“It is our desire, after all, that makes us most like God.”

(Fred Bahnson, Soil and Sacrament)

 

We are, all of us, so hungry.

 

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My children dream of sugar, and I crave hot, buttery toast. I spied the first white flowers in the strawberry bed, and now all I can think about is warm, rich red.

We hunger for food and drink. Not once or twice but every day with regularity, like well-loved timepieces. Our hunger is new every morning.

We hunger for touch and for love and for happiness. We hunger for purpose and meaning and beauty.

But we are so terrified of our appetites. So afraid of our hunger. Desire is a dirty word.

Maybe we are terrified by thoughts of sin and shame and selfishness. Maybe we are haunted by a fear of scarcity. My hunger is too big. There can never be enough.

But the Bread of Life has appeared to us, and he has told us: Do not be afraid.

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“This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes!” (Psalm 118:23)

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Our constant hunger bears the image of an even greater hunger. A beautiful, generative, truly terrifying hunger. This is the hunger that gave birth to spring. To stars. To nations.

Within the small boundaries of my own backyard fence, this hunger birthed wild, waving forsythia and two spinning daughters. Unleashed, this hunger envisioned nodding daffodils and wild violets that pour themselves out like a river.

This hunger spoke a tree so shocking, so pink, it burns my eyes like a sun.

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“This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes!” (Psalm 118:23)

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The sour cherry tree beyond my kitchen window is in bloom. The flowers are dainty. They are white ghosted with silvery green.

But the smell … it is nectar and roses and honey on the wind.

The air, like the breath of God himself, teases us. Tempts us. This is purposeful scent. This is devious scent. We can close our eyes and stop up our ears. We can harden our hearts with walls of fear, but the breeze slides past all of it.

And nectar and roses and honey say what are you hungry for?

What is your heart’s desire?

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Maplehurst

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