It felt like a complete win. We were in the grocery store and getting to that stage where we were a little desperate for something to eat. I have been known to pick up raisin scones to scarf on the way home. (The Spouse is classier by far and buys baguettes.) But there weren’t any. Of course, I had already mentioned my intentions to the kids and so they dug in their heels and didn’t want a substitute. So I grabbed a plastic bag of raisin bread, put it in the cart, and hoped for magic.
But, Mum…
I know. It isn’t scones. They don’t have any scones. This is bread. It’s fine.
But it’s broken. It’s all in bits.
Yes. It was sliced. And she didn’t know what to do with that. Fantastic. I felt ridiculous smug. My home-bread-baking habit has meant that my kid sees pre-sliced bread as broken.
I started baking bread before the kids came along. I’d dabbled when I was an undergraduate, but it was once the Spouse and I embarked on the impoverishing path of postgrad studies that I really started to bake a lot of bread. The trouble was that our town had a lot of lovely bakeries, and we didn’t have enough money to buy their bread. I’d gaze lovingly and longingly through the window, then end up shopping at the cheapy grocery shop. Not fun. But I noticed that flour was also cheap. So making our own delicious bread seemed like a good answer. It took me a little while to get it right, but the trying itself was a good break from studies.
Then, I got some bad news from home. A kid from our church who had gone with us to church camp when I was a counsellor – a kid my brother’s age – had been murdered. It wasn’t random; he’d been involved in some horrible things. He’d been a bit of a handful at camp, but just typical pre-teen rebellion. We saw lots of that. This didn’t seem real. But it was.
At the time, I was participating in a program called “Retreat in Daily Life” through the university chaplaincy. I’d meet with my spiritual director each week and she’s give me exercises and readings. I was just a couple of weeks in when I got the news, and we talked it through, but I was having a really hard time. I found it hard to reconcile all the ministry of working at camp with the reality that it didn’t protect any of the kids from the worst of the world. I couldn’t see any sense in it. I think I kind of scuttled the conversation.
So my director – a tiny English nun, mighty in faith – changed the topic and asked me what I’d be doing that morning. I told her that I’d been baking bread. And that was that. From then on our discussions revolved around bread. We talked about the work and the waiting. The death of the seed and the growth of the plant. The necessary kneading. How sharing is complicated and life-giving. Substantial, sustaining conversations. Her words were a gift. And probably solidified my bread-baking into a life-giving, life-affirming habit. It’s becomes a place where I see the gospel in my own hands. Recognisable resurrection pointing beyond all that we can see.
I like how Brian D. McLaren put it recently on his blog:
“If we believe that death and resurrection are written into the code of the universe (inherent in the Logos), then we shouldn’t despair, but see opportunities for resurrection.”
This week in the lectionary, we have bread again. There’s so much bread in the Bible, isn’t there? Bread is so daily, and yet points us to so much more. It is such a strong visual reminder of all that has been revealed.
At the centre of the Table and every table, there is bread. Ordinary. Holy.
Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. John 6:27
