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WORDS

The Israelites in thirsty lands, trod burning sands with desperate craving,
no longer slaving for Egyptian masters, now by grace they’re free to face
this fresh disaster – starving in a barren place.

Until the Bread of Heaven fell like morning dew each day anew,
and to these folks complaining, every day the Bread sustaining,
to lead them all their journey through.

Fast forward 1500 years: a Man appears, stands tall among His peers,
And feeds the desert crowds without ado,
A supernatural déjà vu.

And having won the mob's attention then He makes His bold contention:
He IS the Bread of old, the One foretold to feed us and through our wilderness to lead us.
Could His claim be true?

It's Thursday Night, an upper room, a supper strewn with broken bread,
Then Jesus stands, a loaf in hand and says:
THIS IS MY BODY - and tears it like a lion tearing prey,
a raw dissection on display.
In pieces rent and ragged, edges jagged, now laid bare in disarray.
(You see) He'll feed His people in THIS way.

He the LORD for we the least, Him devoured so we can feast.

And so to Friday - by a highway
Rivals gloating, Soldiers joking, mobs provoking, Jesus choking,
torment spoken, HERE the Bread of Heaven BROKEN.

He the LORD for we the least, Him devoured so we can feast.

THEN... Come Sunday and, like Bread, He rises,
surprises all His friends, extends the dinner invitation:
"COME ALL FROM EVERY NATION: This is the meaning of salvation:

He the LORD for we the least, Him devoured so we can feast."

This God served up upon the cross,
His posture still arms-open willing ALL to come and eat
This Bread is sweet and free - served up anew.
Available like morning dew,
To lead you all your journey through,
My friend, this broken Bread’s for YOU.