Bread from Heaven

Morning in the desert. The dew lifts, and the ground is covered with something small and white and flaky, like frost. A child picks some up and turns to her mother. “What is it?”

It has been a month since Israel walked out of Egypt. They have seen the sea open in front of them. They have sung and danced on the far shore. But now they are in the wilderness of Sin, a dry stretch of land between Elim and Mount Sinai, and the food they carried is running out. So the whole community starts to grumble against Moses and Aaron. “If only we had died in Egypt. At least there we sat by pots of meat and ate all the bread we wanted. You have brought us out here to starve.”

God hears every word. And instead of anger, he answers with a promise. “I will rain bread from heaven for you,” he tells Moses. “Each day the people will go out and gather enough for that day. On the sixth day they will gather twice as much.” Moses passes it on. “Your grumbling is not really against us. It is against the Lord. And this evening you will know that it was the Lord who brought you out of Egypt.” As they speak, the people look toward the desert, and there, in the cloud, the glory of the Lord appears.

That evening, quail come. Flocks of them, settling all over the camp, so many that everyone can catch supper. And in the morning, a layer of dew lies around the camp. When it lifts, there it is. Thin flakes, white like coriander seed, on the face of the desert. The people stare at it. In Hebrew, “What is it?” sounds like man hu. And that is what they call it. Manna. Moses explains. “This is the bread the Lord has given you to eat. Gather as much as each person needs.” Some gather a lot. Some gather a little. But when they measure it, the one who gathered much has nothing left over, and the one who gathered little has no lack. Everyone has exactly enough. It tastes like wafers made with honey.

There is one more rule. “Don't keep any of it until morning.” Of course, some people do, just in case. And by morning their stash is crawling with worms and it stinks. Moses is angry with them. Every day the manna is fresh, and every day, when the sun gets hot, whatever is left on the ground melts away. You cannot store up trust. You have to gather it new each morning.

On the sixth day, the people gather twice as much, and this time the leftovers keep perfectly. Moses tells them why. “Tomorrow is a day of rest, a holy Sabbath to the Lord. Bake what you want to bake today.” Still, on the seventh day, some people go out with their baskets. They find nothing at all. “How long will you refuse to keep my commands?” God asks. So the people rest. And God tells Moses to fill a jar with one day's measure of manna and keep it, so that generations not yet born will see the bread that fed their families in the wilderness. For forty years, until they reach the edge of the promised land, the manna never stops coming.

Here is something worth noticing. The Ten Commandments have not been given yet. Israel has not even reached Mount Sinai. But this chapter is where the Sabbath rest first appears as a rule for the whole people. The text says that God gave it to them, and the manna taught it. Six days of gathering, a double portion on the sixth, and nothing at all on the seventh. Israel learned to rest before they learned the law.

Bread from Heaven. You'll find it in Exodus chapter 16. Centuries later, Jesus would teach his followers to pray, give us this day our daily bread. Not this year's bread. Today's. So here's the question to carry with you. What would it look like to trust God for just today?