10.5.25 – Sermon written and preached by Leigh Rachal @ FPC Abbeville, LA

Bread Enough for the Journey - World Communion Sunday 2025

Exodus 16:1–18; John 6:51

Scriptural Context

From the beginning of scripture, God’s story has been one of provision.

In creation, God spoke light into the darkness and filled the earth with all that was needed for life to flourish.

When fear and violence fractured that goodness, God kept providing…

God called Abraham and Sarah,

blessing them with promise and purpose,

and forming a people through whom all nations might be blessed.

When Jacob fled in fear,

God met him with a dream of angels and a word of belonging.

When Joseph was sold into slavery,

God turned despair into deliverance.

And when those same descendants found themselves enslaved in Egypt,

God saw their suffering, heard their cries,

and made a way through the waters of the Red Sea.

Now, the people stand on the far shore of freedom -

They are experiencing a new beginning, but are not yet home.

They have been created, called, and delivered.

And now they must learn how to live as people who trust the God who provides.

Scripture Reading — Exodus 16:1–18 & John 6: 51 (NRSVUE)

Sermon

They had crossed the sea.

The waters had parted,

and the people had walked through on dry land.

Behind them, the chariots of Egypt were swallowed by the waves.

Ahead of them lay freedom.

No more Pharaoh.

No more taskmasters.

No more bricks without straw.

But…. freedom didn’t look like they expected.

The taste of liberation was aching bellies and dry, parched mouths.

They found themselves where there was no map, no garden, no feast

just wilderness.

And before long, hunger.

It’s strange how quickly our memories can change

when our stomach growls.

“If only we had died in Egypt,” they said,

“where we sat by the pots of meat and ate our fill of bread.”

They remembered the food but not the chains.

They remembered comfort but not cruelty.

They remembered full bellies but forgot broken backs.

And still—God listened.

Still, God provided.

Bread from heaven. Rained down and filled the land every morning.

Quail came at twilight. 

There was enough for each day.

The story says that when the dew lifted each morning,

a thin, delicate layer appeared on the ground,

like frost or seeds or crumbs of heaven.

When the people saw it, they asked, “What is it?”

And that question became its name: Manna.

“What is it?”

“What is this strange mercy?”

“What is this grace that appears where there was nothing yesterday?”

Moses told them,

“It is the bread the Lord has given you to eat.

Gather as much of it as each of you needs - no more, no less.”

And they did.

Some gathered more, some gathered less,

but when they measured it,

each one had enough.

That is the miracle hiding in this story.

Not only that God sends bread from heaven,

but that God teaches the people a new rhythm -

a rhythm of enough.

Because Egypt had trained them to believe otherwise.

Egypt said, You never have enough.

There is never enough bricks.

There is never enough hours in the day.

There is never enough productivity, or enough control.

Egypt said, Take more. Store more. Protect what’s yours.

Egypt said, Hoard what you can and call it wisdom.

But God, out in the wilderness, was teaching a different way.

A way of daily trust.

A way of dependence and community.

A way of enough…..

You could not stockpile manna.

If you tried, it spoiled.

It turned rancid and filled the camp with the smell of decay.

Because manna was never meant to be controlled

it was meant to be received.

It’s hard to live that way.

It’s hard to believe there will be enough tomorrow.

It’s hard to believe that we could stop clutching and start trusting.

But that’s the invitation:

each day, gather what is enough.

Trust that God will meet you again in the morning.

And yet—how do we know what is enough?

The Israelites had to learn by doing.

By gathering and measuring.

By trusting and discovering that what God provided was sufficient.

Enough didn’t mean plenty.

It didn’t mean comfort.

It meant sustenance for today.

Enough is not always what we expect,

but it is what will keep us alive.

Our world still wrestles with this question.

We live surrounded by both excess and need:

oceans of waste beside deserts of want.

Some have far more than they could ever use,

while others scrape by on crumbs.

And still, the voice of Pharaoh echoes through our systems,

telling us that safety lies in storing more,

in keeping what we can,

in pretending that someone else’s hunger is not our problem.

But God’s vision is different.

God’s economy is mercy.

In God’s way of abundance,

those who gathered much had nothing left over,

and those who gathered little had no shortage.

This is not only a miracle.

It’s a pattern for living.

The people learned to live on what was enough

long before they entered the Promised Land.

They learned that freedom is not found in endless supply,

but in shared dependence on the God who provides.

And every time we come to the Lord’s Table,

we are invited back into that same rhythm.

The bread and cup are not luxuries;

they are necessities.

They remind us that grace, like manna, cannot be hoarded.

It must be received and shared.

It is daily bread for daily living.

When Jesus took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it,

he was not just giving a new ritual,

he was teaching a way of life:

A life of trust, gratitude, and generosity.

When he said, “Do this in remembrance of me,”

perhaps he was saying:

Remember not just the act, but the pattern.

Perhaps Jesus is inviting us to remember

what he did with what was in his hands.

Remember how he gave thanks.

Remember how he shared.

Remember that in God’s kingdom, ENOUGH multiplies in the sharing of it.

“Do this in remembrance of me”

Is not only as a sacrament to repeat,

but as a way of being in the world.

Do this:

receive what you’re given,

bless it,

break it open,

and share it.

Live as though you actually trust that there will be enough.

On this World Communion Sunday,

that remembrance widens.

We remember that God’s provision has always been global:

We remember that the same sun rises

over those who feast and those who fast,

and that the same Spirit calls us to one table

where there is no rich or poor, no guest or host,

only one body fed by one love.

This is the miracle that still changes the world:

that there is enough.

Enough mercy.

Enough bread.

Enough God.

If only we would gather what is we have been given today,

and trust that the giving God will meet us again in the morning.

The manna story ends with this quiet declaration:

“Those who gathered much had nothing left over,

and those who gathered little had no shortage.”

This is not nostalgia for a simpler time.

It is a prophetic word for our own.

This is a reminder that abundance does not come from control,

but from communion.

That faith is not hoarding manna,

but trusting mercy.

And yet, how often we forget.

How often we reach instead for what does not satisfy:

the bread of moral certainty,

the bread of control and domination,

the bread of fear disguised as faith.

We fill ourselves with what the world calls success

and wonder why our spirits still feel starved.

Whenever the church forgets the true bread,

we start eating what is easy to reach:

religion without compassion,

power without grace,

words without love.

It’s junk food for the soul:

sweet at first bite,

but it cannot sustain life.

Jesus offers something different.

His bread is not a private spiritual comfort.

It’s nourishment for a new creation.

The closer we stay to him,

the more we find ourselves drawn into God’s economy of abundance,

where there is enough for all,

where the hungry are fed,

and the world itself begins to be transformed.

This meal, this manna, this table,

they are not escapes from the world’s hunger.

They are rehearsals for its healing.

So let us gather what we have. Trusting that it will be enough.

Let us share it with open hands and hearts as we watch God’s grace grow.

For the God who rained manna in the wilderness still fills the world with wonder,

and still feeds us with bread enough for the journey.

Thanks be to God for that! Amen.