Last night for the first time since my spouse passed, I found myself pacing the house, my heart heavy with a prayer I had uttered countless times before: “Reduce me, oh, God. Break me.” It was a plea echoing the words of St. Ignatius of Antioch, who, facing martyrdom, surrendered to the divine will, understanding that the wheat must be broken to yield the life-giving bread. I’m not any good with an intact ego, full of entitlement and personal demands upon God and everyone else around me. As I wrestled with my inner turmoil, a profound realization struck me. The breaking, the crushing, was not a punishment but an act of love, a necessary step in God’s transformative process. Just as the wheat grains are crushed to release their essence, so too must our hardened hearts be softened, our resistance shattered, to make way for the divine infusion.
In the depths of my vulnerability, I heard a whisper, a gentle yet firm voice from the Father:
“It doesn’t matter how the breaking comes, just so that it comes. Either by the fire or in the fire, by any instrumentation necessary to get the job done!”
These words pierced through my anguish, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. The breaking, I understood, was not about inflicting pain but about shaping, molding, and refining me into the vessel He intended me to be.
Isaiah 57:7 unveiled a new perspective on fasting, revealing it not as mere abstinence from food but as a call to share “your bread” with the hungry. This bread, I realized, was not the physical sustenance but the essence of Christ within us, the divine nourishment that sustains and empowers.
Second Thessalonians 3:12 reinforced this revelation, urging us to work in quietness, to consume the bread of our own labor, the bread of our own spiritual cultivation. It was a stark reminder that true work, the work that bears fruit, is rooted in stillness, in a deep connection with the divine within.
The path of obedience, as Proverbs 13:15 warns, is not an easy one. It is a journey filled with challenges, sacrifices, and moments of intense self-examination. Yet, it is through this very process, through the crucible of obedience, that we are transformed, shaped into the image of Christ.
To navigate this path, I embarked on a journey of self-reflection, seeking guidance from the Word of God. I discovered that true surrender to God’s will begins with getting:
Quiet:
Silencing the cacophony of thoughts, accusations, and complaints, creating space for the still, small voice of God to be heard.
Work:
Embracing the relentless pursuit of God’s purpose, working not for personal gain but for the advancement of His kingdom.
Eat Your Own Bread:
Resisting the temptation to imitate others’ spiritual journeys and embracing the unique path God has ordained for each of us.
In the crushing, I found solace in the words of Prophet Russ: “The wheat has to be broken, and the grains crushed to be made into the bread.” Just as Ignatius accepted martyrdom, embracing the breaking as a means to fully embody Christ, so too must we surrender to the divine process, allowing God to crush our resistance and shape us into His vessels of grace.
The breaking, though painful, is not a destructive force but a transformative one. It is through the crushing that we are humbled, refined, and molded into the image of Christ. Embrace the breaking, for it is in the ashes of our surrendered will that the true beauty of God’s love emerges.
Michele Lowden says:
I’ve also noticed that in sacrificial obedience, that he is not concerned about the outcome as much as he is about our obedience when he speaks. Just as his body was broken to make himself a living sacrifice for our sins, and therefore create an intimate relationship, the same goes for our obedience, sacrificing the brokenness of our humility. Our pride and our preconceptions paves the pathway for an intimate relationship with him that reveals to others how much he incredibly loves us to his faithfulness to us, in every situation that we face.