What is Hidden in Bread and Fish?

Matthew 14.13-21

      The feeding of the multitude: Who doesn’t know something of this story in which what seems at first glance like scarcity, or the lack of “enough” to accomplish a task, is transformed into a story of plenty?

But the truth is, rather than a story of insufficiency, what we have here is a story that instead becomes a tale of abundance illustrated by an overflowing profusion of food produced from only five loaves of bread and two fish.

      This is the only miracle story that appears in all four gospel accounts. Each of the evangelists, therefore, found something profound and necessary for the life of faith and discipleship in this miracle of feeding, especially for the early church.

There is something profound and necessa

ry for the life of faith and discipleship in this miracle of feeding for us as well, especially for today.

We live in a world where scarcity stares us in the face every day. Every message we hear from the world around us is designed to reinforce the idea that there is not enough to go around, and that we need to look out for the bottom line; there is not enough happiness, food, or wealth; there are not enough resources, jobs, or homes. There is not enough for everyone, therefore, the message continues, we need to protect what is ours, we have to keep the “others” out.

       Who among us wouldn’t love to have been on that Galilean hillside? Who wouldn’t love to see such a miracle – even to be part of it? To set our worries of scarcity aside? To witness the scope of Jesus’ care and provision for every last person there, with such an abundance that there were leftovers aplenty?

Yet as we gather each Sunday around the table of goodness and life, we do witness such a miracle. We hear of God’s steadfast love and mercy, of God’s power to provide our every need, even our salvation.

We share in an abundant smorgasbord of God’s compassion, goodness and love, with plenty to go around, and enough left over that God sends us out from this place to share of our bounty and the good news with our neighbors.

      But I’m getting ahead of myself. Because there is more to this story than just a tale of a vast crowd that numbers in the thousands, out in the wilderness of Galilee, where each person present received and ate a satisfying helping of bread and fish in the company of thousands of other men, woman and children, with copious amounts of leftovers to boot!

There is a wider connection than simply the story of a meal, as wonderful and miraculous as that is, for our life of discipleship today.

      Because the story begins not with the feast but with Jesus and the disciples seeking to get away – to be by themselves. Jesus himself goes to a deserted place to be alone. The news has just caught up to them, that John the Baptist had been killed – beheaded by Herod. We can only imagine the sadness, grief and confusion that must have overcome them.

How could this have happened to their friend? How could John be gone, so cruelly murdered? And what did this mean for them? For the ministry of Jesus? For those who followed?

Of course they needed to get away, to tend to the business of mourning, and to grieve the death of their friend. But suddenly they realize that they are not alone. They are not the only ones suffering. The crowds have heard the news as well, and they followed Jesus to be with him, perhaps to have him reassure them that all would be okay, that God was still in charge, that they would be cared for.

It is at this point that, despite his own pain and sorrow, Jesus does what God always does. He has compassion on those who suffer. Jesus literally feels with and for all these people. Jesus cares about their suffering, so much so that he turns aside from his own grief and he cares for them. He loves them. He cures their sick, perhaps as a sign to them that the power of God would prevail against every evil, every earthly power, and every illness in the world.

Finally, as evening approaches, the disciples come to Jesus. They are feeling depleted. The need is great and they just can’t take care of the great need before them. Send them away, they tell Jesus. Tell them to go back to the villages, to go get some supper, to tend to their own needs.

Jesus, who has been caring and loving and healing the people in these crowds won’t send them away, but note that he also doesn’t feed them now. Not by himself. Instead, Jesus sends the disciples to feed them. “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.”

Jesus is telling us the same today. His words have echoed in my mind all week as I have contemplated this message. “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.”

Jesus says the same to us today, that despite the voices that surround us, telling us that there is never enough and that we must therefore protect “our own” we have work to do.

Jesus gives us the poor and the lonely, the oppressed and the ill, the weak and the dying, and tells us to show them his compassion. Just as Jesus gives us every blessing in which we partake, Jesus gives us all these as well. And Jesus tells us, “Don’t send them away. Care for them. Give them something to eat.”

In our text, the disciples respond, that they simply don’t have enough. This is crazy, Jesus, we can’t do it. We can’t take care of them. Send them away to care for themselves. Send them on their way so that we don’t have to do this. The truth is that the disciples were weak, weary, sad, and grieving, and they were overwhelmed with the magnitude of what Jesus was asking them to do.

Sound familiar?

When we are exhausted, scared that we don’t have enough to give or that there isn’t enough to go around, Jesus responds to us, “They need not go away; You, tend to them.” And then, Jesus makes it possible for us to follow his word.

In the text today, the disciples didn’t know how this would all work out, but they followed Jesus’ command. They clung to God’s Word. They clung to Jesus and trusted in him, even if, in that moment they doubted how things would work out.

It’s a powerful, beautiful image – struggling, even wrestling with what God has demanded, even as we cling in faith to what Jesus tells us to do; even as Jesus sends us out from the table and from our assembly this day, to do as he has done.

We confess that like the disciples, we are not up for the magnitude of the job. And yet, God invites us to the table and welcomes us to a feast of food and drink that are entirely free – “everyone who thirsts, come to the water; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy….. without money and without price.”

God welcomes us to this table, makes of us a beautiful community and feeds us live-giving food, Jesus Christ. God reminds us that through Christ, when we need it most, God will give us the power and ability to obey.

When we think that we cannot manage, that there is not enough food, not enough resources, not enough of us, not enough within us, God, in love and mercy for all this fallen world, provides just what we need, with an abundance of leftovers.

That is the Good News for us today. That when we follow Jesus’ command, when we join together in unity and faithfulness, God will be with us, making miracles happen, turning our scarcity into God’s abundant mercy. God uses our best efforts and transforms them into the fulfilling of God’s intention for love, peace and justice in the world to ultimately prevail.

God calls us to be partners with God in making fullness of life a reality today for the world that God loves. Let it be so.

Amen.

 

New Life in Light of Lost Hope and Dashed Dreams

Luke 24: 13-35 Road to Emmaus

Imagine yourself as one of the disciples of Christ on that first Easter Sunday. So much has transpired in the past few days. On this evening, the day of the resurrection, what do you think you might be feeling? What might you be thinking?

Remember, in just this one day alone, as you are still digesting the turn of events that led from triumph to tragedy in 5 days’ time in Jerusalem, added to your burden are the revelations of this morning.

You are probably still consumed by the thoughts and images of what you witnessed with the trial of Jesus and his crucifixion three days ago, and then, just this morning, here came two women from your group who gave witness to an empty tomb;  then other disciples went to see for themselves, and they confirmed it. The tomb was empty, though they saw no sign of either Jesus or an angel. You don’t know what to think. The women’s tale included an angelic visitation and message - a promise that we would see Jesus again, but your thoughts and feelings are in chaos.

Not able to sit idly by, unsure about the safety of stepping out on to the streets of Jerusalem, you and another disciple set out for a nearby town.  Soon, you find yourself and your companion on the road to Emmaus; it is about 7 miles away.

To put things in perspective for us today, if we left Grace at the end of worship this morning and went walking toward St. Michaels, seven miles would take us just over the Oak Creek Bridge; or, going out toward Denton, 7 miles would bring us almost to Kitty’s Corner Road. Traveling out Route 50, we would get to just about the Backtown Road intersection, near Trappe; and if we went in the direction of the Dover Bridge Road toward Preston, we would nearly reach Route 578. You get the idea; it’s a bit of a hike, but not terribly long - a journey that will take a few hours at most, lots of time in which to talk, to turn over and over again all that you are experiencing, thinking, questioning.

As you walk along the way, of course, your conversation quite naturally turns into a dissection and deliberation of all the things that have happened, with the story of the empty tomb and the angels’ message of paramount interest and importance. You likely debate – even argue - with one another over whether or not to believe the women; what it means that the brothers also returned with a report of the empty tomb; what might have happened to Jesus’ body.

All of the feelings and reactions that you mentioned at the beginning of this sermon would have been in play, and then some. With the time it will take to walk these seven miles, you have the opportunity for good, open and honest conversation with your companion. You get to unpack a lot of your thoughts and feelings – to express your grief and sadness, to talk about your doubts and fears, and confusion, and even to argue over the meaning of today’s revelations.

What might that conversation have been like? I mean, if it was you, and your best friend, or one of your companions in faith here at this church who are walking along the road, what kinds of words might we expect could be overheard from your conversation?

I imagine it was a lot like that for Cleopas and his friend, engrossed in conversation when suddenly they are aware that a third person has joined them along the way. Of course, we know this person to be Jesus, a stranger to them in the moment, but one who knows them well.

And when he asks them what they are talking about, they give him an impassioned review of the things that have transpired. They reflect on the hopes and dreams for redemption that they had as they had come to know this Jesus, hopes that have now been dashed and muddled and most recently – perhaps, if they foolishly dare to entertain new hope – revived, if they are to believe the astounding reports of the women. They are so confused, so weary, so much in turmoil.

It may be hard for us to comprehend the impact of these things – after all, even if we are moved by the powerful images and stories of Jesus’ passion, death and resurrection, we absorb this story through 2000 years of processing, scholarship, and even through the bias of the ways the stories have been told to us and the way they have been interpreted through media, time and teaching. The passion, death and resurrection narrative are shaped by so many things, and in many ways, watered down by 2000 years that have transpired between that Easter Sunday and this Eastertide.

In our Gospel this morning, Cleopas and his friend, in their response to Jesus’ question spoke the words, “We had hoped…” We had hoped this is the person we were dealing with; we had hoped for redemption; for this outcome. We had hoped. Those three words may be the saddest words in our story. “We had hoped” is an expression of disappointment, of disillusionment, of despair – “we had hoped” is a bare, undisguised expression of grief. “We had hoped.”

There are many things for which we hope and in which we are disappointed. Things that matter. Things about church, your life, your family, our community, the state of our country or our world or, whatever. I would like to give you the opportunity to name your own grief, pain, and disappointment –  as expressing these things are key to our being able to let go of them, to move past them. Expressing them doesn’t make them go away, but it can release us from the power they may have over us. 

What things are you grieving, lamenting, fearing or suffering today? How would you complete the statement, “But we had hoped”?

On the road to Emmaus, the disciples described to Jesus how their hopes had seemingly been dashed. In an expression of affection, Jesus says to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets had declared.”

Jesus isn’t denying their pain, but showing them that God has not abandoned them, in their underlying fear and disappointment.  Instead, Jesus to reveals to them all of the ways in which God has moved and worked and accompanied God’s people. Jesus addresses the ways in which God has promised a savior, and the ways in which, through God’s mercy and love, God’s promises have been fulfilled. Jesus walks with them. He listens to their grief and despair. In those moments, Jesus embodies God’s love and eternal presence with them.

And so it is with us. In confession, in prayer and in the thoughts of our hearts we share with God the grief we bear. We tell Jesus about our disappointments and fears, about our dashed hopes and our present hopes. As we expressed with one another the things that weigh us down and bring us to the kind of despair the disciples experienced, Jesus assures us that we are not alone, that the promise of God to bring healing and balm for our griefs and sorrow remain with us in the person of Jesus Christ. When our “but we had hoped” ends in lament, Jesus hold us, and assures us that, through his resurrection we can be assured that God is working good in our lives and will not let us go.

As evening fell on Emmaus, Jesus shared a meal with these disciples, on the very evening of his resurrection. Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it and gave it to them and in that instant their eyes were opened. They knew the power of his love. They went from dashed hopes to burning hearts. They understood who he was and they knew that his presence with them was real.

As Jesus made himself known in the breaking of the bread on Maundy Thursday and again in Emmaus, Jesus still makes himself known to us today. As we remembered our Baptism this morning, as we pray together and sing together and most powerfully, as we break bread together, Jesus reveals himself to us and assures us that there is no disappointment on earth, no dashed dream, no pain, sorrow, grief or confusion he cannot penetrate through the power of his revealing love.

Imagine yourself as the disciple of Christ that you are today, and may you come to share with others how you have encountered Christ on the way, on the road, in your heart, and through the breaking of the bread. May you know the joy and surprise, once again, of God’s presence and love and promise, realized in Jesus Christ.

Amen.