Feed My Sheep
Baking bread is a liturgy for me, a habit born on a hard day several years ago when I fed some dried sourdough starter (mailed to me by a dear friend) and two weeks later, baked my first imperfect loaf. The process of sourdough can’t be rushed. The good flavor builds over hours of fermentation.
It reminds me the little things in life matter: the little practices, the habits, the books read, the beds made.
The little things are gifts in hours and days and months, when the world overwhelms and sadness descends, and discouragement far exceeds joy.
Bread, the Biblical symbol of nourishment, taking various forms, feeding the people throughout the ancient text. In their hurry to flee Egypt, the Israelites bundled their fermenting doughs and carried the bread bowls high on their shoulders as they began the march to freedom. The oldest known sourdough culture was discovered in Egypt, estimated to be 4,500 years old. Could it be the Israelites brought along the madre (mother), knowing their survival depended on bread? Later, perhaps when wheat supplies were dwindling down, God provided daily bread in the form of manna for 40 years. All had equal access to the same quality of manna that could not be hoarded, plundered, or sold for profit (see “The Myth of the American Dream” by D.L. Mayfield for more on the symbolism of manna).
In harvesting barley, Ruth met Boaz. When preaching to thousands, Jesus fed hungry stomachs with a few fishes and loaves. He called himself “the bread of life,” and during his last supper before his death, passed bread and shared wine and said “this is my body.” The first Eucharist.
After his resurrection, Jesus made breakfast for some of the disciples. He took bread and gave it to them. And then he asked Peter three times (redemptive symbolism of the three times Peter denied): “do you love me?” Each time, Jesus asks Peter if he loves him with agape love, the highest form of love, and each time Peter answers he loves him with phileo love, a brotherly affection. Peter Enns writes in “How the Bible Actually Works,” that Jesus accepts the type of love Peter is able to offer. He doesn’t counter with: “you don’t love me enough, Peter.” He isn’t disappointed, doesn’t argue that Peter’s love is too limited. He simply answers: “feed my lambs, shepherd my sheep,” and foreshadows Peter’s eventual martyrdom.
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Bread has been on my mind this week. My heart is sad, so I bake bread. And as I’ve been considering the significance of bread throughout the Bible, I’m reminded of Jesus’ admonition: “If you love me, feed my sheep.” Feeding the sheep, caring for the orphan, welcoming the refugee, giving generously, providing manna….we can’t all do the same amount of feeding, but we’re all capable, as Mother Theresa said, of doing “small things with great love.”
Many have shared Henri Nouwen’s powerful quote this week: “I’m beginning to see much of praying is grieving.” And perhaps this is where we fall today; prayer feels vacuous and our souls are grieved. Feeding the sheep requires lament that the sheep need to be fed in the first place, that the wealthy and wicked hoard resources, and the refugee is turned away as children go hungry when there’s more than enough bread to go around.
We are easily consumed by our own little inconveniences, lacking in real, sacrificial love.
“Feed my sheep,” Jesus says.
Not: “defend your rights, your borders, your maskless existence.”
“Love your neighbor”
Not: “keep your neighbor out while hoarding the manna.”
The smallest of acts sometimes.
Bruised knees in intentional prayer.
Floured hands, wet faces,
Empty pockets in generous giving,
Tired souls in reckless hospitality.
We are called to be a people of feeding and shepherding (men and women). May we seek that kind of personhood.