A COMMON MEAL

                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 19^th 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.