Several years ago now, Psychology Today published a
piece titled “5 Reasons Why Receiving is Harder Than
Giving.”1
The author begins by noting that most of us
were taught that it is more noble (or in the language
of scripture, more blessed) to give than it is to receive.
Of course, this proverb is necessary, a warning
against selfishness and greed. But the essay suggests
that receiving is more difficult for many of us because
it involves releasing control. In receiving, we open
ourselves to the risk that comes with vulnerability. We
acknowledge that we cannot manage all by ourselves,
that we rely on the generosity of others. We receive.
It’s an ancient story God’s people have never
forgotten, told from one generation to the next: how
by divine providence, the Israelites are liberated
from captivity in Egypt and make their way into the
wilderness, guided every step by the Spirit of God in
the form of fire and cloudy pillar.
They are on their way to the Promised Land. They
are free at last from the tyranny of Pharaoh. They
have experienced firsthand the awesome power of
the only God. But that was then. God’s people have
grown weary.
They are hungry. Or as we say in our home, they are
hangry—that difficult combination of hunger and
anger. They begin to complain (the word appears
seven times in the chapter). They complain against
God and God’s appointed leadership. They are
angry. They are exhausted. And they are afraid. And
so, forgetting the One whose grace has brought
them this far, they grumble against God. They
suggest that they have been led into the wilderness
only to die of hunger.
We know this story because it is our story. How
swiftly awe and wonder are supplanted by anxiety
and self-concern. The unending onslaught of daily
stress strains the faith we have. We forget the road
we’ve traveled. Did we really cross the parted waters
of the Red Sea without getting our feet wet? Or was it
all an illusion? Where is God now? I can relate to the
difficulty our ancestors had trusting even with all they
have seen and known.
You heard the rest of the story, how early one morning
the Israelites stumble out of their tents to discover this
flaky substance that covers the ground like frost. And
they ask, “What is it?” In Hebrew, the question sounds
like this: man hu. And manna becomes its name. What
is it? It is enough for today. What is it? It is a symbol of
this truth: God will provide.
When we face anxiety over what will be or a longing
for what once was, we can remember this story.
When we are obsessed with instant gratification or
incessant acquisition, we would do well to remember
this story, the grace of God’s provision preserved in
stories like this one and in our own lives as well.
There is no doubt that Jesus had this story in mind
when he taught his disciples to pray, “Give us this
day our daily bread.” Give us, O God, what we need
for today. Yes, tomorrow will bring new fears and
anxieties, new possibilities and opportunities. But
God, help us focus on this day, this moment, this
ordinary meal. Help us to see it, to notice it, to pause
long enough to receive it with heartfelt gratitude.
Open our eyes so that we do not take this day—or the
grace that brought us here—for granted.
In just a moment you will be invited to God’s table of
abundant grace. You will hear again that only Jesus
is the host of this table, that we are guests. That
we are receivers, not givers. I had a vivid reminder
of that truth three years ago when we celebrated
our first “virtual” communion in the early pandemic
days. We had planned to celebrate the sacrament
by livestream video, and I was to do it in my home.
But it was a gorgeous evening, and I simply had to
be outside. And so, I chose a spot in the yard where
the Wi-Fi was strongest. I brought my laptop and a
table out so that the livestream could be played from
my laptop. I prepared the elements. Communion was
to commence at 7:30 PM. At 7:27 PM, our wonderful
neighbor opened his garage door and pushed the
lawnmower out. Sara swiftly and graciously ran over
and asked if he could wait about fifteen minutes. So,
Doug and his twin sons, who were seniors in high
school, stood at the edge of the yard, watching. At
7:29 PM, our equally wonderful neighbor on the other
side of the house let the dog out to play. The dog
stood at the fence staring at us. I proceeded, flanked
now by friends and neighbors, a panting dog, and the
beauty of creation.
The livestream went off without a hitch. And finally, as
I began to break the bread to share it, our son Ben—
three years old at the time—began to creep across
the yard. He came dangerously close to that table,
and he smiled at me. I raised my eyebrows in hopes of
scaring him back into the house where he belonged.
But he came around the table, and I began to shake
my head “no” even as I was offering an invitation to
the table. I thought he had relented when, from under
the table, I saw a hand reaching for the bread. It was,
to say the least, unexpected. It was, to say the most,
holy. Daily bread. In fact, later when I asked why he
reached for the bread, Ben said (and I’m not making
this up), “Because there was enough for me.”
The truth of manna in the wilderness and the grace
of God is the same. There is enough for all of us to
receive it.
That is not the only message in this ancient story.
It may be more difficult to receive, but giving is not
without its challenge as well. The Israelites, who have
lived for far too long under the oppressive regime of
Pharaoh, simply cannot trust God’s abundance. And
so, some of them greedily gather more manna than
they need. But when they measure it, the writer of
Exodus records a miracle. “Those who gathered too
much had nothing left over, and those who did not
gather enough had no shortage.”
When they try to stockpile the gift of God, it turns
sour, and it rots. The message is clear in a time
of growing distance between the astonishingly
prosperous and the desperately destitute. The
abundance that God provides us can only be enjoyed
if it is shared. Listen. When we hoard God’s grace and
all God’s other gifts, when we keep them to ourselves,
they cease to be good.
Man hu. What is it? It is abundance. What do we do
with it? We receive it with gratitude. We share it with
generous hearts. This day, with Christians all around
the world, you are invited to the table Jesus sets.
There is enough for you here.
So, receive what you need.
And take some to share. Amen.