So often, we’re richly blessed on Sunday morning with nourishing teaching from the Word and songs that point our hearts to Jesus. We leave inspired, convicted, met.
So how do we believe all week long? How do we believe Jesus really is the Bread of Life, that we’ll be satisfied, fully in a deeper way than any other if we believe in him?
I’ve come to believe that the little moments build bigger faith. Faith that moves mountains is formed in the little baby steps of choosing to believe he will meet me. And those little moments are everywhere. When I choose to breathe and ask him silently for grace to be kind and not return demands for demands, that’s a faith step—a moment of belief. When I wake early to prioritize opening God’s Word expectantly to meet with Jesus instead of hitting snooze, I’m believing he wants to speak. When I walk into my child’s sporting event, I’m taking a step of faith. I ask Jesus to lead me to the hearts he’s preparing, asking for his words and questions to come through my mouth, for his love to flow through me to a lost and hurting world.
The Bread of Life
As the summer flies by, I ask him to use it for his glory, to keep my eyes on him instead of the fantasy of some vacation or break I think I need. “Oh Jesus, be my living hope, be my Bread of Life, no matter the pace of the day or season of life.”
Am I satisfied in Jesus or am I looking for how many checks were done on my list? Am I relying on the power of who Jesus is or how I look compared to another woman? If Jesus really is the Bread of Life, am I running to him and feasting on him, or am I digging for that next Dove dark chocolate? Am I trusting that Jesus really and ultimately satisfies?
“Jesus meets the need of a restless heart, stop relying on things that will never satisfy,” Pastor Mark said recently. Yes, my heart believes in and longs for this real satisfaction in Christ alone. I believe. And then… I can’t get the Communion cup open or the wafer out…my frustration begins to grow…. I hear the crinkling wrappers of all those around me and instead of thanking the Lord for the gift of his sacrifice, I find myself frustrated that something changed, and I am inconvenienced. My desire for ease and convenience slam into reality in the midst of Communion cups.
Before I can even take Communion, I have to confess that I want easy. I want things the way I like them. And so, I lean into my Bread of Life who seems to whisper, “Do you really need easy to be satisfied, Emily? Or can you trust me?” Oh Jesus, seriously? That’s all it takes to show me how desperately I need a Savior? Crinkling and stuck wrappers?
Oh Jesus, I repent from believing that ease over you equals life and satisfaction. Thank you. Thank you for the immediate reminder that I can do nothing apart from you, not even enjoy the Lord’s Supper. Maybe what this world needs isn’t a life that looks all together tied up in some pretty Jesus-bow, always believing. What may make Jesus attractive to ones who don’t know him, is that they get to see a messed-up life touched by the grace and mercy of God. Maybe he will use this messy life, in and out of battles for belief, ever so slowly trusting him more and more, to draw others to himself who also are also messy. Not because of my perfection, but because they may begin to believe that if he loves me and pours out his grace and mercy and life to me, he stands ready to pour out life for them too.
It seems easy to believe Jesus is my Living Hope on a Sunday morning. It seems easy to believe Jesus is my Bread of Life who will always satisfy, when I’m listening to his Word be sung, declared, and taught. So often, though, we stand, chat, leave, and forget. We quickly fall into unbelief, even before it’s time for Communion, before we even leave the Sanctuary.
Friends, let’s fight to believe this week. Let’s lean into our frustrations, irritations, fears, longings, and wanderings. Let’s dig into the why behind the bumps and runnings—”Do I really think this _____ will satisfy? Only you, Jesus, are the Bread of Life. Help me believe you will satisfy. I believe. Help my unbelief.”