Stuff

Many years ago, when I was just starting out and raising young children, I heard a retired bishop give a talk about some of the tasks necessary to retire.  Like many clergy back in the day, he spent his entire career living in church-owned housing.  For he and his wife, the first task of retiring was finding a place to live.  The second task involved downsizing.  They had much more stuff than they could fit into their new home.  Nowhere was this more evident than with the things the bishop kept in his office – again, a church-provided space.  Specifically, he had way more books than he could ever hope to store in his home and truthfully most of them he no longer needed.  Apparently the local library had little use for forty-year-old theology books.  Neither did his seminary.  Eventually he was able to box them up and ship them to a newly forming school in Africa. 

That talk has stayed with me over the years because it reminds me everything I have one day will have to be given away, disposed, or sold.  Somewhere after I bought my current house and outfitted all the rooms I crossed a threshold in life.  I am no longer accumulating stuff, but I have not yet begun the process of letting go.  I am just sitting on it.  Kings and queens are said to possess the throne by sitting on it.  Sometimes I wonder if I am sitting on my possessions or if they are sitting on me.     

Do you know there are nearly 12,000 Starbucks coffee shops in America, there are over 14,000 McDonalds, and almost 32,000 post offices?  Care to guess how many self-storage facilities we have in our country?  Almost 53,000 and growing by 2,000-3,000 a year.  There is over 2.3 billion square feet of storage space – three times the size of Manhattan and equal to seven square feet for every person within our borders.  Now, some of this space is used to keep items while in transition, but 50% of what is stored simply won’t fit into a person’s home, even though the average size of a typical house has grown dramatically since the 1950’s.  We Americans have a lot of stuff, so much in fact, we have nowhere to put it. 

Perhaps we have no better biblical figure with which to identify than the person who approaches Jesus in today’s gospel reading.  We never learn his name, but he is often referred to as “the rich young ruler”, even though the text does not tell us he is rich or young or a ruler.  He asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life.  This, it seems to me, is another great obsession in our country, at least for some.  Who here has not been “evangelized” by a well-meaning person who asks “If you were to die tonight do you know where your soul would go?”  I wonder if the man who approaches Jesus wants to have this ‘heavenly’ question answered so he can be at peace as he gets back to the earthly business of collecting stuff. 

Interestingly, Jesus points him to the Ten Commandments dealing specifically with how one is to treat a neighbor, but not to the ones describing our relationship with God.  The man says he has kept these laws all his life.  “There is one thing you lack,” Jesus says to him, “Go and sell all you have, give the money to the poor, store up for yourself treasures in heaven, and come follow me.”  I wonder if I will ever get to the point where I have done so many good deeds I will need a self-storage space in heaven to keep all the spiritual treasures I have accumulated. 

On hearing this, the text tells us the man is shocked and goes away “grieving” for he has “many possessions.”  The Greek word translated here as grieving literally means ‘gloomy’, ‘overcast’ or ‘clouded over’.  The man’s possessions cloud his vision and he cannot see past them to anything that lies beyond.  They obscure his sight to such a degree he cannot see the Kingdom of God Jesus offers to him.  He loves his possessions so much that they prevent him from knowing the love of God. 

If Jesus invited you to follow him, would you be able?  What would hold you back?  Some of us – especially those with small children – understandably are not able to drop everything on a whim and follow.  But many of us – far too many – are impaired by financial commitments and obligations.  Who will pay your mortgage, your car payments, and your student loans?  Perhaps you have already maxed out a couple of credit cards and can’t afford to take on any more debt.  Maybe you are saving for a boat or a vacation home.  The things we have and the things we want can inhibit us from being the person God is calling us to be.

As I said, I feel very blessed to be at a point in life where I no longer feel the need to accumulate stuff.  It probably has more to do with my age and where I am in life than any kind of spiritual awakening, so it is not something for which I take credit.  But it is something for which I am deeply grateful.  I am better positioned to channel my resources to things that matter and make a difference.  Some time ago, without really trying, I became a tither, giving away at least 10% of what I earn, which is the biblical measure of generosity.  This was hardly possible when I had young children, but now is something I can do without giving it a second thought. 

In a couple of weeks St. Paul’s will ask you to make a financial pledge to support the work of our parish in 2019.  Your Vestry and I appreciate every dollar you give us and we do our best to make it count for something good.  I encourage you to examine where you are in terms of your giving.  The average person gives away 2% of what they make.  Often this is done without any kind of plan or commitment.  Many of us give when we feel motivated to give.  I want to challenge you to stretch yourself.  If you are giving away 2% of your income, can you push it to 2.5%?  If you give away $25 a week, can you make it $40?  Little by little and over time, these sacrifices begin to add up and one day you will find yourself tithing, in that place where God invites you to be in right relationship to your wealth and possessions.  

I don’t know who said it first, but more than one person has said, “I have never met a former tither.”  This simple spiritual discipline becomes a way to live which is consistent with our faith and open to accepting God’s invitation.  Getting there is a part of our life’s journey and with each step you will sense yourself not inheriting eternal life, but living with it here and now.

A Salty Purpose

At one level or another each of us is trying to figure out this ‘life’ thing.  We want to know why we are here and what we are supposed to do.  Every now and then a clue comes our way.  The Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw provides this valuable insight:

This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

Do you have a mighty purpose in life?

I think Jesus would like this question.  He raises it in today’s gospel reading when he makes three statements about salt.  The first is “everyone will be salted with fire,” which scholars say is one of the most enigmatic things Jesus ever uttered.  And while not entirely clear, it seems to be related to animal sacrifice.  Prior to being offered on a fire, an animal carcass was rubbed with salt to draw out the blood.  Once this was accomplished, it was roasted over a fire and offered in sacrifice or served for human consumption.  The salt was useful in this process, but once used, it lost the properties that made it useful.  Hence, the second statement: “How can saltiness be restored?”  The final expression, “Have saltiness in yourselves, and be at peace with one another,” hints at the work we need to do to be in proper, healthy relationship with one another.

Do you have a mighty purpose in life, something at least as useful as what salt does when rubbed on meat and exposed to fire?

On his blogsite, Brandon Phillips offers ten signs you don’t have a mighty purpose, but simply are living life as a feverish selfish little clod:

1.    You mostly talk about yourself and every conversation focuses mainly on you.

2.    You litter.  It is a way of saying the world is your trash can and someone else will take care of it.

3.    You don’t consider the impact of your actions on others or, if you do, you don’t care.  (I call this the “Shopping Cart Blocking the Aisle Principle”) 

4.    You see the world through “you-colored” glasses and consider only how something affects you personally.  

5.    You have an entitlement mentality and expect to reap without sowing.  For example, if you are somehow inconvenienced, your first thought is how you can sue and win money.

6.    You don’t fulfill the responsibilities and commitments you’ve made.

7.    You only see extremes in every idea, person, or organization.

8.    You think anything causing you discomfort is bad and therefore you’re entitled to complain, worry, and moan.

9.    You think people who are different from you are the problem with the world.

10. You give only when you expect to get.

Now, I am confident none of us here this morning can say to any one of these, “Oh, that is me.”  I am also confident each of us knows at least one person who, by this definition, is a feverish selfish little clod.  And sadly, for most of them, once their saltiness is gone it can never be restored. 

Today’s gospel reading begins with what surely is not one of the Apostle John’s shining moments.  He complains to Jesus about a person not in the group who evokes Jesus’ name to cast out demons.  He and the other disciples try to stop the person because “he is not following us.”  The disciples, in fact, are on a roll.  In last week’s reading we learn they are debating amongst themselves who is the greatest. 

For Jesus, who has largely completed his ministry and has set a course for Jerusalem where he knows he will die, this must be very disheartening.  He has invested three years of his life in this group, and now, in the last weeks of his life, they just don’t get it.  He has offered them an expansive vision of what life can be, which he calls the Kingdom of God, but they are still trapped in small, me-centered, provincial thinking. 

Their mindset manifests itself as a competitive spirit, asking who is the most important and fretting over who is getting credit.  No wonder Jesus reactions as strongly as he does, recommending you cut off any body part that causes you to stumble.  The graphic imagery and startling teaching tells us Jesus will have nothing to do with the pettiness of his followers.  He is not interested in cultivating feverish selfish little clods.  He wants salty followers who know how to give themselves to others for the betterment of all.

There is more to George Bernard Shaw’s famous quote.  He offers this as well:  

I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can.

I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live.  I rejoice in life for its own sake.  Life is no “brief candle” for me.  It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.

A mighty purpose.  A splendid torch.  Salting all you touch and do.  Had Brandon Phillips focused on what this looks like rather than on the clod side, perhaps it would have written something like this:

1.    In every conversation strive to learn at least one thing you did not know about the other person.

2.    Make it your goal to leave no wake and no foul residue as you move through life.

3.    As you tend to your business consider how  your actions might make life a little easier for others.  (I call this the “Honor the Turn Signal of the Other Car Principle”) 

4.    Imagine how the world looks though the eyes of another person.  Ask “What blesses this person?” and “What challenges does this person face?”     

5.    Learn how to let go of privilege.

6.    Keep your word and honor your commitments, especially when it is difficult, costly, or inconvenient.

7.    When encountering a new or different idea, person, or organization discern what you have in common and decipher where connections are possible.

8.    Embrace hardship and struggle with good cheer, being grateful for the opportunities it brings for growth, resiliency, and strength.

9.    Aim to understand how people different from you add richness to the tapestry of life.

10. Give and give and give of yourself, expecting nothing in return except for a larger, more generous soul... and then be open to seeing what happens.

Jesus said, “Have salt in yourself.”  Me might take this to mean we should add flavor and zest to the taste of life.  This may not sound like much, but it is indeed a mighty purpose.  Focusing not on what you get but on what you give, not on how you are treated but on how you behave, not on what you are owed but on what you can offer is the essence of a salty life, a mighty purpose, and a splendid torch.  

The Problem with Legalism

A rabbi in the 3^rd century counted all the commandments in the Hebrew Scriptures and determined the number to be mitzvoth — 613.  Of these, 365 are “negative”, telling us what not to do.  Supposedly, it is not coincidental this corresponds with the number of days in a year.  There are 248 “positive” commands prescribing what we are to do, the same number as bones and main organs in the human body.  Following the destruction of the Temple many of the commands can no longer be kept.  74 positive and 194 negative commandments still can be observed.

This may sound like a lot, but it isn’t, at least for some people.  By Jesus’ day, religious leaders have developed an oral tradition of thousands upon thousands of laws describing how to keep the commandments.  Many, with great specificity, deal with how to keep the Sabbath and what is required for a person to be pure and undefiled.  Today’s gospel reading gives us just a hint about the minutia involved. 

Paul Walker, in a book we have been assigned to read in preparation for our pilgrimage to the Holy Land, makes the case that in first century Palestine keeping these traditions has a lot to do with national identity.  Parts of Israel, especially where Jesus lives and carries out his ministry, are much more cosmopolitan than we might imagine.  Observing the traditions is a significant way a person identifies himself or herself as a Jew — “This is who we are and this is what we do.”  Disregarding the traditions is intolerable because it is perceived as a threat to collective identity.  It stirs the same kind of emotion and controversy we find in our day when athletes kneel during the National Anthem.  

At some level, we all want to know what is required of us.  What does it take for me to be a good citizen or a good friend or a good Christian?  It is comforting to have a check list of Do’s and Don’ts to let us know we are doing it the right way.  For some, the check list is a guide, while for others it becomes an obsession.  In fact, following the check list to a T can actually become more important than role it attempts to define.  We have a word for this.  We call it legalism.

Philip Yancey, in his book What’s So Amazing about Grace?, writes about his experience of attending a bible college where things like jewelry, make-up, dancing, bowling, and reading the Sunday paper were frowned upon.  In fact, incoming students were given a sixty-six page rulebook spelling out what was not allowed, complete with biblical references to back up all of it.  It described why a woman’s skirt had to fall below her knees and why a man’s haircut must be above his ears.  In short, it told each student how to be a ‘good Christian’.  Some rejected the rules and left the school.  Still others followed them, but were resentful.  And still others followed the rules and by doing so believed they were special in God’s eyes; not sinners like the girls who wore mini-skirts and the guys with long hair.

Yancey came to discern there are several problems with legalism.  First, it focuses on externals, valuing a person who looks and acts a certain way.  Over time, this emphasis has a tendency to morph from an attempt to please God into an effort to impress others.  Sure, the Pharisees hands were washed spotlessly clean for everyone to see, but more hidden and more important was how they cultivated dark and hateful hearts.  Jesus called on people to be perfect as God is perfect and no amount of external conformity can mask internal corruption and decay.

A second problem with legalism is over time it gives way to extremism.  More and more rules are added and no possible detail is overlooked.  Did you know there are elevators in Israel programmed to stop at every floor on the Sabbath day?  This is done so no person will have to do the ‘work’ of pushing a floor button.  [I read this in Yancey's book.  On Saturday Joe Liberman mentioned it in his eulogy of John McCain]   This kind of extremism may seem silly, but some people take it so darn seriously.

Finally, Yancey is critical of legalism because it focuses on trivialities.  He notes his college cared more about skirt lengths than it did about nuclear war, racism, and the world hunger.  The Pharisees made sure their cups and pots were cleaned the right way, but became enraged when Jesus healed a person on the Sabbath.

Yancey tells the story of Samuel Tuke, a 19^th century English reformer who introduced a new method of treatment for the mentally ill.  At the time, patients routinely were chained to a wall and beaten, in a mistaken belief this punishment would drive out evil spirits.  Tuke, finding this approach barbaric and ineffective, began to teach mentally ill patients how to behave at church and tea.  He even dressed them so they would look like everyone else.  On the outside they appeared and behaved appropriately, but on the inside nothing had changed.  They were still mentally ill and suffering.

Perhaps this is the single biggest problem with legalism.  It requires outer conformity without inner transformation.  As Yancey writes, “It is possible to know the law by heart without knowing the heart of it.”  Jesus turns the tradition of the elders outside in, saying it is not what one does on the outside that defiles, it is who one is on the inside that matters.   

Christianity is a religion of a forgiven and renewed heart.  We invite God’s Spirit to live within us in order to recreate us.  The old is gone and something new begins.  We begin to feel what God feels.  We begin to see what God sees.  We begin to love as God loves.  This is the Kingdom of God as Jesus presents it.  It is not focused exclusively on externals but rather seeks healing and wholeness on the inside.  It does not heap more and more demands upon us, but becomes a burden which is easy and a yoke which is light.  And it does not obsess over trivialities, but rather concerns itself with the things that lead to human flourishing and faithful living.

Lazy Maps

Jesus turns to his disciples and asks, “Do you also wish to go away?”  With this we come to the conclusion of five Sundays focusing of the feeding of the 5,000 and its meaning.  All the people who have been following Jesus, crisscrossing the Sea of Galilee several times, take offense at what he says and leave.  Only the Twelve are remain.

Jesus does not make it easy for the multitude.  His language seems intentionally designed to confound and repulse.  “The one who eats my flesh and drinks my blood will live forever.”  Actually, “eats” is not the most accurate translation.  The verb Jesus uses literally means “to gnaw.”  “The one who gnaws on my flesh…”  The cannibalistic overtones alone are offensive enough, but there is more.  The bible strictly forbids the eating of flesh with its blood still in it because it associates blood with life.  Those who hear Jesus take his words to be blasphemous and an abhorrent violation of God’s commandments.  Sure, Jesus gave them food so they all ate and were satisfied, but even this sign is not enough for them to stomach his teaching.

Do you also wish to go away?

I mentioned a few weeks ago I have been re-reading Scott Peck’s book The Road Less Travelled.  In it he talks about the process of transference:

Transference is that set of ways of perceiving and responding to the world which is developed in childhood and which is usually appropriate to the childhood environment (indeed, often life-saving), but which is inappropriately transferred into the adult world.

He describes a patient who, as a child, was constantly disappointed by his parents.  They forgot his birthday, didn’t follow through on a weekend trip, and never got him a promised bicycle.  Gradually he learned he could not trust his parents and remarkably accepting this realization made his young world a better and safer place for him.  The problem was he transferred this into adulthood, holding to the notion you can’t trust people.  As a result, he could not hold down a steady job and his marriage failed. 

Peck calls an idea like “I can’t trust my parents” and “I can’t trust other people” a ‘map’ by which we navigate life.  There are nearly as many different maps as there are people.  One person’s map may indicate “God will love me no matter what I do” while another’s may state “God will be angry with me if I make a mistake.”  If we are going to pursue what is true about life we must be open to challenge what we believe because the maps we carry can and do become outdated.

Challenge and change can be a very scary proposition.  It is easier to cling to the known, to the tried even if not true, than to set off into unchartered waters.  Peck contends there is only one single impediment to spiritual growth – laziness.  Summarizing his book in the late chapters he writes:

In examining discipline we were considering the laziness of attempting to avoid necessary suffering, or taking the easy way out.  In examining love we were also examining the fact that nonlove is the unwillingness to extend one’s self.  Laziness is love’s opposite.  Spiritual growth is effort.

Peck contends laziness is the original sin residing in each one of us.  Adam and Eve were lazy because they did not challenge the words of the serpent.  Their spiritual growth and health required them to go to God and ask more questions about the command not to eat the forbidden fruit; to test the words of God against the words of the serpent.  Either they were not willing or did not see the value of mustering the energy necessary to question their maps.  Laziness is not about how hard or how little you work.  It is about your willingness to engage or to avoid spiritual growth and health. 

All of this provides a helpful lens through which to ponder today’s reading.  The multitudes following Jesus all around Galilee are operating off outdated maps.  Jesus needs to demonstrate who he is if his words are to be believed, but when he feeds the masses they want to make him their king.  They want to shoehorn him into their map of a messianic political figure sent from God to liberate them from foreign control. 

For four weeks now we have listened to Jesus challenge them with his new vision of the Bread of Life and what he has to offer.  For four weeks now we have sensed they do not get it.  They do not understand this new sacramental thinking and how it can lead to spiritual growth and health.  They are content with sacrificing the flesh and blood of animals.  They cannot conceive of consuming God’s flesh and blood as a means of life and eternal life.  So the walk away offended, disappointed, and… lost in their laziness.

So Jesus turns to his disciples and asks, “Do you also wish to go away?”  Peter, in his most shining moment, answers, “To whom can we go?  You have the words of eternal life.  We have come to believe and know you are the Holy One of God.”  The remaining disciples are open to challenge and willing to do the work required for growth.  The creedal statement we have come “to believe and know you are the Holy One” is interesting.  It is worth noting belief comes before knowledge.  You have got to believe in the process before you experience the results.  You have to put your trust in God before growth can happen.  You have to believe in yourself and your ability to change before change begins to take root.  Or you can just walk away.

You are What You Eat

In a book on physiology published in 1826, Anthelme Brillat-Saverin wrote, “Tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are.”  It took almost 100 years for this statement to be refined when in 1932 the Bridgeport Telegraph, in an advertisement for United Meat Markets, made the claim “Ninety percent of the diseases known to man are caused by cheap foodstuffs.  You are what you eat.”

I learned this the hard way back in 1998 when, over the course of a few weeks I suffered a series of gall bladder attacks.  I didn’t know what was happening or why, but after the second one I went to see my doctor.  He asked me what I had had to eat in the twenty-four hours leading up to the episode.  I hadn’t really thought about my diet much, but having to lay it out for another person was as painful as a public confession: a candy bar for breakfast, fast-food cheeseburger and fries for lunch, and a pizza for dinner.  You are what you eat and what I ate made me a gall bladder attack waiting to happen.  I may not have the best of diets even today, but it is vast improvement on twenty years ago.

You are what you eat.  I think if Jesus knew of this phrase he would have built it into today’s gospel reading.  “I am the bread of life.  Unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood you do not have life within you.” 

John’s gospel is different from the other three in terms of style and thinking.  This is especially clear when it comes to Eucharistic theology.  The other three gospels ground the Eucharist in the Last Supper, the Passover meal Jesus shares with his disciples the evening before he is crucified.  Jesus takes bread, gives thanks, breaks it, and shares it with his friends, saying, “This is my body broken for you.  Do this in remembrance of me.”  Likewise with the wine, he gives thanks and shares it, saying, “This is my blood which is shed for you.  Drink it in remembrance of me.”  Linking the meal with the Cross ties the Eucharist to the Atonement, Christ’s sacrifice for the sins of the world.  With this as its theological grounding, the Eucharist is a penitential moment where participants confess, repent, and receive forgiveness.

This was my understanding as I began seminary.  I came to the Eucharist week in and week out confessing my sins and promising to do better, only to return the next Sunday to confess the same sins and shortcomings.  The Eucharist became a torturous experience making me feel more and more unworthy every time I participated in it.

The gospel writer John knew a lot of people just like me; people who were coming to communion for solace only and not for strength, for pardon only and not for renewal.  So he grounds his Eucharistic theology not in the Last Supper but in the feeding of the 5,000.  John talks not about Christ’s body broken, but about the bread of heaven, the bread of life. 

For John, the Eucharist is an infusion of divine life.  At the beginning of his gospel he writes “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God… and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”  And now Jesus says, “If you eat my flesh you have life.”  So, if you are what you eat, when you receive communion you receive the eternal Word.  You receive life.

I recall vividly how this Eucharistic theology came alive in me.  I enrolled at Virginia Seminary and was sent to interview with a priest to see if he would supervise me in what was called “field education.”  This involved working and worshipping at the parish ten hours a week while being trained by the priest.  Well, we hit it off right away and launched into a two-year relationship that enhanced my life and ministry in innumerable ways.  The first Sunday I worshipped there I knelt at the rail in my typical penitential mood and held out my hands to receive communion.  The priest put the wafer in my hand and held my hand for a brief moment the way I hold yours when I give you communion.  I looked up at him and he was looking down at me with a warm smile on his face.  He said, “Keith, the body of Christ, the bread of heaven.”  No one had ever called me by name at the communion rail before.  There was something about that, and the touch, and the smile, and the words “Bread of heaven” that broke through my penitential spirituality and broke me open.  It was for me a moment of incredible joy because I realized for the first time in the Eucharistic moment God loves me and gives life to me.

In truth, the Eucharist is both a penitential moment as well as a celebration of the life God gives to us.  It is not one or the other.  I suspect many people come to this moment as I once did, exclusively focused on the penitential.  If this is true for you, I invite you to shift your spirituality to the bead of heaven giving life to the world.  You are what you eat.

Bread of Life & Risk of Loss

Jesus said, “I am the bread of life.  Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

I have been re-reading Scott Peck’s book The Road Less Travelled.  Published in 1978, it is a classic work on healthy living.  Let me read for you a passage from the chapter where he makes the case genuine love involves a willingness to risk loss:

If you move toward another human being, there is always the risk that that person will move away from you, leaving you more painfully alone than you were before.  Love anything that lives – a person, a pet, a plant – and it will die.  Trust anybody and you may be hurt; depend on anyone and that one may let you down.  The price of [loving] is pain.  If someone is determined not to risk pain, then such a person must do without many things: having children, getting married, [intimacy], the hope of ambition, friendship – all that makes life alive, meaningful, and significant.  Move out or grow in any dimension and pain as well as joy will be your reward.  But the only alternative is not to live fully or not to be alive at all.

“The price of loving is pain.”  How true does this ring with your experience?  It sure rings true with mine.  Some pains and disappointments are minor and easily dismissed or forgiven.  Others are more significant and require mature work to overcome, while some experiences are completely devastating.  The price of loving and living is pain.  You can resist this truth or you can resent it if you want, but its reality will not go away. 

Today’s first reading is riddled with hurt and loss.  King David’s son Absalom revolts against him.  David must flee for his life.  Can you imagine the hurt of having your own child overthrow you?  Once David and those loyal to him regroup, he launches a military offensive to take back the throne.  He instructs his commanders to deal gently with Absalom when they capture him.  David is unimaginably merciful in the face of betrayal.  Still, his orders are not executed and Absalom is needlessly killed.  The father of the rebellious son is crushed.  Absalom gets what he deserves, but not what the king desires.  “Love anything that lives – a person, a pet, a plant – and it will die.  Trust anybody and you may be hurt; depend on anyone and that one may let you down.” 

When we face of such an experience we face a choice.  Either we can give in to fear and try to wall off ourselves from all suffering or we can seek the courage to live and love to the fullest knowing there are times we will be blessed and times we will be broken.  Jesus beckons us down this second path. 

Today’s gospel reading continues to develop the implications of the miraculous feeding of 5,000 people.  This particular portion harkens back to the manna given by God to the Israelites as they wandered forty years in the wilderness.  The people in the wilderness complain to God because they are hungry.  God provides them with a flaky substance in the morning dew.  The people have no idea what it is and call it “manna” – a Hebrew word meaning “what is it?”  Today’s reading has parallels.  First, people are complaining.  This time they object to Jesus saying “I am the bread that came down from heaven.”  Next, while they think they know who Jesus is – the son of Joseph – in reality they do not understand the true nature of Jesus’ bread.  He truly is “what is this?”  Finally, whereas the wilderness manna sustained physical life, Jesus’ bread gives life in all its fullness.  His body broken for us becomes the food we need to sustain us as we seek life and risk loss.

Jesus is the one we can move toward with confidence he will not pull away.  He is the one we can trust with the assurance he will not hurt us.  He is the one on whom we can depend and know we will not be let down.  This is the bread that gives us the courage to love and risk loss because we know we have a sure place to turn for healing, comfort, and mercy.

Scott Peck begins The Road Less Traveled with a three-word sentence, the only sentence in the opening paragraph: “Life is difficult.”  Far from being pessimistic and depressing, it affirms something we all know but perhaps do not want to acknowledge.  Peck states only by accepting this great truth can we hope to transcend it.  Here is a second truth I would add to it: Grace happens!  And it happens all the time.  While life is difficult and full of challenges, so too is it rich and beautiful.  There is so much so rewarding in life that engagement is more than worth the risk involved.  Pain and hurt happen.  So too do joy and happiness, friendship and fun, inspiration and creativity.  Jesus the bread of heaven symbolizes all the grace and goodness we receive in this life.  It points to the reality God nourishes and nurtures us in our journey.  Jesus is the one who sustains us as we wander through the wilderness of life. 

And this bread gives us a hope and foretaste of life to come when the last word of the sentence “Life is difficult” will be dropped and recast as “Life is.”  Years ago Ann Lander’s published a column titled “The best is yet to come.”  I want to read it for you:

A woman was diagnosed with a terminal illness and given three months to live.  She asked her pastor to come to her home to discuss her final wishes.  She told him which songs she wanted sung at her funeral, and what scriptures to read, and which outfit she wanted to be buried in.

Then she said, “One more thing.  I want to be buried with a fork in my hand.”

The pastor was surprised.  The woman explained, “In all my years of attending church socials and pot-luck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, ‘Keep your fork.’  It was my favorite time, because I knew something better was coming, like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie – something wonderful.  So, I want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and wonder, ‘What’s with the fork?’  Then, I want you to tell them, ‘Keep your fork, because the best is yet to come.’”

The pastor’s eyes welled up with tears of joy as he bid the woman goodbye.  He realized that she had a better grasp of heaven than he did, and knew something better was coming.

At the funeral, when people asked him why she was holding a fork, the pastor told them of the conversation he’d had with the woman before she died.  He said he could not stop thinking about the fork, and knew they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it, either.  He was right.

Keep your fork.  The best is yet to come.

We are painfully aware many in our parish are suffering today.  Over the years I have served as your rector I have come to notice how our pastoral pains seem to come in bunches.  The risk of loss and the confronting truth that life is difficult hits our faith community with the force of a tsunami.  The remarkable thing is it does not seem to tax or test our compassion.  Just the opposite occurs.  We marshal our energy and resources and respond.  And what we offer is used by the bread of life to do remarkable things.

Last Sunday, of her own initiating, Sandi Rekkedal, provided cards for us to write notes to some of our parishioners who are going through a hard time.  I was privileged to deliver packets to Connie and Cindy.  From their reactions I felt as if I was handing them the bread life.  God’s grace worked through your goodness in the midst of life’s difficulties and reminded me the risk of loving is absolutely without question the way of the Kingdom of God.  The best is yet to come.

Silencing the Familar & Welcoming the Strange

At our last Vestry meeting we had an interesting discussion centering on the boundaries of helping people asking for a handout.  I am sure you have been here on a Sunday when a person has come in looking for “work”.  They come to my front door as early at 7:00 in the morning and as late at 10:30 at night.  If you live in downtown Suffolk you probably have similar experiences.  And if you help a person he is likely to return sooner rather than later to ask for more. 

I have mentioned before the “Bee Sting” theory of poverty.  Being poor in our country is akin to being attacked by a nest of bees.  A social program may take care a bee or two.  A church food pantry takes care of another bee.  A private handout takes care of another.  So a handful of bees have been swatted away, but there is still a swarm attacking.  If you help people in this position, their understandable response will be two-fold: gratitude and a request to take out another bee.  Take out a second bee and you will be asked to take out a third.  And on it goes until you come to a point where you have to say no more.

Jesus feeds 5,000 people, many of whom are poor and all of whom are hungry.  Suddenly he is the solution to all their worldly problems.  They want to make him king, but Jesus did not come to be a discount grocery store manager.  He slips into hiding.  By nightfall, his disciples decide to sail back to Capernaum, their base of operations.  A few hours later Jesus walks to them on the water.  In the morning the crowd recognizes they are gone and sets out to discover where they are.  They look for Jesus because he has been healing the sick and now feeding people.  He is the answer to their most basic needs.  He is making the bees go away.

Over the next four Sundays our gospel readings are drawn from the chapter in John where Jesus teaches about the meaning of the feeding.  Throughout the chapter different groups and people ask him questions.  The first question they ask when they find him in Capernaum is this: “Rabbi, when did you get here?”  For good reason Jesus does not describe for them his curious method of transportation. 

“You are following me not because you saw a sign, but because you ate your fill,” Jesus says to them.  “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life.”  Jesus is speaking to people who have been beaten down by life and overwhelmed by its challenges.  Yes, he took away their hunger for a day, but even more important he lifted up their spirits.  Now they face a critical moment.  Either they can come alive or they can become dependent.  Jesus is willing to support them in the struggle to take responsibility for themselves, but he is not able to be responsible for them.  He is not going to be a daily source of perishable bread sustaining the body.  Rather, he is going to give them eternal bread to nourish the spirit.

Craig Satterlee, a Lutheran Bishop from Michigan, writes, “I do not think Jesus was scolding the crowd for seeking bread because they were hungry.  I think Jesus was disappointed that the crowd did not expect more, not more bread but something more.”  Sam Keen, in his book To a Dancing God, writes about why expecting something more is so challenging:

Awareness of what presents itself to me involves a double movement of attention: silencing the familiar and welcoming the strange.  Each time I approach a strange object, person, or event, I have a tendency to let my present needs, past experience, or expectations for the future determine what I will see.  If I am to appreciate the uniqueness of any datum, I must be sufficiently aware of my preconceived ideas and characteristic emotional distortions to bracket them long enough to welcome strangeness and novelty into my perceptual world…  Without this discipline each present moment is only the reception of something already seen or experienced. 

It is a very human tendency to see only what you are looking for while missing entirely something readily available.  This, I think, is why Jesus answers the second question as he does.  “What must we do to perform the works of God?”  His answer, while appearing to be simple, is in reality incredibly complex: “Believe in the one whom God has sent.”  By this he means, “You must see me for who I am, not for who you want me to be.  You must look with eyes of faith in order to see what this moment truly is and can be.”

They ask Jesus “What work are you performing?” and remind him how God fed their ancestors in the wilderness.  One of the real challenges we religious folks face is a temptation to think God only acted back then.  The big stories of the bible are so big it is difficult to think anything we experience is on par with them.  I have never walked on water or seen it parted.  I have never tasted water turned to wine or sat down with 4,999 other people and eaten my fill of a meal consisting of five barley loaves and two fish.   It is easy to think God did spectacular things back in the day and our job today is to believe they happened and to be filled with awe.

Jesus shreds this notion by saying to the people then and to us right now his work is to provide the bread of heaven which gives life to the world.  It is a work God is doing here and is doing now.  Each person Jesus is speaking to and each one of us is invited to receive spiritual nourishment.  It is not intended to solve your problems, but to give you the spiritual resources you need to face them. 

I think about the people who come to my door looking for help.  I try not to judge them.  I don’t know their entire stories, but what I do know is at points horrifying.  I don’t believe I could overcome all they have been through.  I invite them to come to our Food Pantry on Monday evenings.  It is just one meal, but we also provide information about where food or meals are available in downtown Suffolk every day of the week.  Sadly, my most frequent visitors do not take advantage of my offer.  I suspect, to use Sam Keen’s phrase, they struggle to silence the familiar in order to welcome the strange.  They do not sense how these efforts can meet their most basic needs and become a Living Bread allowing them to move forward in life.

They are not alone in this struggle.  Although it manifests in different ways, I too struggle to silence the familiar in order to welcome the strange.  I suspect often times I fail to see the wonder and grace right in front of me because I am so locked in to what I know, I experience, and I understand.  If I take Jesus at his word, “I am the bread of life.  Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty” – if I take Jesus at his word – then I must conclude I am missing something because there are times when I am famished and there are times when I am parched.  God has not failed me.  I have failed to perceive what God is offering to me and to receive it.

This morning’s reading encourages us to ponder when, where, and how we approach God looking for a morsel when God is offering us a banquet.