When You Can't Taste the Bread

When You Can’t Taste the Bread

“I am the bread of life,” Jesus told them. “No one who comes to me will ever be hungry, and no one who believes in me will ever be thirsty again.” John 6:35

I think for most people the aroma of baking bread is one of the wonders of scent. Why does something that tastes so yummy also smell so enticing? And, as a staple of life, bread is ubiquitous. Every culture has its breads; flat breads, grilled breads, yeast breads, wheat, rye, oat. Well, you get the idea.

The perfect morning would be to smell both newly brewed coffee and freshly baked bread upon waking. The buttery dough saturates your tongue as the brightly bitter brew washes it down. In most homes, that is enough to get you going for the day.

Smell seems to be connected to memory. In the early 1980s I worked for Laird’s Office Supply and Business Forms. My territory included both San Francisco and the East Bay. I was hired to go to any business that did not have accounts with the firm and cold call, developing new clients.

Once or twice a week I drove across the Bay Bridge from our office in Oakland to San Francisco. If the breeze was just right, at a certain point where the freeway turned north into downtown San Francisco, two aromas met in an atmospheric elixir I’ll never forget. Folger’s Coffee was just to the south and the many sourdough bakeries were northeast. The slightly acrid perfume of roasting coffee beans met the yeasty output of the sourdough ovens. The combination was heaven to the sense of smell.

Jesus had just miraculously fed 5,000 people with a boy’s lunch of loaves and fishes. People were astounded and followed him up and down the coast. He turns to the crowd, telling them they weren’t looking for him because of “signs” but “you ate the loaves and were filled.”

As Jesus often does, he takes something tangible and teaches a spiritual lesson. Bread isn’t really bread as he begins his unusual speech in answer to their inquiries. The crowd knew that God had given the wandering Hebrews manna in the desert and asked Jesus, “So, what sign are you going to perform?”

He first sets them straight. “Moses didn’t give you the bread from heaven, and, my Father gives the true bread from heaven. The bread of God is the one who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

“Well give us some of that bread, Jesus, then we’ll never have to eat again!” Was there snickering among the crowd? Maybe.

But Jesus tells them, “I am the bread of life. No one who comes to me will ever be hungry, and no one who believes in me will ever be thirsty again.” This is an absolute statement. Jesus doesn’t say “will rarely be hungry”, or “will usually never thirst.” He is positing himself as the full and complete answer to life and human need. It is sad that we have reduced it to one or two propositions.

First, it’s about salvation. “Give your heart to Jesus, you’ll go to heaven, and you’ll never hunger again.” And there is truth behind that. But Jesus is talking about food, something we do every single day of our lives. He is talking about water without which we cannot exist for more than a few days. He is talking about life here and now.

Second, we make it about satisfaction. “Make Jesus your everything. Turn away from the ‘world’s’ bread (fill in anything your church thinks is scary) and fully commit your entire being to Jesus.” The only problem here is that Jesus is offering an invitation to a meal, not a marshal order.

What he is saying is so much richer, so much fuller than either the “heaven when you die” or the “perfect discipleship” picture. Food is life. Water is life. What he is saying is what most of us realize; much of our life can feel very inadequate. Jesus opens up an abundance of life to us through being the very sustenance we need. We do not need to prepare the meal; he is the meal.

I’ve been struggling with this ever since I retired early from ministry this January. I am closing in on 11 years of a never-ending 24/7 headache. It is torture at times. We moved in with my sister in Texas, Patti found a job at a university, and I fill my days with very little of any significance. Without a car at the house during the day and no hangouts or restaurants within walking distance, loneliness and isolation easily take me by the throat.

Add the constant pain, the average of 6 out of 10 pain, the pain that feels like a spear piercing my temples and an iron helmet pressing in on my head, and trying to keep my outlook positive approaches the impossible. I despair of knowing or experiencing Jesus’ presence. Indeed, I have called to him for help over and over, weeping; and here I am. The things I loved to do the best are, for now, out of my reach.

And today I read this passage and I fell into a pit of gloom. “Jesus, if you really are my bread, my sustenance, my satisfaction, then, even in this pain, I should at least be able to rise in spirit and be comforted.” But I am not. I lay quietly, listening to music, stilling my heart, hoping to feel him near. And I do not. I pour out tears on my pillow hoping he will place his hands on me and dry them, but he does not.

And so, I decided to be honest. But, the risk of being honest is that people respond with, “I know what you should do!” Before you write me, let me assure you, I’ve been in evangelical Christianity for 47 years and a Pentecostal for almost that long. I’ve tried and experienced almost everything you could suggest. Recently someone even told me that they “know” what my problem is, and if I just tried crystals, I’d be free! Others suggest I have unforgiveness in my life. Others, sin. Some seem almost more stressed that God hasn’t answered their prayer for my healing instead of simply caring about my well-being. So, with this paragraph done, let me go on.

Imagine an illness where one could not taste or smell food. We’ve already described the delights of both senses. The person would still eat, of course, out of necessity, but the joy of the tasting would be gone. I think, in a way, that is what both the pain and the extremity of my circumstances have done. Jesus is still my bread; but, for now at least, I cannot taste it.

This should help us when dealing with people who are in desperate need. Be present to them. Listen to them. Don’t give them answers. And please don’t tell them about your experience of 20 years ago when God felt “so real to me.” If anything, share a time when God seemed distant to you as well.

The final thought after pondering this all day in the middle of an extremely painful and lonesome day is this: In Jesus’ day, meals were communal. You simply did not drive through the Capernaum McDonald’s on your way to the Sermon on the Mount. If you know someone who is isolated, in chronic pain, economic poverty, deeply depressed or ill, don’t just take them food; have a meal with them. I promise you, that meal, and the blessing that accompanies it, will probably help that person sense the savor of the Bread of Life at least in that moment.