What is it?
The Manna and the True Bread from Heaven
A Note to our Faithful Subscriber Community
My Beloved in Christ Jesus,
Grace, mercy, and peace be yours through Jesus Christ our Lord.
I wanted to finish a small project I thought might help you. It now takes me a considerable amount of time to complete a ministry project. I am learning that I can’t do today what I could do just a few yesterdays ago. A recent fall took something out of me. But the Lord is a lovely Savior who comes to us in our need, and His presence is so real that we are sure to fall on our faces before Him.
So, this is a simple page, but maybe that will give more time to listen or read. For the Lord Jesus often comes to us in such windswept places of our lives.
Look out to the sea by faith and receive the gift of God in the spray of the waters, as the seagulls squawk. Consider the study from Exodus 16 and John 6:32-37. How does manna from Heaven still affect us today?
The Bible Message
For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39:).
Music for Reflection: “Chapel on the Prairie”
“Chapel on the Prairie, ” Words and Music, © 2025 by Michael Anthony Milton (Bethesda Music Group, BMI).
Summary:
Some Sundays come quietly—without choirs, without pulpits, without anyone watching but the Lord. Your Sunday Chapel is for those moments. It is a liturgy for the scattered saints: for those at home in a chair by the window, for those recovering in a hospital room, or for those walking through their own wilderness.
This week, we gather not in a building, but in the shelter of God’s Word. We hear again the old question—“What is it?”—as manna falls in mystery, miracle, and memory. And we look to the true Bread from Heaven, Jesus Christ, who comes to feed us still.
A prayer. A hymn. A Scripture. A sermon. A bit of music to carry the silence. All prepared for you to enter the Sabbath rest, wherever you are.
Introduction: What Is It?
“It’s not logical,” someone may say. “A man lives like a filthy sinner all his life and suddenly he’s converted—because he went to a meeting, heard a preacher, or read a Scripture from 1,500 years ago?”
No, it’s not logical. But when we speak of God, we’re not speaking of the logic of man. We’re repeating the mysterious and glorious logic of God unveiled in Jesus Christ.
Manna from Heaven: A Reflection on God’s Faithful Provision
Preached initially as “What is it?” Manna and the Christian Life
By Dr. Michael A. Milton
Scripture:
Exodus 16; John 6:32–37
In the days of Moses, the Israelites faced death in the desert’s barren embrace, their bodies and spirits parched under the weight of their wandering. Yet God, in His tender mercy, sent manna from heaven to sustain them. So too, today, every soul would perish under the shadow of sin’s condemnation if not for the true Bread from Heaven, our Lord Jesus Christ. Our meditation today draws from the sacred springs of Exodus 16 and John 6:32–37, where the mystery of divine provision unfolds.
There are moments in our pilgrimage when the heart cries out, “I can’t go on another day.” Perhaps you’ve whispered it under the strain of a relentless boss, the demands of unreasonable customers, or the ache of persistent pain. As we reflected last week on the murmuring of Israel, we saw how such cries, if left unchecked, can fester into a malaise of the soul—a shadow that spreads, dimming our trust in God’s goodness. I recall my grandmother, a woman of earthy wisdom, chasing a wayward calf on a Sunday morning, her apron flapping as she called me to help. When the task was done, she’d sigh, “Oh my, that’s enough to make a preacher cuss!” I haven’t cursed in years, but her words echo when I face my own trials and murmur, “Lord, can I go on another day?” That disgruntled spirit can settle in, souring even the air around us, until even the dog tiptoes away.
What is God’s response to our grumbling? Not judgment, but an invitation—a call to draw near and see His faithful provision, even when our faith falters. In Exodus 16, He sends quail by evening and manna by morning, a delicate, frost-like gift that the Israelites, in their bewilderment, called “What is it?”—manna, the very name a question. It’s as if they stumbled into an Abbott and Costello routine: “What is it?” “Manna.” “What?” “Exactly.” This bread from heaven, mysterious and unexplainable, is picked up by Jesus in John 6, where He declares, “I am the Bread of Life.” Not Moses, but God Himself provides, offering His Son to a people still tangled in sin. Here we glimpse the heart of God: faithful when we are faithless, generous in our want.
Let us consider three features of this manna, each a facet of God’s grace for our journey. First, manna is mysterious. Its origins are veiled—simply “from heaven,” appearing like frost on the desert floor. The Israelites, despite God’s proven love, questioned it: “What is it?” Scholars have puzzled over its nature, poring over journals from the 19th century to the present, proposing theories about natural substances in the wilderness. Yet none fully account for manna’s qualities: sweet to eat, versatile for baking, yet spoiling overnight if hoarded. It defies explanation, much like the questions we carry in our own lives. I think of my Aunt Eva, who raised me; her lap was my first sanctuary where I heard the heartbeat of Scripture. Near the end of her life, she confided, voice soft, that there were passages she still didn’t understand. “Aunt Eva,” I said, “you’re about to know perfectly.” To live in the tension of mystery is faith—to receive God’s promises despite the world’s taunts. Manna is mystery, and in its question lies our trust.
Second, manna is miraculous. It falls from heaven, sustains for a day, then vanishes, defying the logic of nature. Some dismiss Jesus as merely a teacher or rabbi, but His resurrection—witnessed by over 500, as Paul attests—proclaims Him the Bread from Heaven. To the logical mind, this is folly: an almighty God raining down frost-like flakes, or taking flesh to die for His creation? It’s not logical—it’s miraculous. I stand here, a prodigal saved by grace, once a blasphemer of the Gospel I now preach. That’s not logical either, but it’s the miracle of God’s love. Perhaps you know a prodigal, or a young heart wrestling with faith. Tell them: the Bread of Heaven is miraculous, breaking through the ordinary to meet us in our need.
Finally, manna is a memorial. In Exodus 16:33, Moses instructs Aaron to place an omer of manna in a jar before the Lord, a testimony for generations. Like the rainbow in Genesis 9 or the Passover, it recalibrates us to God’s promises. When I graduated from the University of Wales, we marched through the ancient sheep market town of Lampeter, singing, “Guide me, O thou great Jehovah… Bread of Heaven, feed me till I want no more.” That hymn, woven through Wales’ revivals, stirred my soul years later during a dark night of illness, when I wondered if I’d ever minister again. God met me there, through His Word and His servants, with manna I’ll never forget. The Bread of Life, Jesus Himself, walks among us, sustaining us daily, calling us to consume Him and be healed.
Conclusion: The Bread Still Falls
What is it, this manna, this whispered gift that dusts the desert of our days? It is Christ, the Bread of Heaven, stooping low to meet us in our hunger. Mysterious, yes—veiled in the enigma of a God who hides in flesh, in frost, in the quiet of a heart turned toward Him. Miraculous, too, for what is the Resurrection but the shattering of death’s logic, the prodigal’s return written in scars? And a memorial, ever a signpost, like a jar of manna or a hymn sung in a Welsh twilight, calling us back to the God who never forgets us.
Today, He treads softly among us, this Bread of Life, His presence a mystery we cannot unravel, a miracle we cannot earn, a memory we cannot lose. Will you take Him, even now, in the ordinary ache of your hours? Will you let Him feed you, not with answers, but with Himself? For the Bread still falls, and in its falling, we are found.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Welcome to a Bible teaching on the supernatural intervention from a God whose grace comes down like Manna, a response to our sins that is not of this world.