Bread is a big deal in Turkey.
I have no way of knowing if bread used to be such a big deal in England – other than textbooks. Yet in Turkey I can see bread. Everywhere. Every day. In almost every shop large and small. On every table – morning, noon and night. Bread is everywhere.
It is a lighter, fluffier, bog standard, no frills, no fuss, no artwork type of bread. We have artisan bread. Pretentious bread. Celeb bread. Bread with attitude. Fashionable bread.
I thought of Turkey reading these few verses:
Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. But I said to you that you have seen me and yet do not believe. Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away; for I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me. And this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day. This is indeed the will of my Father, that all who see the Son and believe in him may have eternal life; and I will raise them up on the last day.’ John 6:35-40
I thought of bread and Turkey. An Islamic country. Where bread is everywhere. With every meal. A meal not a meal without bread. Bread and more bread. Why? I have no idea. But I see it, I eat it, I “get bread” when in Turkey. Just up the road from the bible guys. From Jesus.
I Am … The bread … Of Life”
I am God. Everywhere. No life or living complete without me. All life in me, me in all life. Every day. No posturing. No grandeur. No celeb status. Yet nothing quite as it should be without me. Something missing without me. Life yet not life. Not as you would wish it to be. I am the bread of life.
In Turkey bread is popped in a carrier bag. Children sent to fetch half a dozen loaves. Bread is cheap. Just a few kuruş. No glamour in bread. Not up the road from the bible guys.
I was born in a place you keep animals. I work with my hands. With wood. I walk. I eat bread. I have nothing. I am a nobody. I am a somebody. I am the bread of life.
You know when something is taken for granted? Part of the fabric of daily life? So widespread it is hardly noticed. Yet is always there. Always the knowledge when more is needed. How much is left. Something never to run out of. Is that a “back to front” reverence for bread? Bread is revered by being so much part of an unconscious consciousness? Without us even realising it. These Turkish guys? They always know how much bread is left, how much to get, how much they need for a day.
I am the bread of life. Jesus said. Raise it up. Just like great bread should. Jesus said.
Tonight in a pub in England over a meal and a drink, three of us were talking God. Pub Theology once a month. A good deal of gossip and relationship. And some food. And some God. Halfway through our conversation a waitress walked by and I mentioned we were talking God. A minute later she was offering her thoughts. Two minutes later she was asking questions. Five minutes later she was sitting with us and telling us about her and God and her parents and church and what worked and what didn’t. And what seemed like ten minutes after (although probably less) she went back to work with a smile for us.
Unconscious consciousness maybe? Always there. Just not on the surface. Not all the time.
Part of the fabric of daily life. Revered by being so much part of an unconscious consciousness. Without us even realising it. Maybe.
Maybe we underestimate this God stuff. When we sit in our fellowship groups, our churches, our bible gatherings. Maybe we miss that God is more widespread than we see or hear. Because we don’t ask the right people. The people Jesus asked, sat with, talked with and reached. A waitress just doing a job. Maybe. A nobody. A somebody. Somebody who eats bread just like us.
I Am. The Bread. Of Life.
I like God Jesus. He is a cool dude.