How do you get bread?

A tiny thing, very much not bread, is put into dirt (also not bread) and water is poured over it, and it’s forgotten. After a while the tiny thing is transformed into something green and leafy and stalk-like. It grows taller and taller and becomes quite lovely in its own way. Still not bread, though. And then one day this delicate and lovely thing is chopped into pieces by whirling knives, and most of it is discarded. What remains are dozens of perfect copies of the original thing that was buried, and this is amazing, but it’s still not bread. You get a bunch of these tiny things together, and then you whack them repeatedly with big sticks until they are stripped of their coverings. Then you take the naked remains and crush them with great big rocks until they are finer than sand. Pretty cool, but still not bread. Then you mix it with water and salt (basically tears), and leave it to get puffy. When it gets puffy, right when it was starting to get some glory again, you punch it, and it deflates. Finally, you give it to the flames and make it go through almost unendurable heat.

That’s bread. And then, when it’s served, you break it.

The process is long and full of sudden violence. And Jesus said that the bread was his body, and it is broken for you. Our Lord is our model. Whom the Lord loves, he chastises, even as a son in whom he delights. David and Moses, Jacob and Job, they all were crushed and beaten and baked until they were loaves pleasing to the baker. So it is with us. We are to be transformed from sin to glory, to be a pleasing aroma to our God. And this involves the flail and the mill and the oven. But our Lord has given Himself for us first, for the strengthening of our hearts and the gladdening of our souls. He died, and we will die, but he rose, and we will rise with him. This is good news.