The Finest Bread
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "The Bread of Life"
Good Stories: "The Finest Bread" by Frank Fisher
"A Change of Heart" by Constance Berg
"Before the Sun Sets" by James E. Sargent
What's Up This Week
Whether homemade or from a bakery, one of the most wonderful smells in the world is the yeasty aroma of fresh-baked bread. In Good Stories, Frank Fisher powerfully reminds us that no matter how much we enjoy the taste and smell of fresh bread, there is no substitute for the finest-tasting bread of all... Jesus, the living bread who came down from heaven. And this week's Story to Live By points out that to taste that living bread, we need to make Jesus a daily part of our lives.
A Story to Live By
The Bread of Life
Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, "I am the bread that came down from heaven." They were saying, "Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, 'I have come down from heaven'?" Jesus answered them, "Do not complain among yourselves. No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. It is written in the prophets, 'And they shall all be taught by God.' Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
John 6:41-51
It's hard to change your image in a small town where everyone knows you. Think about it -- if you are around the same group of people for your entire life, then they know everything you've ever done.
Jesus knew about small towns and reputations. He lived in a small town in a small country. People knew him, his parents, his brothers and sisters. Since his ministry didn't begin until he was 30, they knew him as a carpenter. Perhaps he did some repair work or built some furniture for them. So when the carpenter proclaimed himself "the bread of life... the living bread that comes down from heaven," people struggled to believe him. They had "known" him for 30 years. How could he be the anointed Son of God?
The key is familiarity. Actually, it's more of a supposed familiarity. The crowd Jesus was addressing thought they knew Jesus, but they really didn't. They might have been acquainted with him. They might have known his parents. But they didn't really know him.
I wonder if our familiarity with Jesus sometimes gets in the way of truly knowing him. Christianity is common in America -- churches dot our cities and countryside. Many people would say they grew up in Christian homes. In many ways, we inherited our faith. But as with any inheritance, it has to be claimed for it to be truly our own. If we don't claim it, we don't know Jesus. We only know someone who knows Jesus.
It is as if we need to get to know Jesus for the first time. We need to take the time to become acquainted with him -- for ourselves. And we get to know Jesus just like we would anybody else -- by spending time with him. We do this through prayer and scripture. If asked to name your closest friend, you'd probably name someone with whom you spend a great deal of quality time -- not somebody you barely know and see occasionally and half-heartedly.
If we hope to know Christ, we must give our lives to him. We must be completely sold out. We cannot simply abuse and misuse Christ by inviting him into our lives for our convenience in times of desperation. Who among us want friends we only see when they are in trouble? We know Christ when we meet him daily as a friend. That is how we know Christ.
John writes in 6:47 that those who know Jesus and believe him to be the Christ are promised "eternal life." When we know Jesus personally, we know him as the "bread of life" -- the bread that gives life. This is the good news -- know Jesus and believe in him and you will live forever in the glory of God.
Ultimately, this is an easy way to obtain eternal life. We don't have to search for it. We don't earn it with good deeds. We don't have to join the right church with the correct doctrine. We only need to know Christ and believe.
Do you really know Christ or are you merely acquainted because of someone else's faith? Is your faith the absolute uncontested highest priority in your life? Come sit a while at the feet of the master. Tell a few stories. Shoot the breeze. Renew or discover Christ as your friend.
(Adapted from Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit [Series IV, Cycle B] by Gregory Tolle)
Good Stories
The Finest Bread
by Frank R. Fisher
"I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
John 6:51
[In a sing-song style reminiscent of a street vendor] "Taste my bread... the finest bread... come taste my bread..."
Your eyes snap open at this musical ending to your Friday morning slumber. You glance toward your window, straining to see and hear exactly what this could be that awakened you from such a sound sleep.
Then, accompanied by a noise that seems curiously like the creaking of wooden wheels, the song comes again.
"Taste my bread... the finest bread... come taste my bread..."
With curiosity overcoming your desire for sleep, you jump from your bed and rush to your window. There's a pushcart vendor standing outside on the street. The vendor, who seems to be a Baker, looks up from tending the cart and gazes straight at you with an absolutely delightful smile on his face. The power of that smile allows you to do nothing but smile back. And as you do, the Baker lifts a loaf of bread from the cart with one hand. With the other hand, he beckons toward you.
The wonderful smell of fresh-baked bread coming from that upraised loaf is too much to bear. You spring away from the window, throw on your clothes, rush down the stairs to your front door, and throw open the door -- just in time to see the Baker, and the cart, disappearing around the street corner.
With a shrug of your shoulders you turn back around to head inside for your morning coffee. But from around the corner you once again hear that strangely disquieting song.
"Taste my bread... the finest bread... come taste my bread..."
With your curiosity aroused again, you race from your doorstep to follow the Baker. And as you turn the street corner to follow in his path, you see that you aren't the only one whose wonder has drawn them into the street this early in the morning. From this door and that, up and down the street, women and men, girls and boys are peering from their doorways, and then emerging to follow the Baker and hear his plaintive song.
You rush down the street after this strange person and his pushcart. His progress seems steady at first, but soon you notice that he stops to talk and give pieces of bread to members of the crowd who follow the cart. At first you're too far away to hear what he says to these people, but as you watch miracles seem to happen.
Before the Baker's traveled very far, you see him talk to an older woman that you know. You're surprised at the sight because this is the first time she's been out of her house since her husband died a year ago -- she's been too depressed to even talk to anyone since the day of his funeral. But here she is, not only talking but smiling and laughing out loud. The smile on her face grows broader as the Baker hands her a piece of bread. Tears, apparently of joy, stream down her face as she eats the bread. Then she grabs the Baker's hand to kiss it. The Baker only smiles at that, and as he turns to leave he gently touches her head with a gesture of blessing. With a lightness in her step that hasn't been there for many years, the woman joyfully follows the Baker and his pushcart down the street.
Next the Baker pauses in front of a man in a wheelchair. You know this person, too. He used to be your close friend -- at least he was before he confided his secret to you one day. You still like him, but you just don't know how to talk to him now that you know that he's gay. Since that day you've heard that he's contracted AIDS. He looks haggard, thin, and exhausted. It's obvious the disease won't give him too much more time to live.
Your feeling of pain at your friend's obviously impending death suddenly changes to amazement -- for as you watch, the Baker first gently feeds him a piece of bread, then speaks a word and reaches out his hands. Your friend reaches out his own hands to meet the Baker's. The expression in his eyes turns from exhaustion to excitement and hope as the Baker slowly pulls him to his feet. Then you hear the Baker's voice gently say to him, "Go, my child, your faith has made you well." As the Baker again starts off down the street your friend pushes his wheelchair aside. And with a confident stride, he too turns to follow the pushcart.
This time the Baker can only go a few steps before the cart is surrounded by what seems to be a horde of children. Some in the crowd immediately try to intervene -- their voices tell the children not to bother the Baker and to let him go about his obviously important business.
But the Baker won't stand for that. He sits down on the ground, opens his arms, and welcomes the children. For the longest time he sits there while the adults in the crowd either mill about uncertainly or openly stare. The children listen; he tells them stories. Then he feeds them bread. Finally he arises to go, and as he pushes the cart down the street the children go skipping and playing after him. But you notice there seems to be a difference in their play now; they seem to deliberately seek out other children with whom they've never played. They reach out to children of other skin colors and children who are poor or otherwise different -- and hand in hand with their new friends, they join the crowd and follow the cart on its way.
You follow too, with your jaw fully agape by now. And every time the Baker stops, you marvel more and more. He stops to talk to a woman who looks like a prostitute. He offers her bread and tells her to "go and sin no more." She follows him on his way.
He talks to a used car dealer, a shady man who cheated you badly on the last car you bought. You're surprised to see a man such as that in this crowd. But that surprise is nothing compared to the one you're about to receive, for the man turns from the Baker after eating his bread. He walks up to you, asks your forgiveness, and presses his bulging wallet into your hands. Then the man spins around and follows the Baker.
The day goes on and the cart begins to move faster and faster -- but it always pauses just enough for the Baker to talk and offer his bread. He talks to politicians and gangbangers, businesswomen and househusbands. He feeds people who are rich and people who are poor, people who are young and people who are old.
And the people he encounters seem to change; they seem to become new persons -- persons brimming with life and love, persons who turn around to undo any harm they have done, persons who begin to sing aloud as they joyfully follow the Baker and his cart.
Now, as Friday night approaches you begin to notice something that seems very strange indeed. You see that the Baker's supply of bread never seems to fail -- there are always more and more loaves in the cart to feed the teeming crowd. Then suddenly as you watch you understand the source of the neverending loaves. Somehow, although you can't clearly see it, they seem to be coming from the Baker himself. And as the Baker looks right at you and smiles, you know he's literally feeding the crowd with all of his heart.
You continue to follow the crowd, wondering at all you see, until night falls. The Baker looks worn, weak, and weary now. He seems to be fading away bit by bit as he continues to feed all those who come with this incredible bread of his body. He fades more and more until with a yell the crowd surges over him, demanding that he feed them more and more bread. Then the crowd stops suddenly, and all the people look around in confusion.
The Baker's gone.
Their last frantic rush for bread seems to have been his undoing. He's faded completely away and his cart is shredded into little pieces of wood that lay scattered on the ground. Then the crowd's gone too. One by one, two by two, they walk away, talking as they go of the wonder they've beheld. You hear them vowing as they return to their lives and homes that the Baker's bread has indeed changed them forever.
Too late, you realize that you've never tasted this marvelous bread or heard the Baker's words directed to you alone. With that realization comes anguish such as you've never known -- and you fall to the ground with tears streaming from your eyes.
Your scream of despair pierces the night, for you too want to change. You want to undo some things you've done, and to right what you've done wrong. You want to be forgiven, healed, and made whole. Like those in the crowd, you want to begin life anew. You know those things were right there for you in the Baker's bread. And now you know you've missed the chance; a chance that will never come again.
Your tears continue to fill your eyes as you curl up into a ball on the ground -- and in that ball you remain. The night goes on around you. It's filled with the cheerful sounds of animals and night birds. Those sounds used to delight you. Now they give you no cheer at all.
Saturday morning dawns. It finds you still on the ground, curled up into a ball. Slowly you begin to unwind yourself and to look around at the new day. There's a beautiful sunrise. It doesn't matter. You're surrounded by graceful trees and beautiful flowers. They don't matter. It begins to rain, soaking you to the skin. You know you should get up and get out of the wet, but that doesn't matter either. Nothing matters any more but the chance at new life you've missed. So you stay there on the ground, drowning in despair. You stay there all day and all the next night. You'll stay there, you think, until you fade away -- just like the Baker.
Then, as Sunday morning dawns, something breaks through your shell. A brilliant flash of light pierces through your closed eyelids. And a familiar song rings in your ears.
"Taste my bread... the finest bread... come taste my bread..."
Startled, you sit up, open your eyes, and see the pushcart in front of you. And before you can even move, the Baker's sitting beside you on the ground. In his hand is a piece of bread. And with a smile on his gentle face, he holds it out to you and says, "This is the bread that came down from heaven... the one who eats this bread will live forever."
You eat the bread, and find it's indeed the finest bread. No bread could ever be like it. No other bread could change who you are inside and give you a new way and purpose in life. And no other bread could give you new life -- a life that will endure throughout all eternity.
You spring to your feet and the Baker reaches out to you. Then he leads you to the cart and places your hand upon it. You know now what the Baker asks of you. And you know that through the rest of your life you'll push the Baker's cart, and feed the Baker's people.
Then, with the knowledge that the Baker will be forever at your side, you begin your new life's journey. And on your way you sing out to all those you meet:
"Taste Christ's bread... the finest bread... come taste Christ's bread..."
Forever, my sisters and brothers, taste this bread -- the finest bread. Taste, and see that the Lord is good.
Frank R. Fisher currently serves as the interim pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Fairbury, Illinois. He is an Oblate of the ecumenical Abbey of John the Baptist and Saint Benedict in Bartonville, Illinois.
A Change of Heart
by Constance Berg
Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us...
Ephesians 5:1-2
Moe wasn't always so nice. He used to be a shrewd businessman, calculating profit in every business move. He didn't care that his developments tore down long-standing neighborhoods. He didn't care that new tenants paid three times more than what they used to. He wanted money, power, and status. Moe wanted it all.
Moe didn't believe in religion, but his business manager had convinced him that making contributions to strategic charities and organizations would increase his status in the small community. "You don't have to do anything, just give," he was told. And give he did -- $1 million to a service organization and $1 million to a church recovering from a fire. Done. He didn't have to think about it anymore.
Until Paula stood on his doorstep. Paula was a young businesswoman in the community and a member of the church where Moe had donated so much. Moe's manager allowed her to come in. This wouldn't take long.
Paula got right to the point. What had convinced him to give to their church? Why that church and not another one that was suffering from flood damage? Was this money from a legitimate source? What did he gain from it?
Moe smiled. Paula was a lot like Moe's younger brother, so trusting, so innocently asking for the truth. But there was something about Paula's manner that wouldn't allow Moe to brush her off so easily. He invited her to stay for lunch.
Over shrimp cocktails, Moe explained that, off the record, he had been attracted to the church because it was downtown, had the most exposure, and would give him in turn the most coverage for his donation. It made him feel good to be able to give such a big amount. It would give him more status in the community.
Paula stared at him. She didn't understand. Moe tried to let her see his side of life. Money, power, control, prestige. That was important in his life. Wasn't that simple enough?
After that long lunch and several meetings, Paula and Moe became fast friends. With her gentle manner, she was able to persuade Moe to come and see the rebuilding progress. With her kindness, she was able to ask Moe what his future intentions were with his money, power, and prestige.
Their friendship deepened and Moe was best man in Paula's wedding. He attended her son's baptism. Soon it was time for the dedication of the building. The pastor came to visit and asked Moe point-blank if he would share his testimony from the pulpit.
Testimony? Moe wondered what that meant for him. The story about the acquisition of all his money? The story of developing large portions of town? "No," the pastor said. "We want to know how you have been changed since you have come to know Christ." Moe was confused. "You don't understand," he said. "I don't know Christ."
"Oh, you will. You'll come to that point pretty soon. I'm sure of it." The pastor sounded so convinced. He left Moe and reminded him that he was due to speak two Sundays from now. Pastor handed Moe a copy of the New Testament to read. "This can be your starting point if you feel the need to do some research for your talk."
Moe looked at the Bible with sticky notes poking out. He was intrigued. He took it upstairs with him. He could spare some time before he turned in for the night. He'd start with the sticky notes.
John 3:16; Matthew 18:20; various Psalms; Jeremiah 29:11. Text after text spoke to Moe. Could it be that the book was speaking to him directly? He wondered as he turned off the light. But he couldn't sleep and he soon turned on the light again and continued reading. Passage after marked passage caught his attention. He read it like stories, but something was not right. What did this mean to him? How did this apply to his life now? He felt his heart change.
That night was the beginning of Moe's faith life. He visited with the pastor several times and turned his life to Christ. When it came time to give his testimony, it included the knowledge that although he still wanted material things, Moe's life had taken on a new twist. He still wanted money, but this time it would be to give to worthy causes. A new tenement housing project would house the people displaced by his development projects. A new gymnasium in town would help the children have a place to go after school. The flooded church just outside of town could use a new fellowship hall.
He had changed. Moe had felt a call to do something for the good of others. He had felt something deep down in his soul. And he was going to do something about it!
Constance Berg is a former missionary to Chiapas, Mexico. She is currently based in Bakersfield, California, where she serves as the director of 18 nursing homes for handicapped individuals. Berg is the author of three volumes of the CSS series Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit.
Before the Sun Sets
by James E. Sargent
Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and do not make room for the devil.
Ephesians 4:26-27
The supper table hadn't yet been cleared. Coffee cups were still half full. And the children had been excused from the table. They knew that something was not right between their parents, they could tell. Their mother had been tight-lipped during the earlier part of the meal. Their father had not said much, which was unusual because he always had a story or two to tell. But tonight it was different. Without any protest the children left the table and went to do their homework.
When the doors had been closed and the children were safely out of earshot, the discussion began. It may have been nothing too much to worry about, but it was something that had been bothering her for a week now. Why, she wanted to know, did he insist on stating his opinion publicly? Why couldn't he simply remain quiet instead of always having to speak?
She had been brought up in a home where she had been taught to keep opinions to one's self. People didn't care what you thought. That's what she'd been taught by her parents. For all of her life she had followed their instruction. She couldn't remember a time when she had publicly stated an opinion. Granted, in their own home she would express herself -- but not in public. And now her husband had spoken once too often. She intended to let him know.
Whispered words can also be intense words. They didn't raise their voices. They didn't have to. She told him; he listened. He explained that in his home people were always encouraged to speak their mind. Let people know what you think. That's what his father had always told him.
The children knew that the discussion was over when they heard the dishes clanking in the sink. Their father walked the dog and then their mother had tucked them in.
Early the next morning, as each of the children came into the kitchen their mother confided in them.
"Last night you know that your father and I had an argument." Each of the children knew that. It had been impossible to conceal the fact.
"You may wonder why." In fact, each did.
"The cause of the argument is not really of concern to you. But I will tell you why we talked at the table. Because when we got married the minister placed his hand on ours and said, 'Don't ever let the sun go down on anger.' Your father and I have always followed that counsel. Because we have always cleared the air before retiring for the night, our marriage has held together. We want you children to know that conflict will happen, differences will appear. But your marriage stands a better chance if you never let the sun go down on anger."
The children learned about one of the most important parts of their parents' relationship. They never let the sun set on their anger.
James E. Sargent is a writer, consultant, teacher, and United Methodist pastor. He is the author of several Bible commentaries as well as the Lent devotional From the Edge of the Crowd (Upper Room).
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StoryShare, August 13, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "The Bread of Life"
Good Stories: "The Finest Bread" by Frank Fisher
"A Change of Heart" by Constance Berg
"Before the Sun Sets" by James E. Sargent
What's Up This Week
Whether homemade or from a bakery, one of the most wonderful smells in the world is the yeasty aroma of fresh-baked bread. In Good Stories, Frank Fisher powerfully reminds us that no matter how much we enjoy the taste and smell of fresh bread, there is no substitute for the finest-tasting bread of all... Jesus, the living bread who came down from heaven. And this week's Story to Live By points out that to taste that living bread, we need to make Jesus a daily part of our lives.
A Story to Live By
The Bread of Life
Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, "I am the bread that came down from heaven." They were saying, "Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, 'I have come down from heaven'?" Jesus answered them, "Do not complain among yourselves. No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. It is written in the prophets, 'And they shall all be taught by God.' Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
John 6:41-51
It's hard to change your image in a small town where everyone knows you. Think about it -- if you are around the same group of people for your entire life, then they know everything you've ever done.
Jesus knew about small towns and reputations. He lived in a small town in a small country. People knew him, his parents, his brothers and sisters. Since his ministry didn't begin until he was 30, they knew him as a carpenter. Perhaps he did some repair work or built some furniture for them. So when the carpenter proclaimed himself "the bread of life... the living bread that comes down from heaven," people struggled to believe him. They had "known" him for 30 years. How could he be the anointed Son of God?
The key is familiarity. Actually, it's more of a supposed familiarity. The crowd Jesus was addressing thought they knew Jesus, but they really didn't. They might have been acquainted with him. They might have known his parents. But they didn't really know him.
I wonder if our familiarity with Jesus sometimes gets in the way of truly knowing him. Christianity is common in America -- churches dot our cities and countryside. Many people would say they grew up in Christian homes. In many ways, we inherited our faith. But as with any inheritance, it has to be claimed for it to be truly our own. If we don't claim it, we don't know Jesus. We only know someone who knows Jesus.
It is as if we need to get to know Jesus for the first time. We need to take the time to become acquainted with him -- for ourselves. And we get to know Jesus just like we would anybody else -- by spending time with him. We do this through prayer and scripture. If asked to name your closest friend, you'd probably name someone with whom you spend a great deal of quality time -- not somebody you barely know and see occasionally and half-heartedly.
If we hope to know Christ, we must give our lives to him. We must be completely sold out. We cannot simply abuse and misuse Christ by inviting him into our lives for our convenience in times of desperation. Who among us want friends we only see when they are in trouble? We know Christ when we meet him daily as a friend. That is how we know Christ.
John writes in 6:47 that those who know Jesus and believe him to be the Christ are promised "eternal life." When we know Jesus personally, we know him as the "bread of life" -- the bread that gives life. This is the good news -- know Jesus and believe in him and you will live forever in the glory of God.
Ultimately, this is an easy way to obtain eternal life. We don't have to search for it. We don't earn it with good deeds. We don't have to join the right church with the correct doctrine. We only need to know Christ and believe.
Do you really know Christ or are you merely acquainted because of someone else's faith? Is your faith the absolute uncontested highest priority in your life? Come sit a while at the feet of the master. Tell a few stories. Shoot the breeze. Renew or discover Christ as your friend.
(Adapted from Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit [Series IV, Cycle B] by Gregory Tolle)
Good Stories
The Finest Bread
by Frank R. Fisher
"I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
John 6:51
[In a sing-song style reminiscent of a street vendor] "Taste my bread... the finest bread... come taste my bread..."
Your eyes snap open at this musical ending to your Friday morning slumber. You glance toward your window, straining to see and hear exactly what this could be that awakened you from such a sound sleep.
Then, accompanied by a noise that seems curiously like the creaking of wooden wheels, the song comes again.
"Taste my bread... the finest bread... come taste my bread..."
With curiosity overcoming your desire for sleep, you jump from your bed and rush to your window. There's a pushcart vendor standing outside on the street. The vendor, who seems to be a Baker, looks up from tending the cart and gazes straight at you with an absolutely delightful smile on his face. The power of that smile allows you to do nothing but smile back. And as you do, the Baker lifts a loaf of bread from the cart with one hand. With the other hand, he beckons toward you.
The wonderful smell of fresh-baked bread coming from that upraised loaf is too much to bear. You spring away from the window, throw on your clothes, rush down the stairs to your front door, and throw open the door -- just in time to see the Baker, and the cart, disappearing around the street corner.
With a shrug of your shoulders you turn back around to head inside for your morning coffee. But from around the corner you once again hear that strangely disquieting song.
"Taste my bread... the finest bread... come taste my bread..."
With your curiosity aroused again, you race from your doorstep to follow the Baker. And as you turn the street corner to follow in his path, you see that you aren't the only one whose wonder has drawn them into the street this early in the morning. From this door and that, up and down the street, women and men, girls and boys are peering from their doorways, and then emerging to follow the Baker and hear his plaintive song.
You rush down the street after this strange person and his pushcart. His progress seems steady at first, but soon you notice that he stops to talk and give pieces of bread to members of the crowd who follow the cart. At first you're too far away to hear what he says to these people, but as you watch miracles seem to happen.
Before the Baker's traveled very far, you see him talk to an older woman that you know. You're surprised at the sight because this is the first time she's been out of her house since her husband died a year ago -- she's been too depressed to even talk to anyone since the day of his funeral. But here she is, not only talking but smiling and laughing out loud. The smile on her face grows broader as the Baker hands her a piece of bread. Tears, apparently of joy, stream down her face as she eats the bread. Then she grabs the Baker's hand to kiss it. The Baker only smiles at that, and as he turns to leave he gently touches her head with a gesture of blessing. With a lightness in her step that hasn't been there for many years, the woman joyfully follows the Baker and his pushcart down the street.
Next the Baker pauses in front of a man in a wheelchair. You know this person, too. He used to be your close friend -- at least he was before he confided his secret to you one day. You still like him, but you just don't know how to talk to him now that you know that he's gay. Since that day you've heard that he's contracted AIDS. He looks haggard, thin, and exhausted. It's obvious the disease won't give him too much more time to live.
Your feeling of pain at your friend's obviously impending death suddenly changes to amazement -- for as you watch, the Baker first gently feeds him a piece of bread, then speaks a word and reaches out his hands. Your friend reaches out his own hands to meet the Baker's. The expression in his eyes turns from exhaustion to excitement and hope as the Baker slowly pulls him to his feet. Then you hear the Baker's voice gently say to him, "Go, my child, your faith has made you well." As the Baker again starts off down the street your friend pushes his wheelchair aside. And with a confident stride, he too turns to follow the pushcart.
This time the Baker can only go a few steps before the cart is surrounded by what seems to be a horde of children. Some in the crowd immediately try to intervene -- their voices tell the children not to bother the Baker and to let him go about his obviously important business.
But the Baker won't stand for that. He sits down on the ground, opens his arms, and welcomes the children. For the longest time he sits there while the adults in the crowd either mill about uncertainly or openly stare. The children listen; he tells them stories. Then he feeds them bread. Finally he arises to go, and as he pushes the cart down the street the children go skipping and playing after him. But you notice there seems to be a difference in their play now; they seem to deliberately seek out other children with whom they've never played. They reach out to children of other skin colors and children who are poor or otherwise different -- and hand in hand with their new friends, they join the crowd and follow the cart on its way.
You follow too, with your jaw fully agape by now. And every time the Baker stops, you marvel more and more. He stops to talk to a woman who looks like a prostitute. He offers her bread and tells her to "go and sin no more." She follows him on his way.
He talks to a used car dealer, a shady man who cheated you badly on the last car you bought. You're surprised to see a man such as that in this crowd. But that surprise is nothing compared to the one you're about to receive, for the man turns from the Baker after eating his bread. He walks up to you, asks your forgiveness, and presses his bulging wallet into your hands. Then the man spins around and follows the Baker.
The day goes on and the cart begins to move faster and faster -- but it always pauses just enough for the Baker to talk and offer his bread. He talks to politicians and gangbangers, businesswomen and househusbands. He feeds people who are rich and people who are poor, people who are young and people who are old.
And the people he encounters seem to change; they seem to become new persons -- persons brimming with life and love, persons who turn around to undo any harm they have done, persons who begin to sing aloud as they joyfully follow the Baker and his cart.
Now, as Friday night approaches you begin to notice something that seems very strange indeed. You see that the Baker's supply of bread never seems to fail -- there are always more and more loaves in the cart to feed the teeming crowd. Then suddenly as you watch you understand the source of the neverending loaves. Somehow, although you can't clearly see it, they seem to be coming from the Baker himself. And as the Baker looks right at you and smiles, you know he's literally feeding the crowd with all of his heart.
You continue to follow the crowd, wondering at all you see, until night falls. The Baker looks worn, weak, and weary now. He seems to be fading away bit by bit as he continues to feed all those who come with this incredible bread of his body. He fades more and more until with a yell the crowd surges over him, demanding that he feed them more and more bread. Then the crowd stops suddenly, and all the people look around in confusion.
The Baker's gone.
Their last frantic rush for bread seems to have been his undoing. He's faded completely away and his cart is shredded into little pieces of wood that lay scattered on the ground. Then the crowd's gone too. One by one, two by two, they walk away, talking as they go of the wonder they've beheld. You hear them vowing as they return to their lives and homes that the Baker's bread has indeed changed them forever.
Too late, you realize that you've never tasted this marvelous bread or heard the Baker's words directed to you alone. With that realization comes anguish such as you've never known -- and you fall to the ground with tears streaming from your eyes.
Your scream of despair pierces the night, for you too want to change. You want to undo some things you've done, and to right what you've done wrong. You want to be forgiven, healed, and made whole. Like those in the crowd, you want to begin life anew. You know those things were right there for you in the Baker's bread. And now you know you've missed the chance; a chance that will never come again.
Your tears continue to fill your eyes as you curl up into a ball on the ground -- and in that ball you remain. The night goes on around you. It's filled with the cheerful sounds of animals and night birds. Those sounds used to delight you. Now they give you no cheer at all.
Saturday morning dawns. It finds you still on the ground, curled up into a ball. Slowly you begin to unwind yourself and to look around at the new day. There's a beautiful sunrise. It doesn't matter. You're surrounded by graceful trees and beautiful flowers. They don't matter. It begins to rain, soaking you to the skin. You know you should get up and get out of the wet, but that doesn't matter either. Nothing matters any more but the chance at new life you've missed. So you stay there on the ground, drowning in despair. You stay there all day and all the next night. You'll stay there, you think, until you fade away -- just like the Baker.
Then, as Sunday morning dawns, something breaks through your shell. A brilliant flash of light pierces through your closed eyelids. And a familiar song rings in your ears.
"Taste my bread... the finest bread... come taste my bread..."
Startled, you sit up, open your eyes, and see the pushcart in front of you. And before you can even move, the Baker's sitting beside you on the ground. In his hand is a piece of bread. And with a smile on his gentle face, he holds it out to you and says, "This is the bread that came down from heaven... the one who eats this bread will live forever."
You eat the bread, and find it's indeed the finest bread. No bread could ever be like it. No other bread could change who you are inside and give you a new way and purpose in life. And no other bread could give you new life -- a life that will endure throughout all eternity.
You spring to your feet and the Baker reaches out to you. Then he leads you to the cart and places your hand upon it. You know now what the Baker asks of you. And you know that through the rest of your life you'll push the Baker's cart, and feed the Baker's people.
Then, with the knowledge that the Baker will be forever at your side, you begin your new life's journey. And on your way you sing out to all those you meet:
"Taste Christ's bread... the finest bread... come taste Christ's bread..."
Forever, my sisters and brothers, taste this bread -- the finest bread. Taste, and see that the Lord is good.
Frank R. Fisher currently serves as the interim pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Fairbury, Illinois. He is an Oblate of the ecumenical Abbey of John the Baptist and Saint Benedict in Bartonville, Illinois.
A Change of Heart
by Constance Berg
Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us...
Ephesians 5:1-2
Moe wasn't always so nice. He used to be a shrewd businessman, calculating profit in every business move. He didn't care that his developments tore down long-standing neighborhoods. He didn't care that new tenants paid three times more than what they used to. He wanted money, power, and status. Moe wanted it all.
Moe didn't believe in religion, but his business manager had convinced him that making contributions to strategic charities and organizations would increase his status in the small community. "You don't have to do anything, just give," he was told. And give he did -- $1 million to a service organization and $1 million to a church recovering from a fire. Done. He didn't have to think about it anymore.
Until Paula stood on his doorstep. Paula was a young businesswoman in the community and a member of the church where Moe had donated so much. Moe's manager allowed her to come in. This wouldn't take long.
Paula got right to the point. What had convinced him to give to their church? Why that church and not another one that was suffering from flood damage? Was this money from a legitimate source? What did he gain from it?
Moe smiled. Paula was a lot like Moe's younger brother, so trusting, so innocently asking for the truth. But there was something about Paula's manner that wouldn't allow Moe to brush her off so easily. He invited her to stay for lunch.
Over shrimp cocktails, Moe explained that, off the record, he had been attracted to the church because it was downtown, had the most exposure, and would give him in turn the most coverage for his donation. It made him feel good to be able to give such a big amount. It would give him more status in the community.
Paula stared at him. She didn't understand. Moe tried to let her see his side of life. Money, power, control, prestige. That was important in his life. Wasn't that simple enough?
After that long lunch and several meetings, Paula and Moe became fast friends. With her gentle manner, she was able to persuade Moe to come and see the rebuilding progress. With her kindness, she was able to ask Moe what his future intentions were with his money, power, and prestige.
Their friendship deepened and Moe was best man in Paula's wedding. He attended her son's baptism. Soon it was time for the dedication of the building. The pastor came to visit and asked Moe point-blank if he would share his testimony from the pulpit.
Testimony? Moe wondered what that meant for him. The story about the acquisition of all his money? The story of developing large portions of town? "No," the pastor said. "We want to know how you have been changed since you have come to know Christ." Moe was confused. "You don't understand," he said. "I don't know Christ."
"Oh, you will. You'll come to that point pretty soon. I'm sure of it." The pastor sounded so convinced. He left Moe and reminded him that he was due to speak two Sundays from now. Pastor handed Moe a copy of the New Testament to read. "This can be your starting point if you feel the need to do some research for your talk."
Moe looked at the Bible with sticky notes poking out. He was intrigued. He took it upstairs with him. He could spare some time before he turned in for the night. He'd start with the sticky notes.
John 3:16; Matthew 18:20; various Psalms; Jeremiah 29:11. Text after text spoke to Moe. Could it be that the book was speaking to him directly? He wondered as he turned off the light. But he couldn't sleep and he soon turned on the light again and continued reading. Passage after marked passage caught his attention. He read it like stories, but something was not right. What did this mean to him? How did this apply to his life now? He felt his heart change.
That night was the beginning of Moe's faith life. He visited with the pastor several times and turned his life to Christ. When it came time to give his testimony, it included the knowledge that although he still wanted material things, Moe's life had taken on a new twist. He still wanted money, but this time it would be to give to worthy causes. A new tenement housing project would house the people displaced by his development projects. A new gymnasium in town would help the children have a place to go after school. The flooded church just outside of town could use a new fellowship hall.
He had changed. Moe had felt a call to do something for the good of others. He had felt something deep down in his soul. And he was going to do something about it!
Constance Berg is a former missionary to Chiapas, Mexico. She is currently based in Bakersfield, California, where she serves as the director of 18 nursing homes for handicapped individuals. Berg is the author of three volumes of the CSS series Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit.
Before the Sun Sets
by James E. Sargent
Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and do not make room for the devil.
Ephesians 4:26-27
The supper table hadn't yet been cleared. Coffee cups were still half full. And the children had been excused from the table. They knew that something was not right between their parents, they could tell. Their mother had been tight-lipped during the earlier part of the meal. Their father had not said much, which was unusual because he always had a story or two to tell. But tonight it was different. Without any protest the children left the table and went to do their homework.
When the doors had been closed and the children were safely out of earshot, the discussion began. It may have been nothing too much to worry about, but it was something that had been bothering her for a week now. Why, she wanted to know, did he insist on stating his opinion publicly? Why couldn't he simply remain quiet instead of always having to speak?
She had been brought up in a home where she had been taught to keep opinions to one's self. People didn't care what you thought. That's what she'd been taught by her parents. For all of her life she had followed their instruction. She couldn't remember a time when she had publicly stated an opinion. Granted, in their own home she would express herself -- but not in public. And now her husband had spoken once too often. She intended to let him know.
Whispered words can also be intense words. They didn't raise their voices. They didn't have to. She told him; he listened. He explained that in his home people were always encouraged to speak their mind. Let people know what you think. That's what his father had always told him.
The children knew that the discussion was over when they heard the dishes clanking in the sink. Their father walked the dog and then their mother had tucked them in.
Early the next morning, as each of the children came into the kitchen their mother confided in them.
"Last night you know that your father and I had an argument." Each of the children knew that. It had been impossible to conceal the fact.
"You may wonder why." In fact, each did.
"The cause of the argument is not really of concern to you. But I will tell you why we talked at the table. Because when we got married the minister placed his hand on ours and said, 'Don't ever let the sun go down on anger.' Your father and I have always followed that counsel. Because we have always cleared the air before retiring for the night, our marriage has held together. We want you children to know that conflict will happen, differences will appear. But your marriage stands a better chance if you never let the sun go down on anger."
The children learned about one of the most important parts of their parents' relationship. They never let the sun set on their anger.
James E. Sargent is a writer, consultant, teacher, and United Methodist pastor. He is the author of several Bible commentaries as well as the Lent devotional From the Edge of the Crowd (Upper Room).
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StoryShare, August 13, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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