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Peter JB Carman
Emmanuel Friedens Church, Schenectady New York
July 29, 2018
Preached at Collins Park, Scotia, at the Annual Church Picnic
Reading: John 6:1-21
This is not the first time the companions of Christ have gathered by the water to break bread… John’s Gospel places the feeding of 5000 people (at least) beside the inland sea that Jesus will shortly cross, next to the waters he will shortly walk on.
Now, admittedly we are about one-hundredth of the size of that early gathering here today, and the waters we are about to eat next to are but a noble duck pond, in comparison to the broad and trouble-prone waters next to which Jesus and that crowd gathered. And yet this meal has some things in common with that one. For example, we always worry beforehand if there will be enough--- and generally there are twelve basketsful left after. Abundance.
So, this may not be a gathering of the five thousand, but we stand next to holy waters, and we sit and stand on holy ground, as we prepare for a meal that may consist of burgers and salad and chips—but is made up of what we bring to it, and is a sacred meal, a feast of love, which tastes, every year, like sweet communion.
Like that mass of people who gathered to listen to the words of Jesus long ago, we come to this meal, many of us, hungry and thirsty. We come to the table—in this case picnic benches-- longing for signs of grace, in need of healing. We can identify with what those early seekers were hungry for: hope in a desperate land; the healing of our souls as well as our bodies, the taste of some holy community, the kind of community where people share in a spirit of abundance, even when they have little to share.
Some of us are experiencing or are caring for those experiencing—severe physical pain. Some of us, like the members of my family, are experiencing grief, in all its messiness and unpredictability. And some of us are hungry for some love, some friendship, as we live with solitude, or wrestle with fragmenting relationships. Some of us are thirsty for justice, in a time when power raises its head most arrogantly in the interest of greed and spawns hatred for its purposes. We come to the table hungry and thirsty in so many ways—and I for one often as a preacher confess that I often come to you on Sunday morning with the self-same question as Jesus’ disciples could not answer so long ago: “Where are we to buy bread, so that these people may eat?” Of course, it is that stumbler the apostle Simon Peter who stumbles on a beginning to an answer still loaded with a question: “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish, but what are they for so many?”
Recently a friend of mine in Latin America posted a cartoon in Spanish. In one picture there is a wealthy tycoon invoking the name of Jesus Christ as he takes advantage of those who have so little already. In the next picture, a military dictator is using the name of Jesus to justify violent repression. And there are more. You get the idea. In the final image we see a long-haired Jesus, showing up to a government office: “I’m here to apply for a name-change….” The reign of God is a commonwealth not bread and circus. It begins with barley loaves and a couple of fish. And the Jesus we gather with will not put up with the misuse of his name for unholy ends. For he is, first and last, the one who mobilizes and inspires and meets the needs of the hungry crowd of humanity.
I believe that is the Jesus who is in the midst of us today, as we break bread, I mean hamburger buns, by these waters. This Jesus asks us to look among us, to find what it takes, to feed the hungry, to speak truth to power, to comfort the grieving, to heal the broken in body, mind and spirit. This Jesus does not want to be used for the purposes of kingship and wealth, influence-peddling. This Jesus will multiply the loaves and fishes still, create abundance even as we share what little bits and fragile gifts we bring.
God does not ask us to come up with what we do not have. Grace is a potluck picnic, where every one provides what they have, and where it turns out that surprising folk have the gifts it takes to feed the five thousand—with the help of God. Grace is a community brunch where someone runs to the grocery store, when supplies run low. Grace is a little congregation with a powerful word to the world, gathered next to a pond on a sunny morning in Schenectady, after a long tough rainy hot week. And the word that will feed us is Love.
So, as we go to eat today, I ask you one favor. Don’t take the bread for granted, don’t take the community for granted, don’t take the waters of grace for granted. Christ is in the midst of you, and this is but the first course, of the extraordinary feast that is across the waters, the end of the hard row, the assurance in the stormy crossing ahead.
Emmanuel Friedens Church, Schenectady New York
July 29, 2018
Preached at Collins Park, Scotia, at the Annual Church Picnic
Reading: John 6:1-21
This is not the first time the companions of Christ have gathered by the water to break bread… John’s Gospel places the feeding of 5000 people (at least) beside the inland sea that Jesus will shortly cross, next to the waters he will shortly walk on.
Now, admittedly we are about one-hundredth of the size of that early gathering here today, and the waters we are about to eat next to are but a noble duck pond, in comparison to the broad and trouble-prone waters next to which Jesus and that crowd gathered. And yet this meal has some things in common with that one. For example, we always worry beforehand if there will be enough--- and generally there are twelve basketsful left after. Abundance.
So, this may not be a gathering of the five thousand, but we stand next to holy waters, and we sit and stand on holy ground, as we prepare for a meal that may consist of burgers and salad and chips—but is made up of what we bring to it, and is a sacred meal, a feast of love, which tastes, every year, like sweet communion.
Like that mass of people who gathered to listen to the words of Jesus long ago, we come to this meal, many of us, hungry and thirsty. We come to the table—in this case picnic benches-- longing for signs of grace, in need of healing. We can identify with what those early seekers were hungry for: hope in a desperate land; the healing of our souls as well as our bodies, the taste of some holy community, the kind of community where people share in a spirit of abundance, even when they have little to share.
Some of us are experiencing or are caring for those experiencing—severe physical pain. Some of us, like the members of my family, are experiencing grief, in all its messiness and unpredictability. And some of us are hungry for some love, some friendship, as we live with solitude, or wrestle with fragmenting relationships. Some of us are thirsty for justice, in a time when power raises its head most arrogantly in the interest of greed and spawns hatred for its purposes. We come to the table hungry and thirsty in so many ways—and I for one often as a preacher confess that I often come to you on Sunday morning with the self-same question as Jesus’ disciples could not answer so long ago: “Where are we to buy bread, so that these people may eat?” Of course, it is that stumbler the apostle Simon Peter who stumbles on a beginning to an answer still loaded with a question: “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish, but what are they for so many?”
Recently a friend of mine in Latin America posted a cartoon in Spanish. In one picture there is a wealthy tycoon invoking the name of Jesus Christ as he takes advantage of those who have so little already. In the next picture, a military dictator is using the name of Jesus to justify violent repression. And there are more. You get the idea. In the final image we see a long-haired Jesus, showing up to a government office: “I’m here to apply for a name-change….” The reign of God is a commonwealth not bread and circus. It begins with barley loaves and a couple of fish. And the Jesus we gather with will not put up with the misuse of his name for unholy ends. For he is, first and last, the one who mobilizes and inspires and meets the needs of the hungry crowd of humanity.
I believe that is the Jesus who is in the midst of us today, as we break bread, I mean hamburger buns, by these waters. This Jesus asks us to look among us, to find what it takes, to feed the hungry, to speak truth to power, to comfort the grieving, to heal the broken in body, mind and spirit. This Jesus does not want to be used for the purposes of kingship and wealth, influence-peddling. This Jesus will multiply the loaves and fishes still, create abundance even as we share what little bits and fragile gifts we bring.
God does not ask us to come up with what we do not have. Grace is a potluck picnic, where every one provides what they have, and where it turns out that surprising folk have the gifts it takes to feed the five thousand—with the help of God. Grace is a community brunch where someone runs to the grocery store, when supplies run low. Grace is a little congregation with a powerful word to the world, gathered next to a pond on a sunny morning in Schenectady, after a long tough rainy hot week. And the word that will feed us is Love.
So, as we go to eat today, I ask you one favor. Don’t take the bread for granted, don’t take the community for granted, don’t take the waters of grace for granted. Christ is in the midst of you, and this is but the first course, of the extraordinary feast that is across the waters, the end of the hard row, the assurance in the stormy crossing ahead.