I recently read an excerpt from the book What’s in a Phrase: pausing where scripture gives you pause. The reflection was titled “Eat the Manna” by religious author Marilyn Chandler McEntyre. She describes being asked to write her spiritual autobiography in six words. She recalls, At the beginning of a recent worship service, elders handed out pieces of paper and pencils… We were invited to reflect on God’s provision, even in hard times, the pastor gave us the assignment: “Write your spiritual autobiography in six words.” In the silence, six words came; perfect in the way they addressed my recurrent anxieties about saving and spending, keeping and letting go, prudent stewardship and the practice of generosity. My words: “Eat the manna. More will come.” McEntyre says that the story of manna in the wilderness is a story about how grace often comes in odd, unsettling, barely recognizable ways.

The early Israelites were only a month into their journey when they realized moving from exile to the promised land was going to be filled with struggle. The in-between experience of being in the wilderness made them question everything in their lives. Do you remember how wonderful it was when we were in Egypt?

We ask the same kinds of questions: Do you remember when the children were little? Life was easier when… (You fill in the blank). We attach these memories to joy and hope, no matter what the reality is.

During the Israelites’ first days in the wilderness, the sun grew hot, their water pouches were running low and their stomachs were rumbling. In the gathering, they reminisced. Do you remember when we were back in Egypt; we always had enough to eat, forgetting the slave labour that it took to provide what they ate. Do you remember our happy wedding celebrations; forgetting the forced marriages they were made to tolerate. They began to mumble and complain. We are going to die out here because of all the provisions we no longer have. People are almost instinctively inclined to forget the troubles of the past when they face new difficulties in the present. It is too easy to blame our predicament on someone else. It is all Moses’ and Aaron’s fault. This is a familiar pattern.

Walter Brueggemann warns that we have, without thinking, agreed to endless anxiety because we approach our lives from a scarcity mentality. We do not have enough yet; we have not done enough.

In the Exodus story of God’s provision, we are invited to an alternative way of living where God meets our needs. That’s what Jesus is telling his disciples, God has already provided. “It was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” Notice the change in verb from “Moses gave” to God “gives.” The disciples asked Jesus for signs of what he would do to prove that he was who he said he was. When we nostalgically look at our past, we diminish what God is doing in the present.

Without fanfare, God didn’t respond to the Israelites grumbling, and complaining, and comparing their present wilderness with when they were back in Egypt. God simply began to supply their needs. Manna was readily available.

“Manhue” is the Hebrew word for “What is it?” The Israelites had never before received bread as a free gift that they couldn’t control, predict, plan for or own. Their daily provision was a strange, flaky substance that had to be gathered in the morning before it melted in the sun. They had to learn to gather, prepare, and eat the manna. This ties into what we say every Sunday when we pray the Lord’s Prayer: “Give us this day our daily bread,” never considering the implication that phrase has on our practice of trust.

Brueggeman teaches that the Book of Exodus records the tension between the liturgy of generosity and the myth of scarcity. First, everybody had enough. The Lord said that ‘in the morning you shall have your fill of bread; then you shall know that I am the Lord your God.’ But Israel had learned to believe in scarcity in Egypt, the people started to hoard the bread and it turned sour and rotted. The lesson is that we cannot store up God’s generosity.

God created a world of great abundance. If we share, there is enough for all.

Marilyn McEntyre remembers her mother who lived most of her life on the edge of poverty but she was rich in trust and stories about just the right amount of food, money, or help showing up just when it was needed. She was careful about making the dollars stretch to the end of the month, but she also knew when to eat the manna. She knew that ‘some things — most things — are to be used, enjoyed, and shared rather than stored.

Marilyn ends her story, It takes time, I find, to recognize that we have what we need when our notion of what we need is confined by habit and expectation. We may not have the money to replace an appliance, but we may have a neighbor who can fix it. We may not have our closest friend nearby when sorrow strikes, but someone may surface from the margins of our lives with a big heart and a listening ear. Solutions may come from unexpected sources. The answer to many prayers, reinforced with every celebration of the Eucharist, is simply this reminder: “You have what you need.” Take it. Eat it. There will be more. When we are willing to look at everything that comes to us as a gift from God, there will be no end to the manna.