t play it safe. Each day we have set before us two choices: life and death, blessing and curse…  I say take a risk; make a commitment; choose life. (cf. Deuteronomy 30: 19)

The bread the Lord has given you to eat

“Moses said: that is the bread which

the Lord has given you to eat.”

--Exodus 16:15

“Moses then said: No one may keep any of it for tomorrow.

But some of them took no notice of Moses and kept part of it

for the following day; it bred maggots and the smell grew foul.”

--Exodus 16:19-20

“Jesus said to them: I am the bread of life;

whoever comes to me will never hunger,

and whoever believes in me will never thirst.”

--John 6:35

   

I’ve been thinking about the “bread of life.” I’ve been thinking about it in a literal sense: as a way of thinking about life as the bread (or food) that God gives us each day. I’ve been thinking about the joys and difficulties that come in daily life: friends, community, praise, but also labor, discomfort, hurt feelings, intentional cruelties, as well as annoying interruptions and simple day to day tedium. It seems easy enough to see the friend who offers an encouraging word or helping hand as a kind of manna from Heaven.  A friend like that can lift your spirit, ease your tensed brow, lighten your load and leave you feeling refreshed and renewed. Sometimes all they do is stop by your office and make you laugh for a few minutes; it is amazing how renewed I can feel. Truly fed.

But what about the difficulties? How are those food?  They feel more like punishments, than nourishment.  How do they embody the bread God has given us to eat this day?  I don’t know exactly, but I keep looking for the paradox and wondering if that might give us a clue; a clue to how God might feed us through our very hunger, nourish us through that particularly difficult relationship. Or refresh our spirit through even an injury or disease?  Or even a leaky roof or a clogged drain?

What I am saying is… well, not so much saying as proposing… Actually, not so much proposing, as considering, is this: what if the food of each day is the events and people we meet each day? And what if they all (pleasant and unpleasant) are meant to bless us, to nourish us, but not necessarily to make our lives easier or more pleasent (at least not in any measurable way).  What if (for example) the clogged bathtub drain which a few minutes ago stopped my writing and demanded my attention is at least part of the food God has given me to eat this day?  If I believed that to be true, how would it affect my reaction to it?  Would I stand up in a huff (or maybe a minute and a huff?) sighing resentfully and stomping down the hall, Liquid Plumber in hand?  Or would I sigh gratefully and whisper to myself: Thank you Lord, I was feeling a little pekish?  Disclaimer: I certainly did not do the latter.  And when someone mentioned that perhaps we should call a plumber, I reacted not with gentle considered words but with an interior monologue that went something like: Yeah! Maybe someone should do that. Maybe the someone who keeps clogging the drain every time she shaves!

And I know it’s not easy nor is it something our culture considers natural or even admirable.  But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. The Lord feeds us through His body and blood –and sometimes that body and blood show up in our door looking a lot like that neighbor who is always complaining about our lawn: we never edge, we don’t water enough, and some of my favorite flowers are actually weeds! And yes, I might want to tell him to mind his own business, but –is that how I want to greet Christ when He comes to my door?

Here is the other part: just because we have been given something for our daily food, doesn’t determine how we are supposed to receive it.  You see, we might receive something very difficult for our daily bread because God wants us not to simply accept it—but to grapple with it. We are (perhaps) being called to struggle with a difficult neighbor not because we are to become a doormat, but because we are to witness to that neighbor the presence of God; through our willingness to receive him and our willingness to treat him with compassion, to be loving, to be sincere and respectful toward him. Sometimes our daily bread may be an unfair law or an unjust attitude, and we are being asked to receive that daily bread through working to change the law or change the attitude; through witnessing against it. Perhaps our daily bread is simply a child who wants our attention just when we sit down to write the great American novel.  Both are goods; and to choose one is not necessarily to demean the other.  And es, our daily bread might have been time to write or our daily bread could be the child’s love; but what if the bread is actually that conflict: what if the real bread from Heaven comes not necessarily from one or the other, but in making the choice.  The real nourishment comes not necessarily from the artistic effort (or success) or even from the child who takes your hand and pulls you away from the desk, but in making the choice to go with the child, the choice to put someone else first?  The real food is in the choice to put your own wants or desires aside and give yourself (your time; literally a piece of your life) to another.  To do that feeds our soul, and that is something to chew on.

As I was writing this, I find myself seated at an old school table with too many books on it (only half of them mine) and a cup of cold coffee perched carefully just in reach toward the edge so it won’t get knocked and spilled as I open books and turn pages. This is a place I like to sit in the mornings with my Bible and read a little and then write in my notebook. And most of what I write here, comes out of that notebook.  Anyway, I was sitting there bending over the notebook and scribbling away when I reached for my coffee and knocked my little blue Bible off to the floor. Picking it up I noticed a couple of holy cards (used as bookmarks) had fallen out. As I was putting them back into the Bible I noticed writing on the back of one and thought: I don’t know if I’ve ever read this. The card was a black and white photograph of Therese of Lisieux. I think I picked it up in a church because I liked the picture, and I had probably stuck it right into a book without even reading it.  Anyway, turning it over, this is what I read: 

Everything is a grace, everything is the direct effect of our Father’s love; difficulties, contradictions, humiliations, all the soul’s miseries, her burdens, her needs, everything; because through them she learns humility, realizes her weakness.  Everything is a grace because everything is God’s gift. Whatever be the character of life or its unexpected events, to the heart that loves, all is well.

And I thought—yes. That’s what I meant to say. And much more concise... Everything is grace.

Be nourished by it. Be nourished by your husband’s love.  Be nourished by your wife’s tears.  Be nourished by your child’s laughter.  Be nourished by the litter box that needs cleaning.  Be nourished by the tub that won’t drain.  Be nourished by the quiet moment with the cold coffee and the spilled book.  Be nourished by your needs that go unmet, be nourished by the contradictions and humiliations… not because they are goods, but because they are opportunities for us to be fed by God.  Learn humility by accepting “whatever be the character of [your] life”  meekly and with love.  And remember Moses’ warning about holding onto the manna.  Don’t hold onto the hurts and slights and humiliations. Don’t cling to them, because even manna from Heaven turns sour and breeds maggots when we hold onto it and store it up for tomorrow.

Lord, open my heart to the gift of this day.

let me receive it and be fed by it, nourished

by Your grace descending like bread from Heaven.

Through Your gift, let me be renewed in hope,

Strengthened in faith, and consoled by Your love.

Amen.