From Crust To Crumb
a devotional for Lammas
the oven, an altar to the goodness of wheat and the strength of yeast and the savor of salt; the oven, a crucible where patience is refined into food and lifted to heaven an aroma, unmatched. this oven, this altar, this crucible, is the heart where God kneels and reveals the crust and crumb of His Spirit Self and Son.
We have arrived at a truly remarkable season in the growing year: the season of loaves, harvest, fruit, and providence.
In other words: this week, we celebrate the holiness of bread (can I get an amen!?).
As far as I know, to the ancient Celts, the harvest festival around the first of August was known as Lughnasadh, often Anglicized to Lúnasa. At this time, the farmers would offer the “first fruits” of their harvest to the Celtic sun-god, Lugh, out of gratitude for his shining aid throughout the agricultural year, and to appeal to him for provision through the winter.
When Christianity arrived in Ireland, the Celts adapted the “first fruits” idea but simply changed the recipient. Instead, they brought loaves made with the first of the year’s grain to the church to be blessed by the newly-adopted Christian God. This day came to be known as Lammas, or “Loaf Mass”.
Today, the first of August is still a date observed by many as a time to feast, play games, and celebrate the fruit of summer as we turn the inevitable corner into eventual autumn.
Despite living in a more rural area myself—though quickly falling prey to increasing real estate development—I find that I can feel pretty removed from the ancient agricultural festivals. After all, I don’t live my life solely at the mercy of the seasons. I have electric light, some artificial climate control, a fridge and a cupboard full of food that doesn’t spoil easily, and daily work that usually doesn’t involve soil and weather. Gardening, preserving, and working the land are for me—and I would venture for most of us—just hobbies, not a matter of survival.
But no matter how separated our day-to-day can feel from the world our ancestors knew, I do believe that these ritual days can be welcome signposts in the year. Visceral reminders of providence, the truth that every harvest comes from the hand of God.
The word “provide” comes from root words that mean “to see ahead”. And since God is the only one who can truly see our days, providence has always meant sufficient sustenance for today as well as an unknown future. Hope for the long winter that will eventually lead to a flourishing spring.
But divine providence is not only found in the green grace of growing things. It’s also hidden in the modern marvels of our mundane lives. We don’t just harvest crops, but also time. Resources. Attention. Health. Relationships. These things must be carefully cultivated in order to be gathered in. We pour out, we have patience, we set aside instant gratification for the hope of what’s to come.
On some instinctual level, even when our minds forget, our souls know that even the dullest day is fragrant with new mercy, fresh-baked every morning.
Our lives are a miracle, from crust to crumb. And this week, I pray we all eat hearty from the table set before us.
No matter what we have, no matter what we long for, we are richly blessed and sustained by the shining face of the God Who Grows to Harvest.
Blessed Lammas and merry Lúnasa to all!
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Sally thank you for this introduction to Lammas--I had no idea! And your reflections resonate deeply, particularly about the words 'provide' and 'providence.' So rich.
S.E., delicious food for thought, particularly in hope that a blessed bountiful harvest will spill over to those who are not so privileged...