That's what I made this morning: ordinary, plain white bread. Nothing fancy in the recipe, unless you count the Saint Bede honey I used for a little sweetening. Otherwise, it was just water, yeast, flour, salt and canola oil. I didn't even use bread flour or add gluten powder, just pulled out the bin of all-purpose flour and mixed up six loaves worth before morning prayer. The dough was marvelously smooth and easy to shape, and crusts turned evenly browned, no small trick in our mid-20th century vintage ovens. But they're not head-turningly gorgeous--a photo would not even be blog worthy.
And that's a good thing, I think---appropriately Lenten in their simplicity, ordinary enough not to call attention to themselves, nor to me. Monastic loaves, you might call them, which implies that their simplicity conceals a deeper meaning. The Benedictine way is a domestic spirituality, in which the ordinary things of life are meant to be charged with meaning. So ordinary plain white bread is also a symbol of my love for the community, a reminder of the multiplication of the loaves and the manna in the wilderness, a preparation for the Eucharist we will celebrate this afternoon, and an anticipation of the eternal Supper of the Lamb that awaits us.
And that's a good thing, I think---appropriately Lenten in their simplicity, ordinary enough not to call attention to themselves, nor to me. Monastic loaves, you might call them, which implies that their simplicity conceals a deeper meaning. The Benedictine way is a domestic spirituality, in which the ordinary things of life are meant to be charged with meaning. So ordinary plain white bread is also a symbol of my love for the community, a reminder of the multiplication of the loaves and the manna in the wilderness, a preparation for the Eucharist we will celebrate this afternoon, and an anticipation of the eternal Supper of the Lamb that awaits us.
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