Growing up, I didn’t much like bread.
Oh, I probably ate my share of it. Sandwiches, biscuits, French toast, etc. But I never went looking for it. As many sandwiches as I ate, I think I thought of bread as just something to keep me from getting the sandwich all over me.
As I grew, I began to appreciate bread more—especially some “specialty breads”. My mother used to make this bread called “onion-sage bread” that I thought was great. And when Martha and I were first married there was a German bakery nearby that served a “6-grain” loaf that was fantastic. I began to not just enjoy bread, but sometimes seek it out just for its own sake. But still, I don’t think I ever really thought of it as “life-saving” or as the main part of a meal. It might be a treat that was in addition to the meal, or a dessert afterwards, or a between-meals snack.
I think the passage we are about to read, it didn’t so much confuse me, but its importance escaped me for a longtime. I was missing the metaphor, and that led me to miss the point.
Sunday morning at 10:30.
(Sunday School this week at 9 a.m. We'll be in the 2nd chapter of Acts.)
