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.