Muscat Court

The beginning of my children's lives and the first formation of our family occurred on Muscat Court.  On this small court in a neighborhood on the outskirts of Athens sat four houses, make that homes.  Inside the walls of these homes lived 9 children all within a four year spread.  On this court these children learned to ride their bikes, learned to climb trees, learned to get along, and learned conflict resolution.  On this court these children learned what it meant to share--juice boxes for everyone from anyone's home.  On this court these children learned that to be a neighbor means answering the phone and picking up someone else's child because a parent is tied up at another child's doctor appointment.  On this court these children learned that to have a friend you have to be a friend.  On this court these children learned that sometimes you had to have the hard conversations, but they were done with love and respect, and the friendships continue.  On this court these children learned that the best dinners were those that included everyone contributing and grills in the center of the court.  On this court these children learned that Mommys shared their days and their dreams, reminded each other who they were before and encouraged each other to continue to grow.  On this court these children learned that Mommys and Daddys have good days and bad days but that they continue to live and laugh and love. On this court these children learned to celebrate each others successes and to be a shoulder and a friend for the disappointments that come to us all.  On this court these children learned that you have to be accountable not only to your own family but to those around you, and on this court these children learned that there are many people who will love you AND hold you accountable.  On this court these children learned that one more hour of being together outside was worth the late night bath or even going to bed dirty because you can't recapture this day or these times.  On this court these children learned what it means to respect themselves and others.  On this court these children learned that faith matters and that living your faith matters even more.  This court was empty on Sunday mornings as all four households left to attend four different churches but worshiping one God.  On this court these children learned that not everyone is blessed with the neighbors that become life long friends, and so they opened their hearts and doors to numerous other children who drove to become part of the Muscat Court gang.

From this court I have learned that foundations of faith and family and friendships matter and that even after being gone for 10 years, the lessons I learned on this court continue to resonate.  From this court I have learned that those early foundations of faith and family and friends never leave you; I have learned that these foundations are deep and lasting and that every person who lived and loved and laughed on this court helped to shape who I am and who my children are today.  Foundations matter, friendships matter, family matters, faith matters, and all this I learned from this court.

A Lesson in Living Your Faith

Caroline started a new school this year.  Because of our numerous moves as well as moving schools within Louisville, my children have been the "new kid" 12 times.  They are pretty savvy on how it plays out--in their words, "you're interesting for the first few weeks, and then people either decide they don't like you, they forget you're there and settle into the old and familiar, or they identify you with one group.  Basically it stinks."  So after 12 times, I have also become fairly adept at countering problems.  We host a lot of large get togethers--we've learned if you want to be included you have to stick your neck out there.  It's not easy. We have also tried to instill in our children that you don't exclude anyone; we'd rather have extra people than feelings hurt.  We've tried to instill it in our children, and we even try to live it; we definitely do believe it.  Sometimes I worry because it leaves them feeling confused when others don't respond in the same way.  They don't always understand what I term "playground politics" and I wonder if it leaves them vulnerable.  But we've made a choice, for better or worse.

Thursday Caroline came home from school and told me there were two parties this weekend and she hadn't been invited to either.  In a very matter-of-fact way she said she just didn't understand.  Her understanding (and I do realize she's 12) is that one of the parties included "everyone at the lunch table except her."  I first tried the, "maybe her parents put a limit on the number" angle.  (And of course this could be completely accurate.)  Caroline, "Why would you do that?  You always say if it's going to hurt someone's feelings, what's one more.  Remember when you added 3 people to Christopher's party because they found out? It's just not nice."  How do you explain to a 12 year old that not everyone operates the same way?  Not everyone believes the same thing, and quite possibly they just didn't think about it.  So instead, I sprang into fix it mode and told her to invite people over here.  Stick your neck out there; don't wallow--that's our motive.  Think about who you'd like to be friends with and invite them over; some friendships will stick and some won't, but at least you tried.

So Caroline made a list of girls to invite over, go to the mall and spend the night. Nine seventh grade girls.  I must say as the parent I held my breath as texts were sent out.  What if  no one will come?  What if no one responds?  But they did, and only one couldn't come because she was sick.  When we looked down the list I saw the name of the girl having a party (today actually).  I must have had a look on my face because Caroline said, "I like her even if she doesn't like me, and I don't want her to feel like I do about her party.  It'll be fine Mama."

And that's how I was reminded that living what you believe, living your faith, means doing it it even when it's counter-cultural; even when it means putting your hurt and pain aside to love and accept the other.  Thank you Caroline--

Knowing versus Experiencing

            Two years ago my eldest daughter started a new school—a very large school.  Throughout the year she talked about various people, and as a mother who was trying to be invested, I tried to keep everything straight.  One of these friends of SK’s was a young lady named Lauren.  Whenever SK would mention her I would go through the litany of who she was, the blonde soccer player who lives in Anchorage, parents are engineers, has an older brother—you get the drill, I was trying to place Lauren, but I didn’t really know Lauren.  And you can imagine that when I got something slightly wrong, I got the eye roll, but I kept trying.  Early  last year that Lauren began to spend more and more time at our house, and now I not only know all these things about Lauren, (and have corrected some of my mistaken identity terms) but I also know Lauren—I know what she sounds like when she laughs; I know what things make her sad; I know what things make her happy.   I know her; I love her, and now I claim her as half of my own.

            Nathaniel in today’s Gospel knew a lot of things about who the Messiah was supposed to be.  He uses multiple titles—Rabbi, Son of God, King of Israel, Son of Man.  You should know that just prior to today’s verses Nathaniel has scoffed at the idea that Jesus is the Messiah—he said, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”  Nathaniel had a preconceived idea of who the Messiah would be; he had a litany of descriptors—he had a head knowledge.  Nathaniel was probably a very good Jew; he knew what the Scriptures said about the coming Messiah.  He knew what the Jewish people were expecting and because of what he knew, or thought he knew—because of his preconceived ideas--he could not see the divine in front of him.  He could not see, that is, until he had an experience.  Nathaniel’s initiation—his first experience with Jesus was Jesus recognizing him—and Jesus tells Nathaniel there’s so much more.  And so Nathaniel joins in the following of Jesus.

            What we as the readers of the Gospel of John, of all the Gospels, know is that although these disciples follow Jesus, know that they experience the Divine, they still don’t always get it. (Bless their hearts) Throughout their time with Jesus, they are still learning, still experiencing.  They are front row observers; they learn; they experience who Jesus is over and over, and they build a relationship with him; they build  relationships with Jesus the man, the ordinary man; the son of Joseph and Mary who comes from Nazareth, and they build a relationship--they experience Jesus the Incarnate God.  They build a relationship with a Jesus who is not only the messenger of God, but is God.  It is through the relationship with  Jesus that there is a means by which disciples then and now can have a divine encounter.  Jesus is the means, the way.  As we deliberately and intentionally become disciples, we too can move into a relationship that begins to understand the titles, but that also moves beyond the titles into experience.  We don’t always get it, (really, how can we?  God is too big for any box we try to put Him in) but as we continue through life desiring to love and serve God, taking the time to study and worship and pray, more and more is unfolded.  As we move deeper, we see greater things than we could ever imagine.  Just as Jesus promised Nathaniel.

            The more we learn who Jesus is through our personal study and encounters, the more we learn what it means to follow Jesus—to be disciples of Jesus here and now in the 21^st century.  The more we know and experience God the more we begin to see the divine in our lives and in the lives of others.   As our relationships with God become more and more authentic, become more and more about knowledge combined with experience, we begin to see the divine in more places—in the ordinary and the extraordinary.  We can begin to see the divine working within the church and out in the ordinary world.  We understand that a simple carpenter’s son can be and is  the Messiah—is the Divine in the flesh, and so we learn to see the Divine in the simple, in the ordinary, in the priest celebrating the Eucharist, in the daughter sitting next to you, in the cashier at the grocery, and even in the homeless person you pass by day after day.

            As we seek to love and serve God, we are not only building our own relationships with God, but we are also helping to illuminate the Divine in the ordinary for others.  As we serve in the name of God, we are gently saying to those around us, “Come and see”  Come and move beyond what you think you know about God and instead experience the love of God—know God, love God, and claim God as your own.

            All of those titles for God, all those descriptors help us to know something about God.  They help us to identify, to classify, but to experience God, to have a personal relationship with God helps us to know—to know the God who loves us so much that he sent his son, in the flesh to live and work among us.  And those encounters did not end with the ascension of Christ.  No, Jesus’ coming opened the heavens and the path to and from heaven remains open, we just have to look and see, to notice.  As we move closer and closer in our relationship with God, we begin to have fewer sporadic, Aha moments of God and instead we live in a world full of the divine and those aha’s become AHH’s. 

            

Asking the Questions

Proper 20

Year B

          I am often hard on the disciples, and often when reading the Gospels I can hear, or at least I think I can hear, Jesus’ utter frustration with their lack of understanding, with their continual thickness—but today that’s not how I hear it.  This morning I can so easily identify with the disciples and their confusion and fear, and this morning I can also hear the love and compassion in Jesus’ words and voice.  I invite you to walk back through the Gospel with me and see if you hear it too.

          This passage of the Gospel in Mark immediately follows the transfiguration.  Peter, James, and John have been to the mountain top with Jesus, they’ve come down and were immediately surrounded by a large crowd—Jesus had thrown an evil spirit out of a demon possessed boy, and the crowds had surged.  This is from where and from what they have come, and even as a tremendous extrovert, I can feel their need for some down time, for some time to process and for some quiet.

          And so they are walking along and Jesus continues to teach them.  I can imagine they are in overload, but Jesus knows how important this teaching is, so he continues.  Jesus tells them again what is going to happen to him—that he is going to be killed and after three days he will rise.  Mark clearly tells us that they didn’t understand.  That doesn’t seem so ridiculous—what Jesus is telling them is so far stretched; so out there.  I imagine they can hear that he is going to be killed; they’ve been with him, they know there are people who hate him; they know he is turning the world as they know it upside down.  But this part about rising again?  That is outside of what they can imagine, and so they get quiet, and they don’t ask because they are afraid.

          That I can understand.  Their minds are swirling; their minds can probably not even put into words the questions they have, and so they say nothing.  Have you ever been so confused (think math class maybe), that you don’t even know where to begin asking the questions?  And here’s where I can also identify with the disciples.  They are so afraid of asking the hard questions maybe because by asking the hard questions they too are going to have to do something hard.  Maybe the answer they get is going to call them to a different life, a different way of being, a way of being that is not “normal”, not like the rest of the world—a way of being that will make them different.  For them, the answer may even require death.  When we ask the hard questions about our faith, the questions about what it means to live out what we profess here in church, the “answers” may call us up short.  And so they remain silent, and they do what I think a lot of us do when we’re nervous and scared of information—they change the subject.

          They change the subject and talk about who would be the greatest among them.  It bears pointing out that the Gospel today doesn’t say they were arguing.  It says they were discussing.  They’ve side stepped the real questions they have for Jesus and try to discuss something they can maybe wrap their minds around.  And they get “caught”; they get called out.  And I imagine they have understood Jesus enough to know that’s not what they should be talking about. 

          I suppose they are probably silent because they are ashamed—they don’t want to answer; they don’t want Jesus to know.  Here’s where I have a ton of compassion and empathy for the disciples, because I wonder what I would say to Jesus if he asked me the same question.  What if Jesus asked me, asked us to explain how what we say and do—with how we live outside these walls goes with what we profess?  (Pause)

          So this is what I hear this morning.  I hear God calling us to a way of life, a way of being right here and right now.  I hear God saying that the Kingdom of God is not only yet to come, but it is here now and it is about how we live here on earth—how we live here on earth God’s way. 

          Jesus answers the questions for them—the questions they are afraid to ask.  He tells them that they have to see the world differently; they have to love the world differently.  They have to live and love not worrying about what’s in it for them, not worrying about what they’ll get out of it.  Jesus tells them to love and care for the world like a child.  It’s not just about care for children as we know it; no, in this time, children were non-entities.  They were lower than servants because they could give nothing back; they couldn’t increase anyone’s social status, and in fact they sometimes were liabilities.  They were the lowest of the low, the unrecognized, and the ignored.  And yet, Jesus says that is how we are to be—we are to embrace and love the children, the non-entities.   We are to live differently.

          Asking the hard questions—we have to ask the hard questions.  We must ask them of ourselves; we must ask them within a community of faith; we must ask them here.  We must recognize that asking questions doesn’t threaten God—God wants to be in relationship with us; God wants us to draw near to him.  Asking questions can deepen that relationship; asking the questions says right from the start, “I want to live how you want me to live, but I don’t know how. Please help me.”  Asking and struggling with how our faith, how our professed faith, impacts and drives our way of living is in and of itself a profession of our desire to bring the Kingdom of God here; right here and right now.  God doesn’t want us to be ashamed, to be embarrassed, to be scared—God wants us—all of us; the whole of our being—our certainties and our questions.  God wants to make us whole.

          God is calling us to a way of life.  God is calling us to live out our profession of faith; our baptismal covenant—as we strive to do that as individuals and as a community of faith, we must ask the hard questions, struggle with the questions, pray about the questions—we can’t be silent; we can’t change the subject.  We must ask the questions, and then we must live the answers.  Amen.

Taste and See

Proper 17

September 2, 2012

James 1:16-27

          Reading today’s epistle could be viewed (and trust me is tempting to be viewed) as a how to manual—a mother’s wisdom book, a hallmark book of inspirational quotes, or a basic psychology handbook—“don’t say anything if you can’t say something nice,” “practice what you preach,” or “active listening means being fully engaged with the speaker and not thinking ahead to what you want to say.”  Very tempting to view it this way; and frankly, I’m certain we could all benefit from listening to that advice.  And yet this epistle, this epistle that at times has been scoffed at by astute theologians (think Martin Luther), I believe is indeed the core of our faith—this epistle speaks to not only how we as Christians ought to behave, but it places us on the stand and asks, “do you really and truly to your core believe the words you say each week in church? Does your Sunday morning faith in anyway connect to your Monday morning, Tuesday morning, Wednesday morning (you get the picture) life? Or, do you convince yourself, deceive yourself it says, that it’s important but these times require other ways of living in order to survive. Do we believe what we say here in church but leave and allow ourselves to be swept up by the views of the world and deceive ourselves into believing or falling back into the practices that the culture around us espouses?  I believe the heart of this could be boiled down to, do we live by, do I live by, do you live by the law of scarcity as the world does, or do you live by the law of abundance—the abundance of God’s grace, of God’s love, of God’s great gifts?  

          The passage begins today warning us not to be deceived, but rather to accept, and to live out the belief that all gifts come from God—why is that important?  Because if we truly believe that, and if we as Christians believe that we must embody our beliefs, then we must live as gifts to other people—we must be the first fruits, the blessings to others.  We must live not in the fear that we won’t have enough—enough of anything—and instead live bestowing upon others the same love and grace that God bestows upon us.

          The world operates very much on this law of scarcity, and the law of scarcity operates on making certain that we live in fear—the fear of not having enough, of being left out.  Ya’ll know I have two middle and two high school children (yes your prayers would be much appreciated)—and so I’ve had for several years a front row seat into the dynamics of pre-teens and teens, and this law of scarcity festers just below the surface in their relationships; it fosters fear, and that fear propels teens, propels all people, to behave in ways to assure that I have enough, that I’m not left out.    It is important to have a BEST friend, the triangulation that goes on making certain they’re in a group, they’re included—the true pain of feeling like if that person A invites person B over and not me, do I have no friends, no support, no one to love me?  And so they back stab, and they manipulate, and they do all the other things that we dread when we think about middle schoolers.  I wonder if any of us have ever truly left middle school?

          Our faith, however, teaches the opposite, it says that God has enough love and grace for All of us—each and every person in this building, in this city, and in this world. If we really believe that to our core, does that change how we treat others?  Should that not influence us, insist that we be loving and kind and inclusive, and graceful to all because there is enough?

          When we live in a world built around the law of scarcity, we live with an endless pit in our stomach; we live in constant fear.  I believe that fear is very often the root of our quick tongues and our anger.  That fear motivates us to always be thinking and doing one step ahead of everyone else—and that, my friends, is largely what prevents true honest listening—listening from the heart.  Listening to and living from the law of scarcity prevents us from not only passing on God’s grace and love, but even from experiencing it fully ourselves.

          I have another tale to tell on myself—when we moved to England, as excited as I was, I was also fearful.  I listened to all the stories about the “British commodities” and I at lightning speed acted to prevent myself and our family from not having enough.  I’m not going to go into what all I did, but to suffice it to say, that we have just finished using the cases of deodorant and toothpaste I bought to take over there.  And food—cases of peanut butter, canned pumpkin, and girl scout cookies.  The food did run out—oh horrors!  But you know what, it ran out, and we survived, and not only did we survive, but we experienced some of the most fabulous foods—the scarcity of one brand forced us to see the abundance of options, and to experience—to taste and see something different.

          This living is not easy.  Many weeks I listen to the words of the liturgy and I say to myself, “This week I’m going to live this way every day.  This week I’m going to treat every person I encounter as though they are as worthy of God’s love and grace as I am.”  And then I leave the building, and life slaps me in the face, fear attacks and often—far too often, I allow that fear, that cultural law of scarcity to motivate my words and my actions.

          One more quick personal story that I shouldn’t tell because it really shows my middle school insecurity, but I’m going to anyway—my eldest (who turned 17 yesterday) got her driver’s license in March.  She was so excited—she had a new found freedom, she was growing up, she was becoming more independent.  That week was one of the most horrible weeks of mothering for me; I was demanding, nit picking, finding fault with everything she did probably including the way she breathed—and we were both miserable.  One night after she left the dining room table in tears and I sat there alone in tears it hit me like a ton of bricks.  I was afraid—afraid not just because driving is dangerous and the what ifs of what might happen in an accident, but I was afraid that she was moving on and that she no longer needed me, and God forbid if she no longer needed me, would she still love me?  Would she still want to be around me?  I had completely lost sight that our love for one another was bigger than the physical surroundings of our home—our love for one another and our relationship could grow and expand as we both did physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  Living from a place of fear is paralyzing; it is demoralizing; it is de-humanizing; and it does not allow us to live as expressions, as first fruits of God’s love and grace.

          Today’s epistle reminds us of this, and it hammers home that we can be deceived, we can convince ourselves, justify our actions and beliefs and behaviors when we allow ourselves to live by the standards of the world.  The damage that can be and is inflicted when we live hoarding grace and forgiveness and love is immense.  We have been hurt by it, I have been hurt by it, you have been hurt by it.    When we don’t over and over allow ourselves to be implanted by the word, to refocus and recommit ourselves to the foundation of our faith, we are not living from the core of our faith.

          And so we return week after week to this building, and people return week after week to many places of faith to be reminded, to rededicate ourselves and our lives, to recommit ourselves to living a life which stems from the law of the abundance of God’s grace and love for all.  We come to the altar to taste and see the glory of God, to taste and see the goodness of God, to taste and see and be filled with God’s love and grace so that we can live as first fruits of his creatures. Amen.

Chicken Sandwiches

Proper 12

Year B

Exodus 16:2-4; 9-15

 John 6:24-35

          How easy it is for us to sit here 2000+ years later and judge both the Israelites and the people following Jesus?  We are tempted to laugh at their “cluelessness”; to condemn their lack of faith; to chastise them for their whiny, self-centered, consumer mentality.  I believe if we do that, however, we are being too hasty and I also believe that what is really at stake here is that they don’t understand, because of their humanity, or trust in the magnitude and all encompassing power of God’s love. 

          The Israelites didn’t lack faith.  They don’t doubt God exists, they just feel alone and scared; they feel powerless.  They are hungry and tired, and they feel their world is falling apart.  Isn’t it true that even today when we feel our world is falling apart we cling to the familiar?   Even if what was wasn’t ideal, at least we knew what it was—I believe that’s how the Israelites felt; they understood the world in which they lived in Egypt; they knew their place in it.  And their belief in God even fit nicely there.  God existed but that was it—but things changed when Moses came and they stepped out in faith.  Things changed when their journey both physical and spiritual began.  Things changed when their understanding of God began to change; when they let God out of the box.

          The Israelites knew God was all powerful and that life and death were decided by him—they say, "Would that we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt,”  What they don’t understand is the love of God?  What they are learning is that God’s love is more than we as people can ever give—they are just beginning to experience the steadfast love and faithfulness of God.  They ask for bread and instead they are given bread and meat; there is an abundance.  God’s love and God’s action goes beyond what they imagine.  Do they finally get it and get it completely?  Sadly, no, as one commentator wrote, “Their faith in the love of God wavers as they encounter various trials and temptations.”

          The people following Jesus in our Gospel also are learning who Jesus is; they too are growing in their faith, growing in their understanding of God’s immense love.  Right now it just appears that they see Jesus as their own personal baker; their own personal vending machine to meet their physical needs—feed them, heal them,  that’s what they expect—they don’t know to look past their current right here and right now needs; they don’t understand that God is so much bigger than that.  They don’t understand that what Jesus is offering them is the bread of life; everlasting life—a transformed life.  The people following Jesus into the wilderness want a black and white rule book; a guide book on exactly how to live; what to do and not to do, and they want proof they’re doing it right.  They want signs—because that’s all they know.

          In our very sophisticated, post modern world of the 21^st century, we like to believe that we “see” things in a bigger sense, that we have the ability to analyze—that we no longer view the world in black and white; totally right and totally wrong.  Well, friends, I believe we are way too big for our britches.

We too want, crave, desire a world we understand.  We want to know if we are “right or wrong.”  We often operate in a very black and white way—did you eat a chicken sandwich this week?  Thousands of people lined up on one side or the other of the Chick-fil-A issue; either you were for or against, there was no room for anything else.  If we really are honest with ourselves, don’t we want it to be that simple?  Don’t we want it to be as simple as seeing Jesus produce more food or as simple as knowing whether it’s either right or wrong to eat a chicken sandwich?  Do we understand, fully understand and believe that God’s love for ALL is so much bigger than any of that?  That God’s love is not dependent on whether you stood in those lines, deliberately chose not to stand in those lines, or didn’t even know anything about it.  Do we understand or even want to understand that God’s love is for all?

We sit here this Sunday morning in this beautiful church like Christians everywhere are sitting in churches and we proclaim we have faith.  Perhaps we should be more honest and say that yes we have faith but we still don’t understand it all?  Perhaps we should admit that although we desperately want to walk in complete trust and faith, that we don’t, and perhaps we even have to admit that we can’t because we don’t have the full knowledge of God.  We are striving to, yes, we are trying daily if not hourly to deepen our faith to continue our spiritual journey—but it is that—a journey; a life long journey.  And the journey is not black and white in the way we want it to be because God is so much bigger than that.

When we say we want to live by faith, we want to make choices dependent on our faith, we must understand that faith is not a set of rules.  Faith is an encounter with the living breathing God, and walking with faith is often living in the ambiguity, something we really don’t like—something that makes us uncomfortable; something that challenges us.  Faith here means saying, “I want to get it.  I desperately want to know and understand the love of God, and I desperately want to pass it on, but I’m not sure I’m always right.  But I’m going to keep trying.”  It is not at all easy, and often our faith is the most challenged and the most productive during times of trials and hardships.   Just like the Israelites, our faith is often deepened as we walk through some of the most painful times of our lives.  Anne Lamont says, “it really is easier to experience spiritual connection when your life is in the process of coming apart.  When things break up and fences fall over, desperation and powerlessness slink in—which turns out to be good.”

Our desire to get it right—to be right in our faith also can take on the consumer mentality in our churches.  We are tempted to measure how right we are by our average Sunday attendance or the amount of  money in our collection plates.  We seek to bring in new people by having the best music, the most beautiful worship, the best youth group, the best programming, the greatest outreach.  We hear about how the church must change to keep up with them times.  There are different ways to “do church,” and different people experience worship in different ways.  Acknowledging all this is important, but we must not lose sight of what is the most important.  Being church, coming to church, means being open to transformation; it means being open to be nourished and transformed by the incomprehensible love of God.  

Change is inevitable and the world is changing, but what we cannot allow to change is the truth of the Gospel and that is that God is love—steadfast and faithful and that Jesus came to bring that to us.  Jesus came to do the work of his Father and to give his life for the sake of the world—the whole world not just the world that we want—not just the people we accept and like, not just the people who do church the way we want,  but the whole world. 

Even in our sophisticated 21^st century lives, we don’t get it.  We don’t understand how it all works, and I believe that sometimes we just have to learn to live with that—as much as we don’t want to.  We have to be willing to live in the ambiguity, we have to be able to experience God’s love instead of explain it and to try and try and try to trust in God’s love.  And we have to be willing to admit that although we want to get it there is a good chance we won’t.  Can you live in that ambiguity?  When we release our desire to “know” and to be “right” we become humble and broken. It is in that humility and brokenness that we begin to feed on and understand Jesus as the bread of life.  It is in and through our uncertainty and it is out of that humility and brokenness that we become whole.  Thanks be to God.

Limited Resources

Year B

Proper 12

John 6:1-21

         

There is so much need in this world—spiritual, emotional, and physical.  People all around us, perhaps even people here today are crying out for these needs to be met—it is overwhelming.  It becomes more overwhelming when we consider our resources—our limited resources of things such as money and even time and energy.  When we look out and see all the need, it is easy to feel discouraged, overwhelmed, and hopeless—perhaps we want to throw up our hands and say, “What’s the point?”  Today’s Gospel answers that question—

We enter the story as Jesus crosses over to the other side of the Sea of Galilee—let me tell you why—he had just been in Cana where he had preached and healed; he went to Jerusalem for a festival where he healed (on the Sabbath no less, so now he has to defend himself against the Jews who were outraged he had “worked” on the Sabbath—and we know how much energy defending ourselves can take), and then he preached.  So Jesus—Jesus the man—was tired and he needed to rest, to rejuvenate, and he crosses over and goes up a mountain with his disciples to be alone. 

But the crowds follow—the crowds are starving for Jesus—they are spiritually and emotionally starving—they saw the signs—and they followed.  Jesus looks up and sees them coming—maybe he even thought, “Not now; please just give me a moment”; that’s not what he said though—instead he looks past just their spiritual hunger and recognizes that they will also be physically hungry.  Jesus looks at the whole person; at all the needs and he asks his disciples—tests we’re told where they are to buy bread for these people to eat.  Philip possibly not realizing the question is somewhat rhetorical responds it would take 6 months wages and Andrew pipes up that there is a boy with five loaves and two fish.  Perhaps Andrew is highlighting the fact there is nothing—pointing out the obvious, punctuating the fact that the needs are many and the resources are few.  We know what happens; the people are fed.

What are we to take from this?  How can this Gospel speak to us today-we, like the disciples, are confronted with many, many needs, but we don’t have Jesus walking with us to bless, break, and multiply—we don’t have Jesus walking with us physically, but I argue God is with us as we face the needs of our congregation, the needs of this community, the needs of the world.

          A good friend and I (ya’ll’s good friend too—the Rev. Emily Schwartz Crouch) walk often together—as we walk, we talk about theology, we talk about life, and lately we’ve been talking a great deal about what it means to be a Christian, what it means to be a mission based church.  What makes us different from a Rotary club, from the Junior League, or from any other number of organizations—good organizations, which also strive to meet the needs of the world?  In other words, why do we as Christians do what we do and does it matter that we do it as Christians?

          I believe that today’s Gospel is living proof that yes it does matter and it answers, or begins to answer, the very questions with which Emily and I have been struggling.  We first and foremost do what we do because as Christians we are called to follow Jesus—to do what he did.  Jesus fed the poor, ministered to the needy, loved everyone, and so we are to do the same.  Now, look very closely at verse 11—Jesus gave thanks—Jesus highlighted in these very words that he was doing what he did in order to reveal God’s glory—to express God’s love and grace--and he was giving thanks for God and to God.  His focus was not particularly on the act of meeting the needs but rather on the revelation of God, about the transformation that can come through the act.  Karen Yust, a theologian says, “This story suggests that the focus of ministry is not simply what good people decide is reasonable to undertake in order to meet basic needs.  Instead, ministry is about multiplying resources so that what might have been a social handout becomes a revelation of amazing grace.”[1] 

          Oh how easy it is to forget this—to look at the people lining up outside our food and clothing ministry and wonder if we will have enough.  You know the past two weeks we have been particularly requesting men’s clothing—we’re always short on men’s clothing—guess there is something to be said about women and shopping—obviously we need to clean out the closet to make room—but anyway we have been particularly low—just this past week, out of the blue, Margaret received a call, and this man practically begged her to take all these brand new casual men’s clothes that had been donated to his organization.  He could only use the business attire; so over the next 2 or 3 days mounds of clothes poured in—already even on hangars!  Resources multiplying.

          I believe that we must stay focused on why we do what we do and that begins with always remembering that we are not only meeting needs, but we are pointing to—giving signs—to the glory and grace of God.  Fr. Jon moved our morning prayer time to 9:10—20 minutes before we open the food and clothing doors—this was deliberate—we pray and offer ourselves as a sacrifice, offer our work as a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving—knowing we cannot do this alone.  We intentionally bring God into the day—into the ministry.  That is what makes us different; we are not just meeting needs, we are agents of transformation, as people witnessing to the abundance of God’s love and grace.

          Do we get tired?  Absolutely.  Do we get overwhelmed?  Absolutely.  Do we sometimes feel like we just can’t do anymore?  Absolutely.  But we continue; we press on.  One of my favorite verses is in Ephesians 3:20-21 and it says, “Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine:  Glory to him from generation to generation in the Church and in Christ Jesus for ever and ever.”  Let me not leave you here with the idea that you are to work yourselves to the bone, that you are to collapse in exhaustion.  Definitely not—we are to take time for rejuvenation and for quiet and strength—to refresh and refocus.  After Jesus fed the people, he withdrew; we see that often in the Gospels.   But with God, in God, and through God, we have far more than we have alone and when we offer ourselves and our ministry to Him, we can offer far more than we can alone—our own resources are full; there is abundance.

          Stay with me for one more moment while I share with you a true, modern day version of this story.  (She would kill me)  Beth Bojarski has been the director of All Saints for four years—if you’ve never met her, you’ve missed out, but I would venture to bet by degrees of separation you have been touched by her ministry.  I am the Diocesan Director of Christian Formation, and as such I am supposed to oversee budgets (my husband finds this particularly amusing).  Well, sadly, Beth is leaving for a new job, and so two weeks ago we sat down and she was walking me through her job and through her budget and how she allocated funds—how she ran the youth programs and particularly summer camp.  The budgets for the last four years varied drastically from year to year.  I was struggling to get my head around all this, to understand what the needs were, and Beth said to me, “Here’s the truth Katherine.  I take what I get, and I make it work, and somehow it always does.”  And it does, she is not in the red and yet, many, many lives including mine and those of my four children, have been transformed by Beth’s ministry—she takes what she is given, offers it and herself to God, and it works, and lives are changed.

          God is a God of abundance, of power, and of love.  As we pray together today let us remember that—as we pray together the prayers of the people verbalizing all the needs of the world let us remember that the answer is not that we don’t have enough but that “when placed in the hands of Jesus, human weakness and finitude become more than enough.”[2]  Thanks be to God.

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[1] Karen Yust, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 3 ed. By David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox, 2009) 286.

[2] Cheryl Bridges Johns, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 3 ed. by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox, 2009) 289.