Loaf

A single grain of wheat alone
cannot a loaf become,
but all that grew as Christ had sown
are gathered into one.
Though each is threshed by different means,
their chaff is cast away
and, gathered first or lately gleaned,
they join the harvest day.

So wide and winding is the field
where Christ has cast the seeds,
that patiently he waits their yield
who will not pluck the weeds.
But weeds and wheat together grow
that not a grain be lost,
and which is which he only knows
who bought them at his cost.

Though we are ground down day by day
as wheat is turned to flour,
yet Christ who loves each seed and grain
is with us every hour.
He gathers us to make his bread
from every seed he sows.
If one is lost, the loaf is less:
He will not let us go.

Woman baking bread (c. 2200 BC); Louvre By Rama, CC BY-SA 3.0 fr, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=69938567

Feed

You feed me, and I hunger still.
You give me drink, and still I thirst
as if my cup will never fill.
I am as hungry as at first.

So I must call to you again,
you who have given o'er and o'er,
world without end, amen, amen.
I still must ask you more and more.

You daily hear, and daily give.
You pour anew the blood-red wine
and bless the bread I need to live.
You fill again these hands of mine,

for you have made me hollow, Lord,
this earthen vessel from your hand.
You chose the substance, chose the form:
Forever empty I shall stand.

Forever you will fill my need.
Forevermore I shall not want.
In verdant pastures where you lead,
I'll drink forever from the font

and I will eat the bread you made.
Forever you will nourish me
there at the table you have laid
and laid again eternally.

Woman baking bread (c. 2200 BC); Louvre, Photo By Rama, CC BY-SA 3.0 fr, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=69938567

Table Song For Exiles

As you broke bread in Nazareth
before your desert road,
O Christ incarnate, bone and breath,
I long to taste my home.
The tables where I learned to eat,
to listen and to talk,
they held the bread of finest wheat
and honey from the rock.

The tears that fill your water jars,
now let them be transformed:
Pour out the wine that cheers my heart
in memory and hope.
Give me the bread of earthly love,
the flavors I have known,
and let it be the savor of
my everlasting home.

If I forget Jerusalem—
O Lord, if I forget,
remind me of myself again
in every taste of bread,
and let it tell me of the home
where you have made a place,
where every tribe and tongue is known,
and every feast is grace.

By Sapp0512 – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=113655277

Feast

Come, O Lord, and set a table
where the weary pilgrims rest.
Pour the promise that can save us;
break the everlasting bread.

When our hands are all but empty,
turn our morsels to a meal;
multiply them with your blessing
to a feast that never fails.

Let our hearts become your dwelling
by the bread that you provide;
change our spirits into wellsprings
running to eternal life.

Not from us but from your mercy
come the riches of the feast,
for the hungry and the thirsty,
for the last and for the least.

Not to us or to our working,
to our will or to our pride,
but to you we give the glory
for the feast that you provide.

Take the little we can offer,
take the loaves and take the fish:
Feed our souls and feed our bodies
with the bounty of your gifts.

Feeding the multitude. Armenian manuscript. Daniel of Uranc gospel, 1433. By Daniel of Uranc – Michel Bakni, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=98280902