the passage was matthew 14:13-21

Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. ¹⁴When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. ¹⁵When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, ‘This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.’ ¹⁶Jesus said to them, ‘They need not go away; you give them something to eat.’ ¹⁷They replied, ‘We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.’ ¹⁸And he said, ‘Bring them here to me.’ ¹⁹Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. ²⁰And all ate and were filled; and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. ²¹And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.

I have a confession to make. It’s one that probably isn’t unpopular in this particular church, but it is something that I know will follow me for many years. Although I’m still in seminary, I must confess, I already know I am a lectionary preacher.

When Carla emailed me and said that Ginter Park has been doing a summer series on stories from the bible, my mind immediately went blank. I could remember bits and pieces of many beloved stories, but when it came down to picking a specific story I was at a loss.  I knew that the snake went with Adam and Eve, and that Noah dealt with the rain, but I started confusing Mary and Martha, I couldn’t remember what, exactly a talent was, and somehow I think the woman at the well ended up hanging out with the good Samaritan.

So I turned to the trusty lectionary and immediately sent up a prayer of thanks to the Holy Spirit. For there in front of me, in the lectionary, was a story.

Not only was there a story, but it is THE story that is repeated in all four of the gospels. As is their wont it is repeated in differing ways, but it’s there in all four of them.  Now if this isn’t a sign that I should stay faithful to the lectionary, I don’t know what is.

I like the lectionary because it forces you to look at the text when you might otherwise pass it up for something different. I know that if I end up a pastor after seminary that there will probably be times when it will be appropriate to look at the lectionary, think about it, pray about it, and then pick something different. But I like the thought of hundreds or thousands of other people pouring over the same text. Reading the same story and coming to a different conclusion that I came to. Kind of a global lectio divina.

When I was reading over this text in preparation for this sermon, I think what jumped out to me, more than a particular word or phrase, was a feeling. It was a feeling that you don’t usually associate with miracles, it was feeling of normalcy, or routine, or the ordinary. And yet, this was a story about miracles! If you look closely you see at the beginning of the passage that Jesus first has compassion and heals the sick who are in the group, and then he keeps going and feeds them all from only two fish and five loaves of bread. Now, I know portion size in America is something else, but there is no doubt that it took a miracle to feed at least 5,000 on what the disciples had. There is no fanfare, Jesus doesn’t call attention to either the healing or to the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. Jesus hadn’t planned on doing this at all! Right before this passage Jesus has learned that John the Baptist has been killed. He wants to retreat, to spend some time alone thinking about the death of his friend, but the people come and find him. And he responds in a way that is so in character that to respond in any other way would seem out of place. He moves beyond what he needs and helps those in front of him who are in need. He has compassion for the sick and cures them. And then when the disciples would send the crowds away, he doesn’t make a big fuss, he doesn’t announce what he’s going to do, he doesn’t tell everyone that he’s done it, he just feeds the people.

I’m guessing this isn’t how you process your grief, but everyone is different.

This miracle, this no big deal, multiply the food miracle reminded me a lot of what happens in our day to day life.

In soup kitchens all across the United States the miracle of feeding is happening. After the disciples tell Jesus they do not have enough food to feed the crowds he says of their fish and bread, “bring them here to me”.  Jesus took what they had and worked with it. He knew what they had couldn’t be enough on its own, but that with his help it would be. I’ve worked in soup kitchens where you think there is no way that the donations will be enough. That surely this is the day that you will run out of food. And it’s not always conventional, hot dogs for breakfast stick in my mind, but there is always enough. And isn’t that in and of itself a miracle? People helping one another, donating time or food or money, just to help others be fed.

One of the commentaries I was reading talked about this story, the different pieces of it, the symbols and how you could interpret them, and in the middle the author stops and says “ In any event, this story is, of course a miracle”[1]. This kind of low-key acknowledgement of the miracle really kind of flows with the story itself, doesn’t it? Of course it’s a miracle.

But then what else would you call it? When there was so little food and there were so many people and then they were all fed? It’s a miracle.

It’s fitting to me to be reading this story of understated miracles during the season of ordinary time. A time without festivals or celebrations. A time spent observing the motions of the every day. It’s a reminder that miracles aren’t always big, they aren’t always showy, and they frequently involve something normal done extraordinarily.

In her book An Altar In The World Barbara Brown Taylor talks about the practice of waking up to God. She talks about how to wake up to God in the everyday, she says

“People encounter God under shady oak trees, on riverbanks, at the tops of mountains, and in long stretches of barren wilderness. God shows up in whirlwinds, starry skies, burning bushes, and perfect strangers.  When people want to know more about God, the son of God tells them to pay attention to the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, to women kneading bread and workers lining up for their pay”[2]

I was lucky enough a few weeks ago to experience this myself. I held a friends week old baby. He was a small guy, just over 6 pounds, and he was a bit premature so he was spending a lot of time sleeping and growing when he was first born. I took food over to his parents and got to hold the baby while they ate. He slept in my arms and I just kept looking at his tiny fingers and toes. Thinking about how small he was and how he came to be in my arms. I know there is science and biology and a rational explanation for all of it, but sitting on that couch, holding that new born baby, I was reminded that he was a miracle. That God is still making miracles each day; we just have to recognize them. To wake up to God and be open to the possibilities.

One of things that happens in this story that I think we might skip over is when Jesus asks for the disciples to bring what they have to him. They say, we do not have enough, we only have 2 fish and 5 loaves of bread, and yet Jesus asks for it and makes it into enough to nourish the crowd. And there it is, spelled out for us pretty clearly, whatever you have, bring it to Jesus. He wants you to bring it, he asks for it, and he can handle it.  He doesn’t ask what you have or what you need, he just asks you to bring it to him. When we bring things to Jesus it won’t always be easy. It won’t always be joyful. In addition to extraordinarily wonderful things, like newborn babies, sunrises, forgiveness, and healing, there are also extraordinarily painful ones.

Over the past week we’ve been learning more and more about the tragedy in Oslo. We’ve heard about the perpetrators life, his motivation, his plans, and I know I find myself with more questions than answers. Why would he do this? How are the families of the victims coping? How are the survivors doing? How will the camp move forward? Why do things like this happen?

We have always known that we are connected as a people. One of my favorite concepts is that of Ubuntu.  I heard former President Bill Clinton speak once and he spoke of the Ubuntu philosophy, it has many different explanations and nuances, but Clinton pared it down to one small phrase. “I am because we are”.  We are all connected. While we live today in a global society, able to reach out across the world in seconds, we have known of this connection for centuries.  When something like this happens to a group of youth in Oslo, it has echoes here in the United States. It brings up questions about who we are and how we are in this world.

And so what do we do with these questions? We take them to Jesus. We take them to God. We turn over all the questions and anger and frustration to the one who can handle it. And in return we are fed. This story is for sure a story of nourishment and sustenance, of being held in the grace of Jesus Christ. It is a story of taking what you have to Jesus, knowing it is not enough, it can not possibly be enough, and in return being fed. If that’s not a miracle. I don’t know what is.

1 Corinthians 1:10-18
Now I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you be in agreement and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same purpose.

For it has been reported to me by Chloe’s people that there are quarrels among you, my brothers and sisters.

What I mean is that each of you says, “I belong to Paul,” or “I belong to Apollos,” or “I belong to Cephas,” or “I belong to Christ.”

Has Christ been divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul?

I thank God that I baptized none of you except Crispus and Gaius,

so that no one can say that you were baptized in my name.

(I did baptize also the household of Stephanas; beyond that, I do not know whether I baptized anyone else.)

For Christ did not send me to baptize but to proclaim the gospel, and not with eloquent wisdom, so that the cross of Christ might not be emptied of its power.

For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.

**

I know it’s not always good to tell a congregation about the sermon writing process. Many people don’t want to know you’ve written the sermon the night before, or that the holy spirit moved while you were singing showtunes in the shower, but today I beg your indulgence. I wrote most of this sermon in Italy. I was on a two-week long immersion course on religion and religious diversity in Rome, studying at the Facolta Valdese Di Teologia. The seminary is affiliated with the Waldensians, if you’ve never heard of the Waldensians, the very short concise explanation  is that they were the reformers before the reformation. They were in Rome and began asking questions and making changes hundreds of years before Calvin. The course highlighted ecumenism and interfaith work and the unique challenges of being a religious minority in Rome. And everyone who isn’t Roman Catholic is a religious minority in Rome.

We’ve been talking a lot about division, about splitting and branching out, reforming reformation, questioning, speaking the truth to power. A lot of this is difficult. Division in many cases comes after much pain and conflict, the ends coming after long drawn out strife and contention. We are no strangers to division; indeed as a reformed church we have our very foundation in division. But here we are today talking about working together, about working with folks who are different than us, who believe things differently than we do, so what do we do with Paul?

I will fully admit to running from this text on first glance. The lectionary for today included Psalm 27, the Isaiah passage we heard, a Matthew passage that basically says, hey what Isaiah prophesied happened! And then this letter to the Corinthians. The heading for this particular block of text in my bible is “Divisions in the Church”.  So why pick this passage? Why skip over the joyful messages of Gods presence in our lives and Gods ability to be our rock and salvation and preach instead on division? My sister in law teaches yoga and she says that sometimes the position that is hardest to get might be the one you need the most. This text sort of grabbed me in that way.

Paul was speaking to different factions in Corinth. He had left the church in a content state and had heard of these different groups working against each other and making claims against each other and he wrote to them to appeal to change. There are a few things that stand out in this passage right away. One is the lack of importance that Paul seems to be placing on baptism. He’s not even sure whom he baptized, nor does he seem to think it’s that important. Paul is clear that his call is to preaching the gospel. He won’t be dissuaded from this and I think that is why he comes across as dismissive. As we’ll see later in the passage, he indeed does see the link that is present between baptized folks, and the connection to Jesus that comes from that baptism. Another striking statement occurs in verse 12, when Paul is scolding folks for claiming an identity. We understand the frustration with the first few

What I mean is that each of you says, “I belong to Paul,” or “I belong to Apollos,” or “I belong to Cephas,”

But then he gets to  ”I belong to Christ.”

Isn’t that what we should be saying? Shouldn’t Paul be glad that folks are claiming their affiliation with Jesus? In the Interpretation commentary Richard Hays suggests that it’s not that people are claiming an allegiance to Christ, it’s the way in which they are doing it. They are pulling Jesus down to the level of just another teacher, putting him merely on the level of Apollos or Cephas or Paul. And then they are claiming their belonging to Christ sets them apart from other factions. Imagine they’re on the schoolyard saying, “well I belong to Christ, but you don’t”. It’s using Christ as a wedge in between yourself and others in your community that Paul was frowning upon. So what does this mean to us? What does this call for unity in Christ mean today?

I am sure it isn’t hard to think of divisions in our national church. We have issues around ordination, marriage, confessions, investments, spending, mission- if we have a committee for it, we’ve had a division around it.  As these divisions become more and more contentious the whispers around different groups, or factions if you will, leaving become louder and louder.

This is not a phenomenon limited to the Presbyterian Church.

Todays society is more committed to holding their ground than doing the right thing. Our culture celebrates a rigid conformity of ideals and beliefs. Our elected officials are derided for working with the other party. They vote for or against bills purely based on who proposed them.  On each and every news channel there is a show featuring folks from different sides of the spectrum discussing the issues. Now, if they were truly engaged in dialogue, each seeking to understand each other and grow in their beliefs that would be one thing. But the motivation is to put the other person in their place, to win the argument, squash your opponent, yell the loudest.

It is this kind of division that has the power to split communities and churches alike.

So how do we deal with division? How do we stay strengthened by our diversity and not pulled apart by our differences?

At our final circle in Rome, Union New York Professor Euan Cameron said his prayer was “that the divisions that separate us would melt away and that all that was good and unique and enriching would stay”. I think that in our society today we have a tendency to see anyone who is different as wrong. We are told by the media and our culture to seek out folks who are like us, to fear what is different and to hold fast to our opinion. But there is so much that we can learn from one another; so much that we can teach one another.

During our course we had the honor of meeting with Bishop Farrel, the secretary of the Vatican council for promoting Christian Unity. He told us about the work of the Vatican on ecumenical issues and how important this has been in the past and how committed the Vatican is to working with Christians to strengthen our bonds and promote growth and change and working together. He told us a story of growing up in Dublin some 60 years ago.

When he was 8 a classmate died and he went to the viewing, came out of the church and saw another student from his class standing at the gate with his family. He ran up to ask if his friend had gone into the viewing. The little boy said that he couldn’t because they were protestant and they weren’t allowed in the church. The next day he got home from school and his mother said the priest had come to his house and he had gotten them in trouble because he had brought Protestants into the church.

He was recognizing this student as a friend, as some one who needed to say goodbye to another friend. He was recognizing their shared humanity, he wasn’t looking for their differences.

In the polarized society that we are in, we can ensure our unity by looking to the foundation of our relationships. We are all children of God, brothers and sisters in Christ seeking to follow his example and serve his people. If we set our foundation upon this rock, can we ever really be divided? Should we divide? Should our common love and acceptance by Jesus Christ be enough?

Hays points out that Paul does not appeal to the Corinthians to stop bickering in the name of expedience or humanitarian tolerance. Instead he points to Jesus Christ as the one ground of unity.

Our unity in Christ doesn’t mean we’ll always get along, or that we won’t have a huge variety of opinion, rather we will be challenged to work within this diversity to learn from each other and grow in our love for Christ. Our confidence in and dedication to this love will bolster us through the difficult conversations, the painful decisions, the confusing outcomes. As we go forth my prayer is that we remember our baptism. Remember our connection to one another and to Christ. Keep this forefront in our minds as we work on difficult issues. Seek to understand one another, to learn from each other. To celebrate the uniqueness of the individuals that make up our beloved community, and to work together in love.

amen.

Matthew 11:28-30,

28 ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. 29Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’

so the quote. i googled it and found it on the quotations page where there was a note attached. it says Although this is the popular form of this quotation, a more correct translation from the original Chinese would be “The journey of a thousand miles begins beneath one’s feet.” Rather than emphasizing the first step, Lau Tzu regarded action as something that arises naturally from stillness. Another potential phrasing would be “Even the longest journey must begin where you stand.” [note by Michael Moncur, September 01, 2004]

and i loved it even more. it reminds me of the labyrinth when you take a moment to still yourself before you enter, that it starts here, with me, beneath my feet. the chance to change my life is right here. it’s that easy. i think i’ll be playing with what this means to me and how it impacts my life for a while. the task of faithful translation is such an interesting subject (says the seminary student about to begin learning biblical greek!)

there will be many more posts about walking, if this will annoy you, don’t check back. but hopefully more about stillness and quiet and creation too.

*i’m having technical difficulties…imagine, if you will, two stacks of books going up, oh 18″, and that is what you would be seeing. i’ll update the post with the pic when i can get the interwebs to cooperate :O)