Chapter by chapter 2

 2. Complete Surrender

When Jesus looked up and saw a great crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, “Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?” He asked this only to test him, for he already had in mind what he was going to do. Philip answered him, “It would take more than half a year’s wages to buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!” Another of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, spoke up, “Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?” Jesus said, “Have the people sit down.” There was plenty of grass in that place, and they sat down (about five thousand men were there). John 6:5–10 “Get our stools, Hanan,” Emet said as he nodded toward the dough on the baker’s bench. “I’d like to rest my legs for a moment while we wait for the leaven to do its work.” Then he added, “I’ll tell you the story while we wait for that loaf in the oven to bake.” Hanan rushed over and grabbed a pair of stools, delighted he had found a way to make Grandpa take a short break. “Our family had been bakers for generations,” Emet said. Hanan mouthed the words along with his grandfather. Grandpa Emet started most of his stories with that phrase. “But you’d never seen so many people enjoying fresh, warm bread all at once!” Hanan interrupted. “Who’s telling the story, son?” “You are, Grandpa,” Hanan said as he grabbed a hunk of the previous day’s bread from the bench to occupy himself. “But, yes. You’re right. We’d never seen that much beautiful bread—and haven’t since, for that matter.” Emet playfully raised a thick, silver eyebrow as he glanced at Hanan. “But we’re not to that part of the story yet, young man.” Resting his hands on his knees, Emet began again. “Our family had been bakers for generations. Just as my father was sent out daily with a basket of fresh bread to sell to our community when he was a boy, I was sent out to sell bread in the same way.” Hanan piped up, still with a mouthful of bread. “And now that’s our job, right, Grandpa?” Hanan was referring to himself and his younger siblings. Although, since Hanan was now an older teen, he spent most of his time in the bakery learning to make bread. “That’s right, my boy. And you’re all terrific at sales—and you’re getting pretty good at baking, I might add.” Then with a wink, he said, “But don’t talk with your mouth full.” Hanan blushed as Emet continued. “One day, my father packed a small basket of bread and directed me to walk out to where a crowd had gathered outside our village.” As an aside, he added, “Of course, my mother threw in a couple dried fish to tide me over until dinner. She always thought I’d starve if I went more than hour without a snack.” A smile formed on his kind, wrinkled face as he recalled the scene. “More people than I’d ever seen had gathered to hear Jesus, the Rabbi, teach.” With a sentimental tone, he mused, “I guess my parents figured I could sell my basket of bread in record time.” “But sales weren’t that great, right?” “Correct. People were so fixed on Jesus’s words that most of them ignored me as I walked through the crowd.” Setting the basket back on the workbench, he added with a wink, “I suppose I wasn’t as handsome as you, with that thick, wavy hair of yours.” “Naturally.” Rolling his dark green eyes, Emet continued, “I wasn’t sure what to do with myself, so I went and sat down next to Uncle Andrew, a family friend.” “Andrew was one of Jesus’s disciples, right?” Hanan asked. He knew the answer, but he loved hearing Emet recall every detail. “Yep, he was one of the Twelve,” Emet replied. “I still remember how relieved Andrew looked as I approached him. When I sat down, he put his finger to his lips, pointed toward where Jesus was talking with Philip, and whispered to me, ‘I think you’re just in time, Emet.’” “Philip was a disciple too, right?” “That’s right,” Emet confirmed. “So, I looked toward Jesus and Philip. And even though I couldn’t hear what Jesus was saying, I do recall what Philip said.” Hanan quickly swallowed another bite of day-old bread and, mimicking Philip’s deep voice, said: “But Lord, it would take more than half a year’s wages to buy enough bread for each one to have a bite.” “Are you going to take all the good lines in this story, Hanan?” Emet teased. Hanan bit off another hunk of bread and pointed at his mouth as if to say, “I can’t talk—my mouth is full.” Grandpa Emet shook his head and continued. “Before I knew it, Uncle Andrew stood, lifted me to my feet, and brought me to Jesus, saying, ‘Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish.’ Then Andrew winked at me as he asked, ‘But how far will they go among so many?’” Hanan’s dark, brown eyes grew wide as he imagined the scene again. “Jesus smiled at us,” Emet continued. “I think He was proud of Andrew for catching on to the plan. Then Jesus quietly said to the Twelve, ‘Have the people sit down.’” At this, Emet got down on one knee, looked directly at Hanan, and continued the story. “As the disciples began to organize the crowd, Jesus got down on one knee in front of me—your grandpa—and said, ‘Could I have your bread, young man?’” Hanan was so caught up in his grandpa’s story that he actually offered the day-old bread he’d been snacking on to Emet. Emet chuckled as he accepted Hanan’s offering. “I don’t actually want your bread, Hanan. I was just letting you know what Jesus said to me that day.” “Oh yeah, of course,” Hanan said nonchalantly with a forced laugh. “I knew that, Grandpa.” Emet stood and tousled Hanan’s hair. “However,” Emet continued, “you just did exactly what I did all those years ago. I held out my basket of fish and loaves to Jesus. I mean, what else can you do when Jesus asks you for something?” Hanan nodded with understanding as Emet added, “As I surrendered my basket, Jesus accepted it, gave thanks, and then proceeded to give everyone as much bread as they wanted.” Hanan slowly shook his head and tried—once again—to process the miraculous story of Jesus using his own family’s bread to feed thousands. “How did He do it, Grandpa?” Without a word, Emet walked over to the brick oven in the corner of the bakery. Using a long-handled wooden bread peel, he removed the unleavened loaf, walked back over to Hanan, and asked, “How about a piece of fresh bread?” “Thanks, Grandpa.” Hanan tore off a piece of the warm flatbread—almost too hot to touch—releasing its fragrance and steam into the crisp morning air. He held it up to his nose, breathing in deeply before taking a bite. It was wonderful—slightly crisp on the outside but warm and moist on the inside. Emet sat, put his hands on his knees, and attempted to answer. “How did He do it, you ask? How did Jesus feed thousands of people with my tiny basket of bread?” He gave a deep sigh. “This is just what Jesus does, Hanan. He takes whatever we surrender to Him, makes it holy, and multiplies it.” Hanan closed his eyes as Emet spoke, imagining that the warm bread in his hands was one of the loaves that Jesus had created that day. “Was the bread warm, Grandpa?” he asked. “Warm and perfect, son,” Emet replied, closing his eyes as the aroma of the bread brought back every detail of the old memory. “You see, Hanan,” he said, looking directly at him—his eyes had a way of piercing right through a person—“Jesus has a way of transforming our meager offering into something amazing while using it to bless people around us. He did it with the bread. He did it with the disciples. And He’ll do it with your life if you let Him.” Hanan stared down at the bread as he processed his grandpa’s words. “Yet, as amazing as that bread story is,” Emet said as he tore off a piece of the fresh bread for himself, “—and believe me, I could probably talk about it all day—it’s actually not my favorite bread story.” Emet paused, closed his eyes, and slowly savored the piece of bread. Hanan’s eyes flashed up at his grandad in surprise. “It’s not?” he asked, moving to the edge of his seat in suspense. “Not even close,” Emet said. Motioning with his head toward the workbench, he continued, “But, before I tell you that story, you need to tend to that dough; it looks like the Yeast has just about finished its work.” With an exasperated, “Okay,” Hanan reluctantly stood and returned to his work at the bench, feeling more eager than ever to hear another bread story—his grandpa’s favorite.