Saturday, 10 March 2018

Baker's dozen


Bread ! We need it. We knead it, bake it, slice it, toast it
Empty the shelves against an impending crisis.
We give it to the ducks, (though we really shouldn’t),
And put out crumbs for the birds.
Then there were those other crumbs, two thousand years ago;
Under His table. Too good for us, really,
And twelve baskets of fragments when He fed a multitude.
He always provides more than we can ask.
And then in that upper room, He broke the bread –
More crumbs!
“This is My body which is given for you."
Twelve bewildered, devoted companions,
Working men with fishermen’s hands.
They must have looked at one another and wondered.
“What does He mean, it’s His body? It’s bread.
Our Miriam baked it this morning.”
“Remember Him when we eat it. Where is he going?”
“Oh, well, might as well do as he says. It’s good.”
Nourishing, universal, timeless, bread you have always with you.
Think on!

Sheila Kingham 6.3.2018


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