I stood there on the cool Saturday morning,

Exhausted, lonely, wondering, worn.

Week after week I carried out holy rituals,

Woven hallah bread on the alter,

12 loaves, one for each tribe,

A reminder of deliverance and provision.

A reminder to rest and trust.

But such rest eludes me.
Where can it be?

In the distance I saw them.

Strolling through the grain field,

Picking, Plucking,

Nibbling on grains of wheat.

Working on the Sabbath.

Jesus and his disciples, Lawbreakers.

I ask, “Why are you doing what is unlawful on the Sabbath?”

He answers my question with a question.

Of course I know about the time when the high priest fed David and his men consecrated hallah bread as they fled the murderous rage of Saul.

Of course I know.
Of course I know.

But then he followed with,
“The Sabbath was made for people, not people for the Sabbath. So the Son of Man is Lord even of the Sabbath.”

Stunned. I stood and thought,

“Forgive him Lord, he knows not what he is doing.”

A stumbling block.