In the First Reading, the Israelites, who are marching through the desert, are hungry and they are angry. God should have killed us in Egypt, they say; then at least we would have died with food in our bellies.
In response, God feeds them with bread from heaven. Manna falls from the sky during the night, and in the morning they can pick the manna up off the ground. It seems to have been a specially wonderful analogue to bread. Scripture says that it was small, and white and mildly sweet, like honey with coriander (Ex 16:31); and it was greatly sustaining too. Tolkien’s Elven bread lembas, so prized for its taste and nourishment, must have been modeled on manna.
Why are these Israelites so lucky? Why doesn’t God make bread fall from heaven for us too?
Here, by way of answer, is what the story makes clear. God is a God of history. He intervenes in human affairs in particular ways at particular times to provide for his people what will do them good at that time. The only ones who got to eat manna were those grumbling Israelites. And even they got to eat it only for a while. When they crossed the Jordan River, the manna stopped. All they got then was the parched corn from the previous harvest.
These thoughts can prompt a painful yearning. Who would not want to be among those who got to taste that honey-sweet manna? Who would not want to have been one of the people hand-fed by the Lord?
And, yet in God’s love, every yearning has its fulfillment. We too are fed with the bread from heaven; and, in the Eucharist, we taste the goodness of the Lord, which is sweeter than wine or honey (Ps 19:10, Ex 16:31). We too are hand-fed by the Lord.
Although God is a God of history, for each one of us it is true that we will want for nothing.