Devotion Pyes in Longing

I would drink love constantly if I could, that and truth. There is much of it at Wisdom’s table– as much and more than I could ever drink. But it is very hard to take in. 

Mercy comes easily though in huge, beautifully ornamented metal goblets.  It is something like water, although much more pure.  It’s clear and always fresh; goblet after goblet of it can be had without end.  Righteousness is also like this but more like wine.  It comes in huge clear chalices, sweet and fulfilling. I can drink a whole one and most of another–although everyday my capacity for it grows; and the Lord always offers more. 

Faith is the most unclear. It comes in containers which look something like sewn leather pouches. A strap hangs across the outside, and on one end is a small metal tip and cap. Usually, I take a sip and discover there is more. There is something like a vapor inside. When it condenses it flows like a pure liquid. After drinking some and tilting the pouch back, or giving it a shake, more liquid forms and can be drank.

Truth and Love are the most amazing, though. Truth is like an apple of which I can only take a bite. I cannot accept much Truth at a time!  Sometimes I can only barely scratch the surface and taste the juice, and sometimes I can drink it only mixed with large amounts of mercy. Love comes in glasses like wine.  At first, I could only take a few sips, but now I can drink over a glass! It is this which I seek to drink most, because in being able to accept love, in accepting self love which the Lord gives, one can pour out love to others.  Through this we show obedience to God, and through obedience we are able to hear God.

This morning, in prayer, the Lord and I broke down a door that led into a small chamber.  We didn’t have a key to it, but the door broke down easily.  A furnace was standing in front of us and around it wound an iron staircase leading up.  I examined the furnace and lit it.  It was working well, so the Lord took me up the winding stairs to where they ended. On top was something like an oven.  The Lord opened it and, one after another, pulled out three loaves of bread. He set them close to the furnace, and sliced them into pieces, offering me a taste of each.  I was eager try them as the things the Lord had given me before were very good. The first bite, however, tasted bitter, very sour. The second loaf was equally displeasing, heavy and a very soggy.  The third was hard, difficult to break or chew, and very unsatisfying.
The Lord showed me that these are the breads of this world.  They are the breads that I make myself, what I eat by my own effort.
The hardness is my toil, the work I do in my own understanding.  The result is hard, unsatisfying, and difficult to eat.  The soggy bread is my sorrow, the thoughts that I accept which distress me–the sadness of my own perceptions.  The bread of bitterness is my anguish, my inability to satisfy my own desires–the insatiability I attribute to my own lacking, that which I often feel.
These are the three breads of this world, and the world has only these three types of bread.  They are the breads we eat in our spirit, by our own thoughts and efforts.  The spirit must eat.  Unlike the body,  it does not fast and feeds constantly (surprisingly, the spirit eats even more when the body is fasting)  There are other breads for our spirit to eat, however!  The different kinds are seemingly without number, each distinct and very satisfying! They are the good breads that the Lord gives us.
I was taken to a table full of them, and I tasted a few:  There was the bread of His pleasure which was soft and sweet.  It was easy to eat and consistent throughout, perfectly round with a sweet covering.  There was contentment, a small loaf with a fruit filling, almost like a pastry with a very good taste.  And there are many other breads.

Ignatius R.