Learning to Breathe Again: Psalm 146

After a few years away from singing in a community choir, I found myself joining the local one when I moved to a small town in Vermont to serve as minister. It was the first time since college that I became part of a choral group that sings more demanding material, and let me tell you, I came home exhausted. We rehearsed for two hours, sometimes a little longer, and it was a stimulating and engaging experience to delve into the music selected for each program. Nonetheless, after that first night in September, my feet hurt from standing, my voice hurt from hitting a few notes I had not visited in awhile, and my gut hurt.

One of the key elements of singing is whether you can breathe well. Finding the pitch, being able to carry a tune—these are helpful, but you also have to be able to breathe so that what you are trying to sing has adequate support. Good breathing skills are needed to sing, but they take practice, and that night in September, I realized how out of practice I had become with these skills. Nonetheless, to be able to keep up with the demands of singing the music well, you have to improve your breathing skills.

When the psalms speak of praise of God, the ability to breathe is part of the act of praise. Praise and breathing are intertwined in the Psalms, and for good reason. The Hebrew Scriptures remind us, particularly in the Psalter, that we breathe only because God has given us breath.

As the Creation narratives unfold, the book of Genesis refers to the wind and breath that enlivens Creation as that of the Spirit of God being imparted. Without God’s activity, Creation has not come alive. In Genesis 1, the winds that move over the waters and the very act of bringing to life the first human is about God breathing life into Creation, humanity included. (Even the Hebrew word used for wind or breath as well as describing the Spirit of God, called by Christians as the Holy Spirit, is breathy in its pronunciation: ruach.) Thus, the 150th Psalm calls out, “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord”, reminding that all of Creation breathes together the same breath of life. Thus, the 140th Psalm’s vision of God as “provider of all” refers to death as when God’s breath is taken away, such is the Psalter’s notion of how dependent we humans are on God. Thus, the melancholy of the 144th Psalm as it refers to humans as those “who are like a breath; their days like a passing shadow”.

The Psalms come from a theological worldview that ties breath and life together as gifted to us by God. Thus, in turn, the act of praise comes about because we have breath, and especially when the created finally remember with all due reverence the Creator who has given us the breath!

The failing of humanity, however, as the 146th Psalm puts it, is when we falter in remembering from where our praise and breath comes from. Psalm 146 gives a criticism here that should be noted: “Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals, in whom there is no help. When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that very day, their plans perish.” The Psalmist offers a contrary word to the way things tend to work in this world. Even though the language of “princes” is archaic, the intimation is that we should be careful where and with whom we place our hope. Do not be lulled into thinking that “the powers that be” will ultimately save you or keep you completely safe and secure. No nation or leader will deliver this. (They certainly will promise it if it keeps their throne safe for the time being, but reigns and presidencies alike cannot keep us from all harm.) Thus the contrary world of the Bible looms over the reader of the Psalm, calling upon the hearer to reorient themselves in what seems disorienting: It is in God alone that we find our hope and trust.

See the first two verses of Psalm 146. These are the type of verses of the Bible that you encourage people to memorize and keep close to heart: “Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord, O my soul! I will praise the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praises to my God all my life long.” (Ps. 146:1-2) If you are able to keep these praises close to heart, and these “princes” or “powers that be” at arm’s length, you have begun to live a more authentic life, getting away from those things that may seem to sound good now, but later and inevitably run out of air.

The film Dream Girls featured a number of very talented actors, including Jamie Foxx, Eddy Murphy, and a newcomer Jennifer Hudson, who went from American Idol contestant to winning an Oscar for her first film. Each of the characters has a great deal of talent. Foxx is an aspiring music agent and promoter. Murphy is an aging performer seeking that next “new sound”. Hudson is the lead in a minor trio of women. As the musical unfolds, the characters find great fame and great hardship, sometimes with each other’s help, other times at one another’s expense. A complex web of relationships is woven of fortune and misfortune alike.

Foxx’s character turns to more shady dealings, as his enthusiasm outpaced by his desire for more power as a record company boss. Eventually, it is discovered that he is working with the Mob and stealing music from other performers. Murphy’s character finds himself turning more to heroin addiction rather than trying to reinvent himself for a changing music market. Hudson’s character finds herself demoted from lead singer to back-up and then right out of the group altogether. All the while, the great talent and giftedness of this gathering of characters goes to waste as power, drugs, and money erode their lives.

In many ways, Dream Girls depicts life, fraught with complexities, and only a few of the characters in this musical find a measure of redemption. The musical feels eerily familiar to the lives we lead, as we deal with choosing wisely or foolishly the paths ahead while dealing with the random and chaotic fallout of life’s ambiguities and travails. All the while, the psalmist sits in the back row with his popcorn, saying, “Didn’t you get the bit in my little song about not chasing the stuff that won’t last?”

The psalm turns us away from the foolishness of this world and reorients us to the way of life that helps us breathe again. The spiritual life is not just for emergencies only or the deeply pious. The Psalms are to accompany you by the bed stand, the dashboard, the cubicle at work, the places where you find a moment’s respite, just as they have been there for ancient Israel and all those generations afterward who seek wisdom. In reorienting ourselves back to God, we remember that the only gift we have in this life, the only asset is life itself. What we make of it can be wonderment as well as disaster, but we are better off starting with the simplicity of the Psalm, geared to that which helps us breathe and give due praise rather than disdain or disregard to God.

Meanwhile, back at the choir rehearsal, I found myself asked to sing one of the solos for the Choral Society concert.  To sing a solo means no matter the rehearsals, there are a number of last minute things still to be figured out. Moreover, I pray the worst not to happen: the unmanly thing of having your voice crack. The most important thing that I will need to do is remember to breathe.

One other deft movement within this Psalm is also noted. While the Psalmist appeals to the individual to turn away from the tempting personal gain thought to be found in this life, the Psalmist reminds us of whom God is. It is not enough that God’s people get themselves straightened out and reoriented to their own little journey in faith. It is also about being able to praise God, the one who is steadfast in support and care of those otherwise marginalized, usually by those same “princes” or “powers that be”. The thing to keep in mind about the “powers” that try to get us to run our lives by their desire is this: they may not last, but their policies and practices can create a world of hurt for the less fortunate of the world that lasts sometimes over the generations. 

God is not like that puff of air that disappears. God is steadfast, or “keeps the faith forever”. Steadfast is a word that the Psalmist uses that you do not use lightly in the vocabulary of the Hebrew Scriptures. To be steadfast means to be undeterred and unshakeable. Again, the Psalmist revels in the irony of human life: we chase all manner of things, only to find that they, and even ourselves, are like a puff of wind. God, the very wind of Creation, is the only stability, and so, again, the Psalmist with the popcorn in the back row says, “Pay attention to what God cares about. It might tell you something.”

The God of Psalm 146 is deeply concerned with those who are less fortunate in this life: the oppressed are given justice; the hungry are fed; the prisoners are liberated; the blind are given sight; the righteous vindicated; the widow, the orphan, and the sojourner are tended. This is the song that ancient Israel and all the generations thereafter are called to sing. Yet, it is not the “happy-clappy” music that some churches call “praise music” where you sing rather shallow words and on the fifth time, you are told “now, sing it with feeling.” No, this sort of Psalm is one that you have to learn to sing, but first you have to learn to breathe! This sort of praise music is not for the faint of heart. As Water Brueggemann observes, when ancient Israel, the community first called to this psalm’s performance, takes up the Psalm of the day, “Israel sings, and we never know what holy power is unleashed by such singing”.

Churches have such a wonderful calling to be the Church, yet sometimes, we have allowed worry to overtake us. The bitter truth: More often than not, we’ve forgotten to breathe, and our praise of God has diminished a bit. The redemptive word: Now we’re back in voice training, learning some new and challenging material. Our backs may hurt, our feet may hurt, but we are more than just tired. We might be ready to start singing.

And the psalmist speaks up again waaay in the back of the crowd, “Now you’re getting it!”

Remembering Ourselves Rightly: Exploring Ian McKellen's Mr. Holmes

Mr. Holmes is a new film starring the venerable actor Ian McKellen. In recent years, McKellen has gained new audiences as a superhero villain (Magneto in the XMen films) and a wizard (Gandalf in the two trilogies of The Hobbit/Lord of the Rings).  For decades, McKellen has worked on stage and film, lauded for his performance. Without a doubt, this new film showcases the fruitfulness of his long career.

Without spoiling key plot points of this film or its source material (a 2005 novel A Slight Trick of the Mind written by Mitch Cullen), let me share some thoughts:

McKellen portrays an aging Sherlock Holmes, predominately in his extreme latter decades, dealing with a diminishing physical capacity with the telltale signs of forgetfulness hinting the fog of dementia slowly settling in his mind.  Some parts of the film depict Holmes at the end of his illustrious career as a consulting detective, working alone as his trusty companion Dr. Watson married and no longer living on Baker Street.  McKellen deftly shows a dapper Holmes, working away at a case that confounded the authorities, juxtaposed with the man in his elder years, living alone, save a housekeeper and her young son.  There are times when the camera closes in on the aged Holmes, with McKellen showing a man in his late winter years, and they are hard, lingering days of diminished capacities and deep regret.

The film highlights the housekeeper’s son, who finds a mentor figure in Holmes, who warms to the boy’s curiosity and even shows him how to maintain the bee hives that Holmes spends most of his daytime fussing over.  The son explores Holmes’ upstairs study and finds a folder of the old man’s writings.  He becomes fascinated by Holmes’ attempt at writing the story of a case from years ago.  It turns out that Dr. Watson wrote a version of this case, which turned out to be Holmes’ final case.  Holmes, however, retells the case, trying to understand what happened in a different light. Far from triumphant, Holmes’ recollection of these events demonstrates why Holmes retired and moved off to a largely solitary existence out in the countryside.

The film revolves around memory and the way we tell our stories.  Holmes struggles with memory, yet he is driven by his lingering regrets to regain enough of his recall that he can revisit the details of his last case.  Holmes tries a variety of treatments, including a lengthy trip to Japan to gather a rare plant said to have restorative, memory boosting qualities.  The flashbacks to the events of his last case are hard won, moments of clarity that he rushes to capture in his prose.  The housekeeper’s son presses him on details, wanting to know what happened next.  Holmes appears at times uncertain of his ability to remember as well as his fear of what his memories will reveal about past mistakes and sorrows.

 While in Japan, Holmes encounters firsthand the survivors of the nuclear bombings, wandering through society as barely acknowledged victims of war.  While a smaller subplot, the scenes of his recent trip to Japan resonated as I saw the film a few days before the 70^th anniversary of the bombings.  Historians and educators continue to lament the resistance from certain quarters in public and political circles to displays and retrospectives that examine the costliness of such decisions.  Holmes staggers down the street in disbelief and overwhelmed by what he beholds.  As I watched this, I reflected on the irony that it might be safer for some that this honesty be confined to an art house film rather than in a more public venue such as the Smithsonian, where in 1995 a political firestorm ensued when a proposed exhibit would have displayed the fuselage of the Enola Gay bomber as well as artifacts and commentary demonstrating the severity of the bombing’s consequences on the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. See this article: http://www.digitalhistory.uh.edu/disp_textbook.cfm?smtid=2&psid=3498

Working with congregations, I am quite aware that churches share their memories and history quite selectively.  A church may have patterns of conflict or other upsetting incidents along its congregational history, and yet it is only after much detective work on a pastor or consultant’s part that the dynamics and distress come to the surface.  Further, a church’s history can be understood sometimes by reading the archives or the formal “anniversary history booklet” and then compared against the narratives one learns over a cup of coffee one-on-one or just listening to the buzz out in the parking lot after a business meeting.  A skilled interim minister or gifted and courageous settled pastor, and better yet, a congregation willing to work with the interim and one another can be a great corrective and healing experience for such a church, if people are prepared to journey through the fog of memory and learn from their past and own what really happened or got left undone or unsaid.

Watching Mr. Holmes, I took great delight in seeing a master actor at his craft.  I also saw an earnest portrayal of memory and what really needs to be lost and found if we are to be more faithful to ourselves and before God.  Holmes will gain a measure of peace in his late years, but only after he has faced a more sober and earnest exploration of his past.

Changing Our Questions: A first look at Rendle's Doing the Math of Mission

I just started reading this great book Doing the Math of Mission: Fruits, Faithfulness and Metrics (Rowman & Littlefield, 2014). Therefore, this blog post is not necessarily a book review, though the reading experience thus far has been highly engaging and enjoyable.

The book is written by Gil Rendle, longtime church consultant with the Alban Institute and now senior consultant for the Texas Methodist Foundation (Austin, TX). I read Rendle’s work often, appreciating greatly his work in the books Journey Through the Wilderness: New Life for Mainline Churches (Abingdon, 2010) and Leading Change in the Congregation: Spiritual and Organizational Tools for Leaders (Alban, 1998—now listed as Rowman & Littlefield, the current publisher of new and backlist Alban related books). 

 
With such a long career as a minister and church consultant, Rendle offers thoughtful engagements about the issues that frankly bedevil our churches and where our energy for mission gets expended (often in all the wrong places and situations). He suggests that as church structures choose to adapt to a changing context for ministry and mission, leaders and congregants will benefit from changing the questions around and looking for new ways to measure the church’s work.

For example, Rendle suggests when churches learn not to count their numbers (i.e. keeping tabs only on matters of attendance, buildings, cash) at the expense of following their mission, "Conversations are no longer about problem solving, but about possibility hunting” (p. 21).

By this point in reading Rendle’s book, I can appreciate the logic of reframing conversations. So many churches present their worries foremost that they forget to note what God is already doing in their midst. The cycle of woe and lament becomes so deeply embedded that it takes a good deal of time (and detox?) to start thinking clearly about the aims and purposes of ministry and mission.

Rendle suggests a way forward by learning to ask more perceptive questions and measuring/evaluating the outcomes rather than the usual place where churches and leaders tend to dead stop creativity and energy: at the point of wondering, “Do we have enough or can we risk enough?” For example, a food pantry ministry can seem an overwhelming burden on a small congregation, or comments can be made that wonder why we are wasting time on people who won’t become members of the church. Rendle challenges such thinking, asking us to measure more the questions of “how does this pantry help us become better disciples?” or “what would be the impact of closing down the only place in a neighborhood where food can be found when we know so many people without vehicles or accessible public transportation?”

In March 1999, an essay by the Hebrew Bible scholar Walter Brueggemann appeared in The Christian Century. He challenges his readers to understand the world is in God’s hands. Therefore, any talk of scarcity ought to be understood as a contradiction to the greater truth we hold dear: God provides abundantly. He sees throughout the Scriptures the “myth of scarcity” being confronted by a veritable “liturgy of abundance”. I keep this framework in my mind constantly working with churches that present their woes far quicker than their blessings or as a search committee speaks to the profound sense of lack rather than an overwhelming trust in God’s provision, even at times of change and transition.

Now, I have another wise word to share with churches. When congregations wish to seek the way ahead, they must cultivate spaces and processes where a different sort of question can arise. Indeed, "Conversations [will be] no longer about problem solving, but about possibility hunting”.

A Telling Time

Back in college, I was asked to lead a Wednesday night Bible study in my home church.  As an eager burgeoning person with a sense of calling to ministry, I wanted to take it on, even if I had less experience.  I decided to talk about peace issues and how Christians live the faith in a complex world.  In other words, a big topic that not too many people arrived at expecting to tackle on a hot August night in southeast Kansas.

I had with me a copy of the latest issue of Sojourners magazine, which featured a provocative cover image.   A similar image appears here:

As we talked about the Bible and peace, I brought out the magazine and asked people to look at the cover image.

For some around the table, they were puzzled why a wrist watch was so important.

For others, they studied the image, trying to sort out if the time shown on the watch had any sort of significance.

I shared the story of the wristwatch, found in the ruins of Hiroshima after the nuclear bomb explosion on August 6, 1945.

Many of the Bible study participants remembered firsthand experience (some even as veterans or the spouses of veterans) of the Second World War.  The curiosity about the image turned into awkward silence.

Twenty years later, I continue to look up this image and ponder the everyday juxtaposed with the horrifying and unsettling story of how the watch stopped, its hands frozen in the midst of a time now distant, yet its legacy and troubling questions remain.

It is often said, "Remember."  And to this may we keep working for peace with the resolve of "Never again."

Hungering for the Right Life (John 6:35-50)

           Some shows on television follow what is called a serialized format.  In other words, each week’s episode builds upon a plotline that takes several weeks to tell.  Each individual episode develops the plot, sometimes a great deal and other times, well, the term “filler” comes to mind.
            The worst thing about a serialized show is the last moment, when the story builds to a certain high point, a great big “reveal” you were not likely expecting and then the words come up on the screen that I have yet to like seeing:  “To be continued”, the dreaded cliffhanger ending!  

To this day, I still remember a certain television show getting me on the edge of my seat, my mind spinning with big reveal after big reveal, and then the screen fades to black.  The words “To be continued” flashes across the screen, and I’m now stuck waiting the entire summer to see what happens next!  (Note:  The summer of 1990 could not get over fast enough….)

Reading John 6, we experience a “to be continued” moment, or a cliffhanger, in the gospel reading, yet I imagine not too many folks would have thought it necessarily so.  We read a good portion of John, chapter 6, one of the lengthier passages of the four gospels.  We covered a good deal of ground:  Jesus is healing the sick, and the crowds gather.  Jesus decides to feed the multitudes, the disciples panic, and Jesus shows what is possible with five loaves and two fish.  Jesus even calms the disciples’ boat when the seas get rough at night.  All of this happens, yet the disciples and the crowds around Jesus keep asking questions.   Jesus straightens them out with some teachings about what God is doing in the signs of bread and fish feeding a crowd with loads of food left over.

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

This might be the highest point of John 6.  Everything has been leading to this moment, even if some of John’s cast of characters does not know it.  These words offer a challenge as well as an invitation. If you wish to be fed, do you settle for mere bread or do you hunger for something greater?  Is it possible to believe in God’s abundance when you are just like the disciples, seeing the impossible task at hand even if they have spent all this time already at Jesus’ side?

Can you really believe these words?  Jesus says, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

“To be continued.”

Like a good serialized TV show, the gospel reading today reminds us of where things left off.  Verse thirty-five sets up the next “episode” of John 6, building upon what’s gone on previously, though spinning things in a different direction.  Jesus raises the stakes in the conversation.  If you do believe in Jesus, you will not go hungry and you will not thirst; yet it will not be so for those who do not believe.

In John 6, the story of Jesus feeding the multitudes becomes an edgier affair, as the puzzlement of the disciples is joined by the disputes coming from the crowds.   Now remember last time we read this.  There’s some heavy irony at work here.  Bellies full from the meal, seeing the disciples toting the baskets of leftovers (again, five loaves, two fish, and thousands of people later, they count more than enough remaining!), the crowds ask the type of questions that confirm that some people can see just about anything and still look around and wonder what happened.  Jesus presses home a point that says a little less tactful, yet firm:  “You have seen me, yet you do not believe”, and he adds further words that point to such disbelief coming with consequences.

The story begins with Jesus at his most benevolent and welcoming, feeding all who come and insisting that no leftover be wasted, yet he is said to be testing the disciples when he asks them to feed the multitudes without any provisions readily in their hands. Jesus will speak very plainly about his lack of patience for those who keep asking even when the answers are given to them.  What’s going on in this text: time to ring the dinner bell or is it time to talk about a reckoning to be had?

Behind this story of Jesus feeding bread and fish in abundance is the echo of a much older story of ancient Israel when the people wandered in the wilderness.  When they hungered, God provided manna.  When they ate it, they grumbled about its sufficiency.  Like children, they were given food to nourish yet they wanted something better and tastier.  Both the manna and the feeding of the multitudes remind that humanity has an infinite capacity for complaint and self-serving desires, yet very little patience for what God has to offer, even when it’s the better choice or path.

Jesus offers more than the moment’s need, a daily bread of a different kind, one that shall not perish.  Taking what Jesus offers with trust and gratitude is more than just satisfying the belly.  It is a way of living your life differently, giving yourself over to what God offers rather than the vague stirrings we tend to harbor otherwise where we crave something “more” than what we really need.
As I read John 6 and get into the drama of the teaching, I recall the lyric of a worship song from the Iona Community of Scotland.  They capture this sort of discipleship well in the lyrics:
“We will take what you offer, we will live by Your Word,
We will love one another and be led by You, Lord.”
         

In these words meant for the gathered people to sing together, we get a glimpse into the type of followers John 6 presumes.  Jesus is calling on people to trust in God’s provision.  No wonder we have the line in the Lord’s Prayer where we are asked to pray to God for our daily bread, trusting that which sustains us (be it our version of five loaves and two fish or an outright abiding belief) shall come from God.  Such words said in prayer are not to be taken lightly or trusted tritely.  The Christian does not complain or dismiss what God offers us.  In our passage this morning, we see the stakes in this line of thinking when the complaints arise from a particular group within the crowd.

Here, I have to stop and give a warning that I often give when teaching from John’s gospel.  In the New Revised Standard Version in the pews as well as the majority of English translations, the translation falls flat on its face and really should be emblazoned with “Caution!” stickers until we get to a New Testament translation that is far more sensitively prepared.  As this sub-section of the crowd steps up, the NRSV and other English translations label this group “the Jews”.  (Cue well deserved theological heartburn here!)

The better way for this phrase to be translated is to examine the Greek word actually used in the text.  The Greek word describing this group of complainers is rendered better as “Judeans”.  By this term, the gospel of John means to talk of a certain mindset and ideology within the Judaism of the day.  Judeans are those who live in Judea, where Jerusalem and more importantly the Temple are located.  In John’s gospel, these complainers are those closely tied to the powerbase of the religious establishment.  The Judeans appear in John’s gospel as those who place their trust in the status quo, who do not take kindly to Jesus’ criticisms of the Temple and the religious ways advocated by those with power and privilege.  Peek ahead to John chapter 7, and it is this group plotting and planning Jesus’ demise.

In other words, the critical edge to Jesus’ teaching here becomes clearer.  Just like when people receive more than enough food yet refuse to believe it is satisfying, so are those who claim to seek God’s ways yet do not believe in the claims of Jesus, the One sent by God to dwell among us.  Discipleship is not about receiving what God offers and rejecting it.  By their complaints and their keeping to the ways of the Temple (certainly questioned by Jesus in his words and ministry), the Judeans grumble just as the ancient Israelites receiving God’s provision yet wanting something of their own choosing.

The argument being made intensifies.  Those who eat the bread that perishes will perish.  Those who eat the bread of life shall not perish.  So it shall be with those who trust in the religious institution more than the faith that inspired it.  So it shall be with those who hunger and thirst for the convenient or the “right now”.  So it shall be for those who take what Jesus provides and take what God offers.

Curiously, the end of the story this week is not that much different from last week’s ending.  John 6 is one of the longer chapters of the four gospels and certainly one of the most complex, laden as it is with such theological language.  Yet, the same question lingers no matter where you read John 6’s narrative.  The question is the ending of every “episode” of this long chapter.

Eating Responsibly (John 6:51-59)

               It seems that every time you turn around, the medical experts have a different study proving or disproving the health benefits of certain foods.  Today, cut back on your salt.  Tomorrow, add salt.  The day after that, avoid salt at all costs.
               Then there’s the dieting craze that seems to sell thousands of books or program kits.  Do you trust this one or that one?  Do the diets help or do they suggest some habit that down the road you will regret?
               Earlier this year, New York mayor Michael Bloomberg suggested a ban on sugared drinks sold over 16 oz. per cup.  The late night comedians were quickly on the case.  One show depicted the easiest way around the proposed laws:  buy two 16 oz. sodas to get that 32 oz. buzz.  (No word on the likelihood of Jersey mob moving into the City to corner the 17 oz. or more market like it is Prohibition all over again….)
               Then there’s the public enemy #1 of any diet:  the food you can buy at a State Fair.  We’re not talking the lightweight stuff, the nearly venial sins of cotton candy or a bag of popcorn.  No, we’re talking hardcore, artery-clogging deep fat fried goodness (maybe not the best term), that type of food Julia Child never wrote about….food on a stick!

               Back in the day, I thought a State Fair was based on how good the meat loaf was.  In Kansas, the local United Methodist churches put together a fantastic sit down meal that I remember fondly, where you could have the best meatloaf and potatoes and vegetables, all served with the white or brown gravy that one wished you could buy at the door to take home.  (We are but a simple people in Kansas….)
               My folks did not encourage us to eat the “bad” good stuff at the State Fair.  I am most grateful, as I avoided getting a taste of the forbidden fruit that is “Food on a stick”.  Y’know, foot long corn dogs or a frozen banana dipped in chocolate could be bought just anywhere on the fairway.   I stayed true to the Methodist meatloaf, which appropriately left my heart strangely warmed.
               Culinary-wise, you would not know the State Fair in many states nowadays.  With less emphasis on “sit-down meals”, the main food attractions are decidedly in the realm of “food your doctor shudders to think about”.

                State Fairs routinely make the national headlines not for their prize-winning cows or amusement attractions.  No, the media cannot wait for State Fair season so they can show the rest of the country how the brave and hardy people of Minnesota choose to consume something fried to heavenly yet deadly perfection.
               We’re talking:  deep fat fried Twinkies, deep fat fried Oreos, deep fat fried Onion blossoms, deep fried hamburgers (particularly the one that takes a hamburger patty and two Krispy Kreme doughnuts, adds some batter and then you tempt fate while enjoying it.  They call it the “Better Burger”).
               Yet, one summer, the Iowa State Fair broke all the culinary rules, and perhaps even a few dietary laws from the book of Leviticus, to introduce a State Fair food for the ages.  You see, it begins with some butter.  Add a stick to it, and then….Need I continue with this story?
              
               Food is not something we should trivialize.  Yet we do.  We tend to buy up the food that has very little nutritional value, fill our carts with such things at the grocery store and then wonder how we gained, rather than lost a pound.  What we eat has a direct impact on how we live.   Eating too much or too little could cost us our lives, if not our health.  What we eat is not a trivial matter!

               In John 6, Jesus feeds the multitudes, yet he speaks of belief, not a miracle, providing the nourishment for which the world hungers.  Belief and disbelief are compared starkly, as one leads to the bread of abundant life and one leads to the bread that feeds us just for the moment.  As the disciples, the crowds, and the religious opponents keep asking questions, even complain about his teachings, Jesus sharpens his words further, not making it any easier for someone to follow him.
                As this passage goes on (and some would say on and on), the questions of John chapter 6 keep returning to Jesus’ feeding of the multitudes yet raising up the greater sustenance of the bread of life.
                 The bread of heaven sounds great, yet we still have our reservations.  Again, the older story of the ancient Israelites out in the wilderness complaining about hunger comes to mind.  They get what they need in the provision of manna, yet it is not what they want.  We have the bread that Jesus gives and the bread of the moment.  Yet the question still lingers: which one actually shall feed us, as the old hymn says, ‘til we want no more?

                Over the years, I have read, and better yet, known of Christians whose life story is well acquainted with the ups and downs of life as we know it, yet as they look back at their lives (or others help tell their stories as faithful second hand witnesses), there emerges a thread where faith played more than one might suppose, if you consider faith just a Sunday morning affair.

                I recall the story of Sara Miles, who found her faith kindled when she discovered a congregation where she could get involved in community ministry.  Soon, she had a thriving food distribution ministry that brought her into friendship with a variety of people, some of whom she might have never guessed she would befriend.  Church became less of a structure for worship and more a place for the neighborhood’s needs to be met.  The bread served at the Lord’s Table and the bread she is able to distribute to many in need becomes a common holiness for Sara Miles.  When I read her reflections on faith, I find someone who partakes of the bread of life Jesus provides, and such faithful discipleship is multiplied in her food distribution initiatives.

                I consider the story of a fellow seminarian.  Once he sold drugs on the urban streets.  Experiencing Christianity turned him from his ways, leading him to a different life path.  Now he is an insurance agent and studied for Christian ministry to be a bi-vocational pastor.  Jokingly, he told one of his professors his life story and noted “Now the stuff I sell is legal!”  (Cf. Molly T. Marshall, Joining the Dance, p. ).

              Taking the bread of life found in Jesus is not a trivial matter.  Eating well may nourish us in ways we did not know.   The most dangerous thing we can do to our sense of where our life is going is to listen to teachings like John 6 and explore what happens when we follow Jesus.  The bread of life might be the death of “you”, that “you” that is everything we would be if not for the benefits of the gospel made known in your life.   The “you” that the Christian becomes is far more interested in “God and neighbor” than “me, myself and I” that tends to be the story otherwise.

               As Jesus responds to his dissenters, he does not mince words: Will you eat my flesh and drink my blood?  The other gospels use softer imagery of “This is my body”.  John’s gospel says bluntly, “Eat my flesh”, leaving little room for doubt that crunching and chewing is part of the experience.  The more visceral language of flesh and blood is scandalous, especially considering the dietary religious prohibitions practiced in the era.  Bread and cup may be nicer terms, yet for John’s gospel, he presses the reader:
              Will you heed the gospel of John’s edgy word on the matter: that this flesh and this blood are to be consumed, transforming you into something more than the sum of your desires?
                Will you consume, indeed sink your teeth into this flesh and drink this blood?

Sermon: Feed me 'til I want no more (John 6:1-21, 24-35)

Source:  http://www.servicioskoinonia.org/cerezo/dibujosB/46ordinarioB17.jpg

As I hear from churches around the Region, the season of VBS and church picnics is in full swing. A church picnic can be delightful: the food’s all out, the children cannot wait for the first hot dog, and the casseroles and salads, the desserts and the other goodies seem to stretch down the length of the picnic table, all tempting you to fill your plate (and then fill it again…and maybe again).

Of course, the thing the organizers hope for is not necessarily for a lack of raindrops or insects buzzing overhead. Those hosting the meal hope everything was remembered when it comes time to ring the dinner bell. Did we bring along enough serving spoons, enough plastic silverware, enough hamburger buns, and the questions go on.

No getting around it—a meal takes preparation. For some, a picnic that may last an hour or two at the most has been on our minds for quite awhile. For others, you just started thinking about the picnic once you read about it in the bulletin and remembered that you had forgotten it was today. (These are the folks who will pray that Colonel Sanders come to their aid.)

All jokes aside, we know that meals are not magically available. After all, even “fast food” or “frozen dinners” take time. A meal takes time to prepare. You know it. I know it. The disciples know it.

So why doesn’t Jesus know it?

You can imagine the panic and the puzzlement of the disciples. Jesus is healing the sick, and a large crowd has gathered to learn from him. Jesus asks about making the necessary arrangements, and the disciples look a bit dumbfounded. To feed this many would be quite costly, yet Jesus seems quite serene in asking them to do the impossible. Doesn’t he know that you have to prepare?

The disciples are very matter-of-fact. It would take six months’ wage to buy enough bread just to feed each person a small bit of bread, cries one. Another disciple points out the only person in sight with food, just some kid with five loaves and two fish. It’s not much, and that’s the point they try to make.

Now for the reader, the gospel writer offers a little aside: Jesus asks about feeding the crowd to test the disciples. He knew what he was about to do, but did they have the faith that could see such an impossible challenge met so readily? They see the problem at hand and worry about the last minute nature of things. How in the world can we do anything with so little time, so little preparation, and so little food?

One situation from that summer comes to mind. In one church I worked with, we were asked to provide a funeral dinner for a church family. On Monday, the request was fairly low-key: sandwiches and salads for a dozen people with the food brought by the family home rather than in the fellowship hall. Not much to worry about, until the next day brought news of the request changing. Now it was about thirty people and the fellowship hall would be needed. By the end of the week, when it came time to say the word of welcome and the blessing for the meal, I counted an attendance of about a hundred. It was trying, yet the board of Deaconesses made everything happens. Perhaps a grumble or two along the way, yet we had enough food left over to send “to go” packets home with various people.

One wonders at times when everything seems to be going not to plan or with little preparation how things will turn out. I made it through that summer with a pastor on sick leave just as surely as the Deaconesses survived a week of the ever-growing dinner. At the time, all of us would have preferred things not surprise us like it did, yet we made it through one way or another. It was not just me running the church while the pastor was unexpectedly sidelined, though it took a little bit for folks to realize that they had to step up and cover things. The Deaconesses probably still tell the “war story” of a funeral dinner that went from 12 to 100 with less than four days’ notice, yet they rang phones and made the food appear one way or another. Perhaps this was a bit of divine testing at work or just coincidence, yet I’d like to think each of us involved grew a bit in our faith in God’s provision, even when there seems not much likelihood.

In John’s gospel, the stakes for faith area raised a bit higher. What Jesus is testing the disciples (and really anyone else in earshot) regards the question of their ability to believe that Jesus can provide for their needs by the power of God. In John’s gospel especially, we read of the relationship between God the Father and Jesus, God’s Son, including Jesus’ assertion that if you see him, you see God. The disciples are told of this, yet they struggle to understand. They see only a multitude that Jesus says must be fed. Jesus sees an opportunity to feed everyone a good fulsome meal with enough leftovers. The disciples see only five loaves and two fish, enough provision for a child. Jesus sees more than enough to feed five thousand people, with leftovers galore!

This story is often called a “miracle”, yet John’s gospel has a certain spin on these events. Such events are referred to as “signs”, a term with a great deal of meaning for John’s gospel. Declaring these miracles as “signs”, John uses these moments as symbols for something greater than just the spectacle that has occurred. Jesus turns water into wine at the wedding at Cana. It’s great tasting, unexpected and downright miraculous, but John shakes his head at the speculative questions of “how did this happen?” Instead, John poses a theological question to the reader: “Why did this happen?” The impressive part is secondary to the challenge this sign gives the reader. Do you believe in Jesus, the one who can do these things? What do you believe is happening: a free lunch or God’s abundance made known in Jesus, the Bread of Heaven?

Talking of events that seem gleefully in their contradiction of the way the world works (science, the laws of physics, etc.) often make people turn away, asking how these things are possible. One cannot instantly feed five thousand. Surely the generosity of this young boy’s offering of five loaves and two fish inspired everyone to share. Surely the water into wine trick is some wishful thinking on the part of the gospel writer. Shouldn’t we leave these stories best behind in elementary level Sunday school?

The story does not take the “how” as its reason for being told. Instead, the story asks, perhaps tests the reader to ponder what one believes about Jesus. If we take the text as “wishful thinking” about God, though we don’t see how in the world this could be, we may lose a bit of the wonder and the mystery innate with the Christian faith. Not everything is known, not everything can be explained, yet we can be people who look at the world with a different prism, a different understanding of what is possible, we take these texts at a different sort of face value, inspired rather than doubtful about what is doing God in the midst of the world and how we can be faithful disciples of Jesus.

This story tells us that when there's an overwhelming problem staring you down, do not run from it, or put it off due to a lack of preparation time. With God, we are a people who look for abundance when most cry scarcity. We are also a people who presume with God, there will be more than enough abundance to meet our needs.

For Christians, we keep the faith that God is in the midst of all things. Churches worry less about whether or not they are "big enough" to get involved with making a difference in the world, they just get going, looking for ways to help and partner. We find ourselves ruled less by the bottom line and more by the spirit of John 6's exuberance. Such good news is indeed needed today, just as surely as those who heard Jesus and ate their fill with great abundance left over.

A few lines from the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning speak of this sort of faith another way:

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,
And daub their natural faces unaware.*


 (*As referenced by theologian Douglas John Hall in his lectionary reflection for John 6, as quoted in Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 3, Westminster/John Knox Press. Note: he does not quote the final line in his excerpting).