Most of
my days are quite common, in the sense that I do the same things day after day.
But special days come along, like today, Mother’s Day. Yesterday I decided to
revive an old tradition, so I went to the florist and bought a few baby roses.
It used to be that everyone wore roses, or some other flower, in honor of their
mother, red if she was still living and white if she was not. When my mother
was living, Mother’s Day was special because it brought her family together. My
sisters from Sweet Home and Lebanon, my brother from here in Eugene, and even
my brother from Seattle when he could, would come with their spouses to honor
our mother. Those days are gone for our family, but the memories linger on and
make today a special day. Also, it remains a special day to Frances and me as our
kids get in touch through gifts and telephone calls.
The great majority of my days, however, are
not special, they are common, ordinary days. And my meals each day are not
exotic, gourmet meals. They are just plain, ordinary, common meals. With this
in mind, David Steele gave us this poetic insight about the Lord’s Supper in his poem, Communion:
This table now is simply spread
With little loaves of common
bread …
Not pumpernickel, corn, or rye
To spark the taste or please
the eye …
Just bread … It’s sold in any store.
I’ve had it many times
before.
I am accustomed, when a guest,
To being rather more
impressed.
I might expect a gracious host
To brown the bread and make
some toast,
Or see his table was arrayed
With butter, jam, and marmalade.
Danish pastries filled with jam,
Some scrambled eggs with
lots of ham.
This would impress me more. Instead,
The Lord shares common,
daily bread.
I’ll eat this bread; but I will find
Its taste won’t linger
in my mind.
This bread is easy to dismiss.
I've had ten thousand bites
like this.
This bread, I think, in many ways
Reminds me of my common
days.
Some days are vivid in design,
Resembling an exotic wine …
Days of joy and days of sorrow.
(One may well arrive
tomorrow.)
But nearly all the days I’ve led
Are more like this plain,
common bread;
Like, say, last 19th of September.
(A day I
simply can’t remember.)
It’s gone … slipped from my memory
Just as this bread is
bound to be.
At this table I shall praise
The God who gives me common
days.
And I shall live these days with pride,
Knowing God moves by
my side.
For at this table God has said:
“I share with you this daily
bread”
And by this Word we all are fed.*
*David Steele, God must have a sense of humor. He made
Aardvarks and Orangutans … and Me. Illuminations Press, 1983.
