SERMON 3/30/03
2 CHRONICLES 36:14-23
EPHESIANS 2:4-10
JOHN 6:4-15
"FEEDING of the
5,000"
The feeding of the 5,000, the
multiplication of loaves and fishes, is the only miracle of Jesus recorded in all
four Gospels. It is a deep story, one which I'd like to explore in two
different ways with you.
First, let's look at and analyze some
intriguing details. Jesus is with a
large crowd on a hillside in Galilee—perhaps a distance from any town. It is near Passover, the great Jewish feast
which recalls their last meal in Egypt and their liberation from
slavery, liberation which came so quickly they did not even have time to let
their bread rise, so they had to eat bread without yeast. Passover was a time when people also
remembered being fed by God by manna in the wilderness while on the way
to the Promised Land under Moses' leadership.
Recalling Moses prompted people to remember Moses' prediction that
"a prophet like him" would be raised up by God from the Jewish people
to lead them anew.
Passover also became and remains a time of
expectation for the coming of the Messiah, with the tradition of leaving an
extra chair at the table for the prophet Elijah, the forerunner of the Messiah,
in case he came that night to that house to announce that the
Messiah is coming. So, inviting people
out to the countryside to be fed by the Word of God, by this miracle-working
Teacher named Jesus at Passover time would already whet expectations. Meeting on a hillside to hear the sermon
would remind Jesus' listeners of Mt. Sinai.
And then - Jesus mentions food to Philip, evoking once again the
experience of the Israelites in the Wilderness.
Philip, however, "sees the pitch
coming", swings - and misses it by a foot. "Six months wages would not buy enough bread for each of them
to get a little." He is thinking
practically and of human resources; besides, even if he had six months'
wages burning a hole in his pocket, there was no place he could drive to and
order 2,000 Big Macs, 3,000 Happy Meals, 5,000 Cokes, 10,000 Napkins....
The rest of the disciples are equally
clueless—the rest of the adult disciples, that is. It was a boy who came up to Andrew
and brought five barley loaves and two fish and offered them all.
Was this the boy's food for the next two
days? Was this his whole family's food
he brought up? Was he bringing up his
own food and what he collected from neighbors in the crowd, to offer to
Jesus? We don't know. We do know that only this kid, of all 5,000
people there, had the faith and the chutzpa to bring food up to Jesus.
And after Jesus received the boy's gift,
and multiplied it, I can't believe Jesus would say to the child, "Now you
can't have any."
Ever wonder why baptized children
are allowed to take communion?
Faith comes in all ages and sizes, and
sometimes what it takes is someone who thinks their gift could help—so they
give it—and who has heard, or instinctively believes, those words of Scripture,
"With God nothing is impossible."
"Jesus took the loaves, and when he
had given thanks": let's think
about that. The word for "had
given thanks" in Greek is eucharistésas, from which we get our
word, eucharist.
Thanksgiving—“Thanksgiving dinner" there on the hill overlooking
the Sea of Galilee. Jesus took the
loaves—barley loaves, the food of people who couldn't afford bread made from
wheat—barley loaves, a breathtakingly generous gift from a boy whose family
could only afford the cheapest thing in the bakery aisle. Jesus took that gift, gave thanks to God,
broke the bread and gave it to the people - and suddenly there was an abundance
of food, just like in the old days with Moses only more so—there were 12
baskets full of left-overs, one for every apostle, one for every tribe of
Israel.
Every Sunday when we take bread, give
thanks to God, break it and share, we remember not only the Last Supper but
also this unexpected feast. Maybe Jesus
cloned the bread and fish at fast-forward speed; I don't know how he did
it, and it doesn't much matter. What we
do know is he taught us a formula that day as profound as any of
Einstein's—a formula we have seen in many places since that awesome spring day
in the country.
The formula is this: Faith + Love + Generosity + God =
Abundance.
Now I'd like to invite you to experience
this story a different way. I'd like
you to close your eyes and imagine you're there. It's a beautiful afternoon in early Spring. The wildflowers on the hill are blooming,
there are little whitecaps on the lake below, and you are walking along with
many other people converging on a hilltop.
And then you see him.
There is no mistaking him: he is
the focus of 10,000 eyes, 5,000 longing hearts, of hopes and dreams. You hurry as fast as you can to get close to
him - and suddenly he is there, just a few yards away. Suddenly, you feel shy, and almost shrink
back in the crowd, but then you bite your lip: maybe it's now or never. You kneel at his feet.
"What do you want me to do for
you?" he asks, his rich brown eyes looking deep into you. You blurt out your hurt, your sorrow, your
hope—and somehow only he hears it. He lays his hands on your head, and you can feel ... it feels
like sunlight radiating all through you—sunlight, serenity, healing.
He says "Follow me."
You get up, almost giddy, almost dizzy,
and run, skip after him. He's laughing
with one person, playing with a child, touching a cripple and then dancing
with her, speaking to a man for whom his words become the first words he has
ever heard. He touches eyes and his
face is the first one those eyes ever see. And then he sits down to teach.
Never have you heard such teaching—and such
a teacher. But the afternoon wears
on and suddenly you realize how close it's getting to dinnertime, and you have
brought nothing. Food seems so
trivial—but face it, you're hungry. The
crowd starts to get restless.
You see Jesus finish teaching and turn to
Philip, who looks incredulous and empties his pockets and comes up with two
coins, as if to say, "Right, boss.
Sure, I'll feed the crowd."
And then you see a little ragged barefoot boy push his way to the front
and tug on Andrew's robe.
"Sir," the boy says in a loud
voice, "I brought these for Jesus."
Andrew looks down at the boy's basket, then looks around at the teeming
crowd and laughs cynically. The boy
bites his lip, stamps his foot, and, fighting back tears, says even
louder,"Sir, Jesus just told us to do to others as we would want
others to do to us. I'm sorry it's
so little, but it's all I've got."
Ashamed and embarrassed, Andrew takes the boy to Jesus. The other disciples are standing around,
looking helpless.
The boy comes up to Jesus. Andrew starts, "Sorry to bother you
Lord, but this kid…" When Jesus
bends down with a radiant smile, picks the boy and his basket up and
hugs him and says, "My friend, you're the only one in this whole crowd
who got it. Thank you
for your gift. It is
enough. It is more than enough. Now, I will give you a front row seat. Watch this."
Somehow, the little boy seems to you to be
the least surprised person in the whole crowd, as the bread overflows his
basket again…and again…and again. The
little boy holds his piece of bread up and says, "Thank you, Jesus."
A great chorus swells up as Jesus walks
through the crowd, handing out the bread and looking intently at each
recipient. He comes to you and places
the bread in your cupped hands and says, "I am the bread of life."
And as you chew, he moves on and on, and
the vision of the hillside fades, and you slowly return to 2003. You are changed. Fed.
Blessed. And you open your
eyes.
And we are on a hillside in Monmouth
Junction, New Jersey, making Eucharist, giving thanks, opening ourselves up to the
same Lord who, after all, is here among us - wherever two or three or more are
gathered together in his Name. And as
we hear his words in Scripture, and ask for healing and forgiveness from him,
and are fed with his body around his table, we can catch the priceless,
contagious joy that comes with being part of the community of faith in all the
ups and downs, joys and sorrows of our lives, for we know that he lives, he
loves, he triumphs. We receive his
love, and we can receive his life, by his amazing grace.
Thanks be to God.
(The Rev.) Francis A. Hubbard
St.Barnabas Episcopal Church