“Moses said: that is the bread
which
the Lord has given you to eat.”
--Exodus 16:15
The story of the manna in the desert has always pleased
me. It is one of those wonderful miracle
stories of God’s care for His children: like Noah and ark, or the parting of
the Red Sea, or even Jonah and whale; it is a story that speaks to me but has
never really concerned me. Never caught my attention in any serious way. Yes, I
have wondered about the dietary details (the flavor, consistency, --was there
enough fiber, any high fructose corn syrup? that kind of thing…) but I have
never sat down and considered what it means. There are people who have looked
into it. I had a professor tell me that he had tasted manna once while he was
in the Holy Land. He said it still shows
up. Claimed it was something to do with
the dew and some plants over there.
Maybe… I don’t know. I just never even thought about whether it was
real. Not in any meaningful way.
Then, I heard that story again recently (one of the Mass
readings last Sunday) and something about it snagged my attention and I was
hooked. Caught on it –like a splinter on a red-wood fence; it catches your
sleeve and the rest of the day you are wondering, pondering that fence; why did
I have to climb Mrs. Jensen’s fence? Why didn’t I just go around? Or choose that end post where I know it’s
safe? And why would I do it when I was wearing my new school shirt? Mom is
going to kill me! Especially when Mrs.
Jensen calls about her flower bed and those vines that looked like weeds! I could have at least taken the shirt off.
David did. I had it already unbuttoned! But no, I wanted to show off and… Never
mind.
On the other hand, it is an interesting story; the manna in
the desert, that is. Not my shirt. My Mom didn’t even find that one interesting
as she paid to have the sleeve sewn up, and I am certain Mrs. Jensen didn’t
either –standing at her back door –curlers still in her hair-- yelling at us to
stop cutting through her backyard. And we better stop stealing her pomegranates,
or she was going to… But, by that point we were over the next fence and
laughing the way only a couple of nine-year-olds can laugh, clutching our
stolen pomegranate. She never did call our
Moms, that I know of. Hmmm…It’s funny
what sticks with you.
Anyway, this manna thing… I was sitting there in Mass and
the Word of God was the last thing on my mind. I was too distracted by the week
to come: the in-service meetings at school (I’m a school librarian &
teacher by day), our new and very confusing bell-schedule, one of my daughters
had just left for graduate school in Minnesota and another was about to move
into the dormitory and start college, the third continues to suffer from a
sickness no doctor seems able to diagnose (and she’s about to age out of our
insurance!); my Mom is becoming more and more confused and requires extra
attention, which is putting a strain on sibling relations (we have never been a
particularly close family, before now…); and I keep wondering: What am I going
to do? What if she can’t take care of
herself? What if she has to move in with us? What if I can’t take care of her? What
if she falls? What if… what if… What if I was 35 again and had cute little kids
in jumpers and knee socks like that family sitting in front of us? I think I
was pretty good at that. And the kids even stand when it’s time to sing. Like little angels. My kids never did that!
What hymn is this? … Good Lord! Who chooses the music around here?
You see…the last thing on my mind was being present to what
was happening at that moment. I was too busy worrying about what might happen or
what should happen or even what could have happened if I had been a different
person with a better job and a thinner waistline and a thicker hairline… Instead
of just being present to the blessings I have, I was –in a way-- looking for a
short cut around the parts of life I find less pleasant. Isn’t that what
worrying really amounts to? We worry
over something that might happen in the hopes that we can jump a fence and cut
through a neighbor’s yard and avoid it. If
we worry enough, we might not have to experience it.
Of course, consciously, we know that isn’t true. But
unconsciously or subconsciously or half consciously we hope it is. We hope that
worrying about something will work like a kind of talisman to help us avoid
it. And (I think) it also works in reverse. If we worry about something that has already
happened, if we dwell on it and replay it over and over again, we unconsciously
are striving to get control of it and resolve it and make it (the memory, the
regret, the sting of remorse) go away.
But in this wonderful ancient story from Exodus we learn two
things: first, that God gives us each day our daily bread (sound familiar?); He
gives us what we need, so we should receive it and let it nourish us as it will;
as He wills; and second, the day’s bread is meant for that day. In Exodus
16:19, Moses warns the Israelites about trying to save some of the day’s
bread for the next day. Not only is this
a vey important piece of dietary advice, but it is good psychological advice as
well. We have to learn not to store up and hold onto our miseries or successes to
be chewed and rechewed like cud. God
gives us the bread for each day and that is the food we are to be eating. That applies not only to bread, and days, but
to joys and sorrows and times of life. I
think what Moses is telling us here is echoed by Jesus when He says: Do not
worry about what you will eat or drink; sufficient unto the day are the evils
therein… (cf.
Mt 6: 27-34). However, I don’t simply hear this (or Moses) as a
warning. I hear this message as a directive, I hear it as a word of guidance. I hear in it the way God would have us live;
trusting in Him, eating His bread –whatever He sets before you each day—in
other words, living the life He gives you without worrying about yesterday or
tomorrow. Just receive the bread of each day, the challenges and the joys, as a
gift. Yes, the future is uncertain and a
little daunting, perhaps. Yes, my Mom might suddenly need a lot of care, and
yes, if she came to live with us, that could cause some dramatic changes in our
household; but will worrying about it add a hair to my thinning head? No.
This is the bread the Lord has given me to eat: the bread of
a sick daughter and an aging mother and a troubled family and though it seems
to me God is giving me too many vegetables to eat and not enough ice cream,
this is the food God gives me each day: my daughters, my mother, my wife, my
work… This is the spiritual bread God gives me to eat. Just as the body is fed by a bowl of Shredded
Wheat and a glass of Ovaltine, so is the spirit fed by the presence of God in
the people we meet and live and work with each day. Sometimes I look at my life and I want to
send the plate back. I want to say: waiter,
I think you brought me the wrong order.
But the fact is this waiter never gets it wrong. Because what He always bring us, each plate
heaped up high with it, is the chance to meet Him through love. Through patience. Through charity. Forbearance.
Humility… The chance to receive the bread of life through kindness to
another. The food of God isn’t in the
sickness or the suffering so much as it is in the opportunity for us to serve;
to set aside our own needs and wants and put someone else first. That
opportunity is the gift; that opportunity is the manna God gives us each day. Best
not try to take a short cut around that.
In the flesh of the people you live with, meet or work with each day, the
Lord has come to meet you. He is standing
at the door… and He’s brought dinner. Don’t
ask if there are anchovies on the pizza, just open the door and invite Him in;
ask Him to sit down.
The other thing that occurred to me was this: Moses’ advice to the Israelites about not saving
the manna for the next day. He warns them that if they do, it will grow sour
and breed maggots. I wonder if that’s
what my Aunt Betty meant when she talked about borrowing troubles? If you hold onto hurts and slights and frets
and worries they will fester and grow sour inside of you, and breed maggots in
your soul. Perhaps that is a good
spiritual way to think about being anxious.
Remember what the Lord said: sufficient unto the day… (Or something like
that.) Anyway, it’s kind of amazing what
you can learn when you pay attention to the readings at Mass. Even by accident.
