Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15

John 6:1-15, 22-35

 

It has been said that to consider our bread is a material question; our neighbor’s bread, however, is a spiritual question.

I want to consider both the material and the spiritual this morning. And while last Sunday I spoke about what we don’t know, much of what I will say this morning is something you know already.

That’s OK. It’s good to be reminded every now and then.

So ook at the lakeshore, where Jesus is feeding five thousand.

Something different is going on there.

Scarcity gives way to abundance.

Out of next to nothing come leftovers!

There on the shoreline, Jesus is teaching and healing. The crowd of people begins to swell. Finally, the question is asked: “Where are we going to get enough bread to feed all these people?”

The question comes from Jesus—but it could just as easily have been asked by a disciple or any one of us.

Where will we get enough?

It’s a question that congregations have become used to asking over the past 60 years or so. Where will we get enough people? Where will we get enough money? You’ve heard questions like that. Maybe you’ve asked them yourself.

Philip is anxious. He’s a realist. He faces what he regards as the facts. But the result of his hard-nosed approach sounds mostly like whining: “Six months’ wages isn’t going to be enough.” What are we going to do?

Philip isn’t quite sure.

Someone is there who can help, however.

It isn’t an adult who is rich or powerful. It isn’t someone who can provide money or stand up and tell the people to just go home. It isn’t an adult who knows all about crowd control or food service. It isn’t an adult at all.

It is a child—a child who, like most children, doesn’t seem to have very much. What are five barley loaves and two fish in the face of this crowd? This child is willing to share, however, and that will make all the difference.

Watch as he gives the bread and fish to Jesus.

Jesus then takes what is offered and gives thanks to God.

There’s something here about the way that God works in our lives, in our world, isn’t there?

Jesus doesn’t show up with a basket of food, ready to feed the people himself. Instead, he calls those who walk with him to set aside the myth of scarcity and gather the resources that are all about us. We encounter a Christ who challenges us to make the most of what we have and who we are—not just to feed the hungry (although we do that) but to live our lives to the fullest.

The faithful response to the challenges we face is not to sit on our hands waiting for God to do something. You know that. You know that the Congregational Way is to gather the available resources and in the process we most likely discover things we never imaged would be there.

How does the faithful heart respond to such abundance? With thanksgiving.

Listen as Jesus says: “Make the people sit down.”

He doesn’t distinguish between the deserving and the undeserving hungry.

He doesn’t make people show a photo ID in order to get food—although some apparently think that is now a common practice at grocery stores.

Look as he takes the bread and the fish. Five loaves. And only two fish.

It isn’t enough.

It can’t be enough.

            “Where will we get enough?”

Listen again. Listen as Jesus gives thanks for what is there—which is more than we often do.

Maybe he uses the common ancient blessing that reminds those present of God’s care for the Hebrew people on their Exodus journey from Egypt, of God’s generosity. “Blessed are you, O God, Ruler of the universe, who makes bread to fall from heaven.”

He gives thanks, breaks the bread and gives it to the people.

We don’t know how what happened next happened.

But before you know it, they’re collecting leftovers—twelve baskets full!

You figure it out.

Miracles trouble a lot of people.

They trouble me.

“Miracle” is what is unusual and seems to be contrary to the nature of things. And yet it might be that these “unusual things” are simply contrary to our limited knowledge of the course of nature.

Reflecting on this story some very liberal, very reputable theologians have said that the miracle that took place was a supernatural multiplication of the loaves and the fish. In this way Jesus showed his power—God’s power—even over material objects.

As I said, that kind of talk makes me a little uneasy—but maybe that’s because I just don’t want to admit my own limited knowledge of the course of nature.

Others suggest that the real miracle occurred not in the bread and the fish, but in the hearts of the people. Because of the sharing of one child, because Jesus took that gift for what it was, others joined in the act of sharing. Perhaps one who earlier was complaining of hunger, on seeing Jesus and the child, turned to a neighbor and said: “Well, you know, I do have a piece of bread with me as well. Here, there’s enough for the two of us, really.”

And so on and so on. Hearts were opened, hands were opened.

The loaves were multiplied.

That’s a more “natural” accounting of this “miracle.” But that explanation leaves me a little uncomfortable too, because I want to think that God is capable of even greater things that people being kind to one another—although kindness can seem pretty miraculous at times—especially in our times.

The Gospel of John calls what happened a “sign,” because it pointed to something beyond that event.

It is a sign that God provides for us.

It is a sign that we are partners with God. After all, none of this would have happened if it were not for a child who was able to say to Jesus: “Here, take what I have. Use it.”

Bread appeared where earlier there wasn’t any. They all ate and were satisfied. And quite naturally, the people want to make Jesus into their king. Who wouldn’t follow someone who seems able to offer an endless supply of this most basic human need?

So after feeding five thousand people with the help of a boy’s five barley loaves and two fish, Jesus flees from the people.

When they find him the next day, Jesus tries to explain the significance of what had happened. John’s gospel gives Jesus these words: “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.”

Few things remind us of our common humanity, our basic condition as flesh and blood, more than our eating and drinking. Old or young, women or men, rich or poor we all get hungry. We all get thirsty.

To consider our bread is a material question; our neighbor’s bread, however, is a spiritual question.

Which opens things up, doesn’t it?

When we see that there are hungry people in Iowa City and around the world, when we take specific, concrete actions as a result of what we have seen, we are engaged in an activity of the spirit.

Sharing food together is more than a means of getting physical nourishment. It is often a source of spiritual nourishment as well.

When we gather to eat in this building—whether here in the sanctuary or downstairs in Rockwood Hall, we are usually thinking about food for others. Here we do not eat alone. There is breaking of bread, pouring of drink, hands that touch, lips that speak messages simple or deep.

There have been times when I have seen a pot of chili or a cake convey a depth of love and concern in ways that no words could. There have been times when an understanding of Christian service has been eloquently expressed by a teenager pouring coffee.

Our eating and drinking together binds us with one another in so many ways.

We take the bread and cup offered in communion and then offer it to someone else. At least for a moment, the person in the pew next to us is an object of concern.

Somehow, when we eat together, we start to see what isn’t always readily apparent. A meal is a moment of grace in which we can see the fullness of life poured out freely, a chance to see that at the very center of the universe is a wellspring of goodness.

We are invited to the feast of life. We are offered food and drink beyond our imagining.

The signs are all around us.

They are in our neighbors,

            they are in our own lives,

                        they are in God’s Spirit which bears witness to our spirits.

Until we let God feed us—with forgiveness, with love, with bread—we will have nothing.

If we only let God feed us—and do not offer the same food to others—we become bloated and unable to act.

Friends, the generosity of God is without measure. It works in your life and mine in a thousand different ways, seen and unseen. We are given what we need—and so much more.

But as I said, I think you knew this all along. How else do we account for the gifts of food that we bring to the food pantry, for the meals prepared for the Free Lunch Program—as one was last Monday, for the strong sense of the importance of mission for our congregation? We knew all along that our Christian faith and commitment have called us to share with abundance the life that God has given in abundance, to feed as we have been fed.

We knew it all along.

May God continue to give us all that is needed. And may we continue as partners with God, sharing the bread of life that we have received.

All is ready.

So come and eat and drink.

And go to be a sign of God’s love in the world.