Sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A, "Something to Eat," Matthew 14:13-21

Sermon 8/2/20

Matthew 14:13-21

Something to Eat

Can I make a confession? Sometimes, lulled by the familiarity of a scripture text, I forget to be wowed by what I’m reading. It’s a shame, for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that we have so very little recorded from Jesus’ life and works that it is a serious flaw to be less-than-dazzled by anything we get to read! But it’s also a shame because it means that I’ve probably stopped engaging with the scripture text in a way that helps me learn, dig deeper in faith, and be transformed in my discipleship because of my encounter with Christ in the scriptures. I’ll admit that the account of the Feeding of the 5000 is one of those texts that I sometimes overlook because “I know it already.” 

But it’s worth a closer look because this event is one of the very few stories that appear in all four gospel accounts. There are very few events, particularly outside of the death and resurrection of Jesus, that appear in all four gospels. As similar as Matthew, Mark, and Luke are to each other, still they each have many of their own stories, and each of them exclude some of the stories for one reason or another. And the gospel of John is usually going off in its own direction altogether. So when an event occurs in all four gospels, we should stop and take notice and ask questions. Clearly, the event must have some particularly strong meaning and message to be so included. One such event is what we call “The Feeding of the 5000.” Of the miracles of Jesus, it is the only one recorded in all four gospels, and in fact, two gospels, Matthew and Mark, include two feeding miracles. There is, of course, some variation in detail, in specifics, but all four gospels carry the same essence. Today, we’re looking in particular at Matthew’s account. And I wonder, given my confession about sometimes feeling un-wowed by such a miraculous event - what’s so special about this that it is important to every gospel writer to include it at least once. Let’s take a closer look.  

When the text opens, Jesus has just received some bad news. Jesus receives word that John the Baptist, his cousin, has been put to death after a time of imprisonment by Herod. Jesus is reeling. He’s in pain, he’s grieving. And maybe he’s even feeling the weight of knowing exactly what happens to people like John and like Jesus who rock the boat and speak truth to power. And in that frame of mind, Matthew tells us that Jesus takes a boat by himself to try to just get away. He needs some time alone. But it isn’t to be. The crowds hear that Jesus has taken off by boat, and they decide to find him, going by foot around the lake, so that by the time Jesus comes ashore from the boat, a crowd is all ready to greet him. I’m not sure how you’d feel in Jesus’ place, but I can imagine how I would feel, being overwhelmed and just wanting some time to myself, only to find a crowd waiting. I’d want to turn around and get back on that boat. I might feel a little cranky, or resentful. I might burst into tears at the thought of having to deal with a whole crowd. 

But Jesus, Matthew tells us, looks at the crowd and is filled with compassion for them, and begins curing the sick they have brought to see him. The word here used for Jesus’ compassion is my favorite Greek word. It’s a mouthful of a word: splagchnizomai. It means literally that we’re so moved with concern that our insides are kind of churning with the deepness of our care. It’s like when we say “our stomach is twisted in knots” over something. That’s how Jesus looks at the crowds. And in fact, this word is applied almost exclusively to Jesus in the Bible. Jesus himself uses the word in Luke’s gospel to describe how the father of the prodigal son feels and sees when he first glimpses his wayward child returning home to him. It is in this way, with gut-churning compassion, that Jesus most often looks at the crowds in the Bible, and the way he looks when he comes ashore and sees them waiting for him. 

As the day draws to a close, the disciples come to Jesus and tell him, “Look, this is a deserted place, and it’s late. Send everyone away so that they can go get themselves some food.” I don’t know what you hear in their words, but I hear some disciples who felt like I thought I might upon seeing the unexpected crowd. They’re done. Jesus has done what he can, and now, they think, he should just send them away, so that they can get on with their own plans. He’s done what he can. Let them take care of themselves now. 

Jesus isn’t having that. “They don’t need to go away,” he says bluntly. “You give them something to eat.” The disciples are flummoxed. “We only have five loaves and two fish!” they insist. Again, I hear their unspoken sentiments: We have five loaves and two fish – and they’re for us. We have five loaves and two fish – what could they possibly do for a crowd of thousands? We have five loaves and two fish, and we just want to enjoy our dinner. Send everyone away. You’ve done enough. Let them take care of themselves. But Jesus just says to them, “Five loaves and two fish? Give it all to me.” He takes everything they have, gets everyone to sit down. He takes the food, blesses it, breaks the bread, and gets the disciples to start handing things out. “And all ate and were filled,” we read, and the disciples gather up the leftovers, “twelve baskets full.” 

So, what’s so important about this text? Is it just something cool Jesus can do - make a few loaves and fish feed thousands? Or is there more to it? One special thing about the Feeding of the 5000 is that if you read through the text again, you’ll see that it follows the same pattern that Jesus uses in the Last Supper, the communion meal: Take, Bless, Break, Give. In instituting communion at the Last Supper, Jesus takes the bread and cup, blesses them, breaks the bread, and gives these gifts  to the disciples. And here in this miracle story, he does the same: He takes the bread and fish, blesses the food, breaks the bread, and gives it to all the gathered hungry. When he shares in the Last Supper, Jesus asks us to remember him whenever we share in the bread and the cup. And I think we can extend his directive: whenever we share in a meal, whenever we gather together, whether for communion or something more informal like takes place at the miraculous feeding of this large crowd, we remember, we are thankful, and we are mindful of the pattern: take, bless, break, give. 

Jesus takes what we have, and he blesses it. God works with what seems like very little to make something that reaches a crowd of thousands. The disciples didn’t think that they had much to offer, and what they did have, they didn’t seem too keen on sharing. Their strategy was: everyone should just take care of themselves. But in God’s economy, in God’s reign on earth and in eternity, in the Body of Christ, we’re meant to take care of each other. And God can take even what you consider to be hardly worth offering and make it into abundance. How often have you looked at your gifts, your talents, your assets, your life and thought that you couldn’t make a difference in the world? How often have you thought that hunger was too big a problem for you to confront, that poverty was too overwhelming to change, that the “isms” of the world were too hard to tackle? Jesus wants to feed the crowds, and he says to us, “You give them something to eat.” He believes that we have the capacity, the resources, the ability, when we offer what we have to God for blessing. What are you holding back from God, afraid that you won’t have for yourself if you share, or afraid that it simply isn’t “enough” to be of much good? Whatever we have, let Jesus take it and bless it. He takes our ordinary stuff, and blessing it, makes it holy, fit for God’s purposes. And so a little bit of food becomes a feast for thousands. A miracle. Take, bless. 

Jesus takes our brokenness too. Take, bless, break. Think again of the compassion of Jesus that leads him to offer healing and then offer a meal to this crowd. Jesus lets his grieving, weary heart be transformed into a heart of compassion. To be able to turn our pain into care for others is a gift. Two of my favorite books are the Eight Cousins/Rose in Bloom set by Louisa May Alcott. They never gained the popularity of her Little Women series, but they are worth a read if you’re a fan of her writing. In the books Rose is a young woman trying to find her place in the world, trying to live as a thoughtful, ethical young woman, although she has a large fortune at her disposal, and although she is often tempted to spend her days attending parties and spend her money on the latest fashions. At one point in the story, she is feeling distraught and upset. The adults in her life have made some decisions that leave her feeling heartbroken. And in the midst of her anger and sadness, Rose remembers that her great aunt has always told her that when you’re feeling like this, the best way to move beyond your pain is to start serving others. So Rose decides to turn her pain into helping others. Through serving others, Rose is able to gain some perspective, and transform her own feelings into making a positive impact on her community. The pain and sorrow we experience in life is real, and hard. And we can’t always just “snap out of it.” Healing is important. But I believe serving others, loving others, showing compassion to others can be part of that healing. We heal better when we love others than when we are thinking only of our own needs. Offer your brokenness to God along with the rest of your heart, and God will use it to do miraculous things. Take, bless, break. 

And give. At first, Jesus tells the disciples, bluntly, that they should feed the crowds. They don’t think it’s possible. And so Jesus acts in another way. But I wonder: What if they had believed that they could feed the crowds? What if they had found a way? What if they had believed God would work in and through them to make the impossible possible? We can’t know what would have happened then. But we can imagine. And we can commit to believing that when God calls to give, God, for whom nothing is impossible, will enable us to answer the call. Jesus gives himself, gives his heart, gives sustenance both tangible and intangible, and he invites us, empowers us, challenges us to do likewise. Take, bless, break, give. 

It’s a simple pattern that makes space for miraculous happenings. Jesus, take our hearts, our lives, and all that we have. They’re yours. We are yours. Take our ordinary stuff, and make it holy, bless it for your use, for service in your name. Compassionate Jesus, we even hand over our broken hearts, that in our brokenness we might learn to look with the same tied-in-knots vision you have. You give us everything, pouring out your life for us. Help us see what’s possible when we pour out our lives for others. Take, bless, break, give. An ordinary miracle. Amen. 

Sermon for Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, ʺJoseph, Part IIʺ

Sermon 8/14/11

Genesis 45:1-15

Sunday School Stories: Joseph, Part II

            Today we hear the end of Joseph's saga, at least as the Bible records, but we miss a lot of the middle section. So let me fill you in, or remind you, of what happened, after we left Joseph, sold into slavery to Ishmaelites by his brothers last week. Joseph's brothers let Jacob, his father, believe Joseph has been killed by a wild animal. Meanwhile, Joseph is sold as a slave to Potiphar, the captain of the Pharaoh's – the king of Egypt's guard. Things go well for Joseph, though, in spite of circumstances. The scriptures read: ʺThe Lord was with Joseph, and he became a successful man; he was in the house of his Egyptian master. His master saw that the Lord was with him, and that the Lord caused all that he did to prosper in his hands.ʺ Joseph, though a slave, makes a place for himself in Potipharʹs house, and because God is with Joseph, Potiphar is also blessed.

            But Potipharʹs wife, one of the many unnamed women of the Bible, pursues Joseph, and wants to have sex with him. Joseph refuses, and when he does, she sets it up to look like Joseph was trying to attack her. Potiphar is enraged, and throws Joseph into prison. While in prison, the Pharaoh's cupbearer and baker are also thrown into prison. There, they both have strange dreams, and Joseph, familiar with dreams, is able to interpret them. The baker will be put to death, but the cupbearer will be restored to his position with the Pharaoh. It happens just as Joseph predicts. But instead of helping Joseph get free of jail, the cupbearer forgets his story. That is, until the Pharaoh begins having strange dreams himself. Suddenly, the cupbearer remembers the strange man that interpreted his dreams long ago. Pharaoh sends for Joseph, and Joseph listens to and explains his dreams, saying it isn’t he but God who is interpreting. Essentially, Pharaoh's dreams are foretelling seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine. But with this knowledge, Joseph leads Egypt through careful planning, becoming Pharaoh's right hand man, and Egypt is in good shape when the famine comes.

            However, Jacob and his sons have not fared so well, and they eventually make their way to Egypt, with the brothers unknowingly seeking favors from Joseph, who they sold into slavery and claimed was dead. Joseph recognizes them, but they don’t recognize him. It’s as good as a soap opera, really. It involves Joseph framing one of the brothers for theft, Reuben again being the only sensible one, and Joseph weeping repeatedly and loudly, but eventually we hit our passage for today, where Joseph reveals himself: I am Joseph. I am your brother, whom you sold into Egypt. Don’t be upset because of what you did, because God sent me here in order to save you. After this, and after the brothers affirm that Joseph really really forgives them and isn’t just waiting until their father dies to get revenge on them all, Joseph concludes in the final chapter of Genesis with what I think is the key verse in his story. He says, ʺEven though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good.ʺ

            Last week, we talked about how God uses people that are, well – questionable characters sometimes. We thought about those whom God calls and we wonder what God is up to, and I hope we also wondered about the grace of God that calls even us, as much as we can be pains in the butt like young Joseph. But this week, I think our story pushes us to ask even harder questions. The conclusion of Joseph's story brings us a decidedly grown-up and matured Joseph, a Joseph who is able, without hesitation, to forgive his family for what he has endured, and to look over his life and see God at work in every place. Joseph keeps saying things like: ʺFor God sent me before you to preserve life. God sent me before you to preserve you for a remnant on earth. It was not you who sent me here, but God. God has made me a father to Pharaoh,ʺ and finally, what I think is the sum of how Joseph feels, ʺEven though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good.ʺ

            Joseph's story is a story of incredible forgiveness. Joseph grows up and he isn’t now who he used to be. He has been changed. His time as a slave, his time in prison, his time in a foreign land – all of this has made Joseph into a real leader, grounded, serious, looking beyond his own welfare. Sometimes when we have been wronged by someone, or had a bad or painful experience with someone, we're unable to let them ever be anything other than the person that once hurt us. Often, we don’t leave space for reconciliation and healing in our relationships. Joseph doesn’t end up as the bratty kid he started out as. What if we could only ever see him that way?

You might know that I've been keeping a journal since fifth grade. Every once in a while, I like to look back and read what I've said through the years. It gives me hope, knowing that we change and mature. Not just from childhood to adulthood, but I also like looking over my years of ministry and seeing changes from my first year to this, my ninth year in ministry!  Some patterns are the same, some things I still struggle with – but thank God, change is possible. We don’t always have to be stuck in the broken patterns of our lives. So where we have wronged, and where we have been wronged, we have to believe that with God's help, we don’t stand still in the midst of our sins. We move on and beyond to where God calls us. The rift between Joseph and his brothers – who would think that it could ever be conquered? Who would think that they would ever meet again and not want to kill each other, but instead meet with tears of joy? But this forgiveness comes only when we believe that God can work as much in the lives of those that have hurt us as God can in our own lives.

            And for Joseph, forgiveness happens because of his belief that God has been involved in, and in fact was shaping everything that happened to him. And here is where we hit the hard questions. This idea is called God's Providence – the idea that God is shaping and guiding our destiny. Joseph sees that God had a plan for him all along – if his brothers hadn’t sold him into slavery, maybe they would have all starved together during the famine, right? Skeptics among us might wonder though – couldn’t God have just figured out a different way? Did Joseph have to be a slave in order to grow up and save his family?

            For me, this is where understanding God as a parent is most helpful. And here I mean not the parent like Jacob who clearly has a most favorite child. But God the parent who has endless love for all of us. Parents, can you prevent every bad thing from happening to your child? You might wish it with all your heart and soul, but you know it isn’t possible. And you certainly can’t prevent your children from making some dumb choices, can you? In fact, you know it would be best if you didn’t prevent them, sometimes, right? Although I often tease people that their life would be better if I could just make decisions for them, I know that isn’t true. Because what is life, really, if we don’t have choices? If we don’t have any decisions to make? We don’t want to stay babies forever, and we don’t want to stay spiritual babies either. And God doesn’t want that for us either, anymore than you would want your children never to grow into their whole, independent, wonderful, unique selves, even as they drive you crazy along the way.

            But what you do want, what you can do, is be there all along the way, ready to help in every crisis, looking for ways to make the best out of your child’s mistakes and sins, looking for ways to turn awful situations into situations of hope and maybe even joy. And hopefully your children will know they can depend on you, and trust you, and listen to you once in a while! God's intents for us are always good. And God never leaves us or forsakes us. But neither does God seek to make us into babies, never able to make our own (sometimes bad) choices. Whatever we make of our lives, though, God is always willing to take the pieces and show us what they can become, when we work together, when we are willing to follow the risky path God lays out for us.

            Bad things happening to us isn’t God abandoning us, but God freeing us to live in the world and choose what we will be and who we will become, instead of God deciding it all for us.  And God's Providence, God guiding us isn’t God controlling us. Providence is knowing that God always intends good for us, and that God can always take our brokenness, and call us to wholeness. Thanks be to God. Amen.