Broken and Poured

By Andrea Lingle

As the woman approached the next group, she saw that they were less lovely. Missing were the congenial collection of ground coverings and open smiles. They stank of sheep, sweat, and manipulation. Their belongings were trussed up with broken rope and stolen fishing nets. These were the refuse of society. Broken off by misfortune, mistrust, and misconduct. She was tempted to steer her basket toward people she thought might have been listening to the rabbi teach, but she had been listening.

When she bent to place her basket on the ground outside the circle of leathery faces, she caught her breath. The smell made her eyes water. Sour wine and urine and rot hit her like stones. Her scalp began to itch as she thought about the infestations that were undoubtedly hiding in the matted hair and beards looking up at her.

For the second time her face reddened as she reached into her basket, but this time she wasn’t worried about what was in the basket. How could she offer these men bread when what they needed was hope? How could she ask them to share when their jutting knees and wasted muscles showed how very long it had been since they had had anything to share? 

Be sure to break the bread.

Hadn’t life already broken everything about these men? One man had a scar that slashed through his eyebrow, cheek, and lip. His eye-socket was crusted and black, the eye either missing or uselessly mangled. The ragged cut had, apparently, taken so long to heal that half of his face was wrenched into a permanent grin—the corner of his mouth twisted painfully toward his empty eye.

Without a word or a gesture, the woman left her basket of broken bread. Her steps refused to be restrained to walking. She trotted back to the group she had just fed, bent to the pair of women with the water jars, and spoke in a low voice. As if they had known it was coming, they both lifted their water jars, gathered a couple of the floor cloths they had used for their picnic, and followed. 

It turns out, if you pour out a jar a water over a man’s hands, he will lift those hands to his head. Soon the stream of water will be sufficient to create a wake of radiant hands and faces. Ragged tunics can be carefully washed and hung over branches to dry. Bundles of hyssop can be found to scrub callused feet and oil is just abundant enough to be rubbed generously over cracked lips.

Strong arms and scarred faces. Broken bread and poured out water. These are miraculous. These are abundance.