SERMONS

By Rev. Anthony B. Robinson, Sabbatical Pastor
July 26, 2009

Text: II Kings 4: 42 – 44; Ephesians 3: 14 – 21; John 6: 1 – 21

Well, my goodness, here we are! It’s been over a month now since we sent Angela off on her sabbatical. So it’s about time your sabbatical interim minister–that would be me–showed up and got on the job.

One of the great things about Bethany is that so many things here are “firsts.” This is the first time a Bethany pastor has ever taken a sabbatical, although some of you do remember Angela’s maternity leave. This is the first time you’ve had a sabbatical interim minister. And, you know what, this is the first time I have been that peculiar creature, a “sabbatical interim minister.” So, we’re going to have to learn together what this is all about!

Truthfully, it’s a great privilege being in this role and relationship with you for these three months. I look forward to it and hope that you do as well.

Many of you, though certainly not all of you, know that when Bethany UCC came into existence nine years ago, I was serving Plymouth Church in downtown Seattle. At that time, I had some role in Bethany’s conception and birth.

In 2004 I left Plymouth. For the past five years I’ve been, while continuing to be an ordained UCC minister, a free-lance speaker, teacher and writer. I am also a member of this congregation, though my travel schedule has meant that my participation has been a bit irregular. This last year, we were in Toronto where I spent the academic year as a visiting professor at a United Church of Canada seminary.

So, it’s been a while since I was a parish pastor and an every Sunday preacher. I hope that you’ll put up with me while I work off some of the rust and figure out what I’m doing.

Let’s turn then to the Scripture lessons for today, and in particular the gospel lesson from John. You may have noticed, (or not!) that this is a different gospel than the one from which we’ve been hearing in recent weeks. The lectionary, which is something like a calendar or list of Scripture lessons for each Sunday, has always a “gospel of the year.” This is the year of Mark. So, we have been hearing passages from Mark.

But, for reasons too confusing to bother going into, there is no year of John. Instead, reading from the Gospel of John are interspersed into each of the other three years, the years of Matthew, Mark and Luke. Today’s reading begins such a John stretch or interlude, one that will go on for five weeks.

So, a reading from the Gospel of John.

(Read John 6: 1 – 21)

Jesus had gone off to the remote far side of the Sea of Galilee, and was pursued there by a large crowd. He settled down on a mountain side from which he watched as the crowd head his way.

And Jesus said to his disciples, Philip and Andrew, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” And then John adds this: “He (Jesus) said this to test him (meaning Philip), for he knew what he was going to do.” I don’t know you feel about that little note? It may sound just a bit mean on Jesus’ part? Like when an adult asks a child a question just to sort of jerk them around. We don’t like that. Would not like to think that’s what Jesus is up to.

In a different translation it comes out sounding a little better. There it goes, “Jesus said this to stretch Philip’s faith.”

Well, apparently, there wasn’t a lot of elasticity in Philip’s faith because his response to Jesus is somewhere between incredulous and exasperated. “Six months wages wouldn’t buy enough bread for each of them to get a little bit.”

A month ago when she preached here at Bethany, Angie Wolle, had a great play on words with the words, “Jesus please.” Those words can be said in two quite different ways. One way, a prayerful petition for help and presence, “Jesus please.” The other, a voice of skepticism or doubt, “Jesus puh-leeze,” as in “Give me a break.” If the woman seeking to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment said, “Jesus please,” prayerfully, the disciples responded to Jesus’ question, “Who touched me?” with exasperation, “Can’t you see the crowd, Jesus puh-leeze!”

Philip’s response here is in the second “Jesus please,” category. “Give me a break,” the unspoken being, “Are you nuts? 5,000 people thundering up this hill in our direction and you ask, ‘Where do you think we can buy bread for this crowd? Do you see any grocery stores around here?” “Jesus puh-leeze . . .”

Now I don’t know about you, but I get Philip. His is the voice of reason, common sense, maturity, been around the barn a few times; checked the budget. Knows what’s what. Knows it ain’t happening.

Once when I was starting in at a new church, I was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, full of excitement and enthusiasm. Two longtime members, one on the church staff, sat me down one day to tell me what was what. Philip’s with a screw driver. One of them marches through the church’s budget, which had looked to me like a lot, and with a lot of possibilities for doing great work, innovative things, and all that. I’ve just come from some dinky church somewhere, and I’m thinking “Oh boy!” Well, he starts in with the total income figure at the top of his page and begins subtracting. “You’ve got this to pay and you’ve got that. This will cost this much and then there’s that.” Meanwhile, on the page in front of me the big starting number is getting smaller and smaller and smaller. Until by the time we get to the bottom of the page and the column of subtractions is done, you guessed it, the number is down to nothing.

We get all done and this wise, seasoned, done-this-all-a-million-times-and-it-always-comes-out-the-same, I know what’s what, you’re just a dumb kid even if you are the Senior Minister comes to his conclusion: “What this means is that you don’t have anything to work with,” after which he might have added, “chump.” Then the other guy, also a longtime member and player, and as if to complete the one-two punch on the new guy, says, “The truth is, there ain’t no more blood in this turnip,” which meant, in case it isn’t obvious, forget your ideas. Settle down, buster, adjust to the status quo, it’s grim.

Of course, there were two disciples here. There wasn’t only Philip, there was Andrew. Andrew, more of your upbeat, positive type, says, “There is a boy here with five barley loaves and two fish.” But then, as if Philip had shot him a big brother type glance that said, “Will you wise up,” Andrew adds with an air-coming-out-of-the-balloon exhale, “But what are they among so many?”

I probably tried to play the role of Andrew in that discussion with the two church elders, offering a sort of half-hearted objection. “But, gosh, fellas, look at this here . . .” at which they might have rolled their eyes and said, “Puh-leeze!”

It’s easy to to find ourselves in the role of Philip. World-weary, skeptical, practical, realistic. And not all of those are bad things. There is a place for realism, for being practical. If the current economic crisis should have taught us anything it is not to buy stuff you don’t have money to pay for.

But there was something more going on with those two church elders who sat me down to work the numbers that added up to zero than just practical wisdom and realistic thinking. It seemed they lacked faith in powers other than their own. Their’s was a closed world. There was only a finite and fixed budget; a big institution to run. It seemed that for them there no hidden potential, no possibility as yet unrealized, no mustard seed that might yet grow up to be a great shrub with shelter for the birds of the air. Nope, the church’s good years were behind it. There were no great dreams to be dared, no risks to take, only the status quo to be managed. The theological download on this, there was no living God.

“Six months’ wages ain’t buying enough to give everyone in this crowd a crouton!” Forget it.

And yet there was another factor, another player. The God factor, the Jesus factor. Having heard Philip’s disbelieving skepticism and Andrew’s half-hearted wishful thinking, Jesus said, “Make the people sit down.” Note the authority in his voice, in his actions. “Make the people sit down.” He doesn’t say, “Would you like to have a seat?” “All who are able may sit down.” Nope, “Make the people sit down.”

And the story continues, “Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all.” These people needed a shepherd; and the shepherd had arrived. “Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, ‘Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.’”

Now, let’s pause over that last line. Jesus turned to his disciples, certainly including the aforementioned Phil and Andy, and said to those who had it was impossible, and hopeless, and there was no way: “You want to bag the leftovers?” Can you picture those stunned, drop-jawed, bewildered-by-grace disciples who have been hit upside the head by glory, walking among all the people on the grass and gathering enough to fill twelve baskets full.

Part of us wants to ask, “How did they happen?” But Scripture won’t satisfy our curiosity on that score. It only tells us that it happened, that glory shone forth, and that the once skeptical disciples were now tasked with bagging the leftovers just so they got the point.

And what would that point be? Well, I think it can be put positively and negatively. The negative is, “You’re not in charge here.” So often the experts, the world-weary skeptics, the no-way-it’s-happening-here folks–and that’s all of us at times–have something else going on besides simply being hard-headed and practical. What they also have going on, is they want to be or think they are in charge, in control, even if what they’re in charge and in control of is a pretty depleted operation. To those who think they’re in charge and are using their power to keep much of anything from happening, “You’re not in charge here, after all. But maybe you wouldn’t you mind bagging the leftovers?”

The positive way to put the point is, “Jesus is the Good Shepherd; Jesus is the Bread of Life. It’s about him. He is our hope, our foundation, our shelter in the storm, our bread in the wilderness. His grace is sufficient for our need and his mercy is ample for our brokenness. There is, here, possibility and power more than you or I see or know.

The apostle Paul sums it up in the final lines of today’s second reading, which will be our benediction at the conclusion of today’s service.

“Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to do far more abundantly than all that we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.”

As I mentioned earlier, I’ve spent the last five years as a free-lance speaker, teacher and preacher traveling, really, all over North America. I’ve been fortunate with a few books I’ve written to gain an audience and invitations to speak and teach. So I’ve had a lot of interesting experiences on these various trips and travels. One of the most interesting happened last fall in New York City. I’ve told this story a few times, I apologize if you’ve heard it before.

Anyhow, I’d been asked to give a talk at an historic church in Brooklyn, Plymouth Church of the Pilgrims. During the nineteenth century this church had risen to prominence largely though it’s preacher, Henry Ward Beecher, who was one of most important leaders of the Abolitionist Movement. Plymouth Church of the Pilgrims came to be known, in that period, as “The Grand Central Station,” of the Underground Railroad, a network as you know of people and churches that enabled once enslaved men and women to get to freedom and a new life.

So Plymouth Church of the Pilgrims had become a very prominent church, what is known in the trade as a “tall steeple church.” Big, important and well-endowed in every sense of the word. But the twentieth century, particularly after mid-century, saw a steady decline at the once great church. Membership aged and dwindled. Resources diminished. Ministers came and went, none able to recapture the glory of former years. By the end of the twentieth century, just about the time we were holding meetings that led to the founding of Bethany UCC, Plymouth Church of the Pilgrims was down to about fifty, elderly members huddled in a grand sanctuary that seated 1,000.

When I visited there last fall I was taken on a tour of the building by the church’s Moderator, a long-term member who told me the story I’ve been telling you. He said that 20 years ago he really felt that his church was going to die. But, things, and he beamed as he told me this, have changed. “We’re experiencing,” he said, “a kind of revival. New people are coming. We’re active in the neighborhood again. We have a wonderful pre-school. Gay and lesbian people have discovered a welcome here. These days, instead of fifty on Sundays we have four hundred people and we’re growing.”

I asked him what he thought accounted for this renewal. He said their new minister, while he hadn’t done it all by any means, deserved a lot of the credit. I asked what that new minister had done. “Well, he got us studying the Bible.” And the way he said this pretty clearly indicated that studying Scripture was not something that had happened at Plymouth Church of the Pilgrims in quite some time. “Yes,” said this church leader, “our minister gives a great Bible study. In fact, he has distilled the message of the entire Bible to six words.”

Well, of course, I had to ask. “What are those six words, that summarize the entire message of the Bible?” Grinning widely he said to me, “I am God and you’re not.”

I flashed on those two grim church elders, the two that had told me in no uncertain terms that there was no place for excitement or enthusiasm here, and no more blood in this turnip. I flashed on my own times of saying pretty much the same thing and thinking the best I can expect is to hunker down and be comfortable. And then I flashed on Jesus, the look in his eyes when he said, “When you’re done there, maybe you’d gather up the leftovers.”

What I think had happened at Plymouth Church of the Pilgrims and at a fair number of other churches I have visited is getting so focused on our own prestige or problems, our own virtues or vices, legacy or limitations that somehow the power of God has been forgotten or discounted or dismissed.

That Moderator in Brooklyn told that somehow it had seemed that during their long decline, the church had lost confidence in Jesus Christ and his gospel, what Christ had done, was doing and had promised.

Now, that preacher’s distillation of the biblical message, “I am God and you’re not,” could in some circumstances be distorted or misused. But, in that context, it was both bad news and good news. It was bad news to those who world-weary and cynical people who excused the church’s inaction and decline from a once vital church into a kind of museum and memorial society. But it was also good news. “In Jesus Christ there is bread for our hungry, healing for our hurts.” And there is more than enough for all. “Bag the leftovers.”

Well, Bethany, here we are, three months to spend together. One of the gifts of this church and of its pastor has been to know that you need to rely on the power of God, on God’s capacity to take five loaves and two fish and make a meal for thousands.

By the way, as part of my getting acquainted here this week I spent a little time talking with Gretchen, the director of our Food Bank. I asked her, “How many people the Food Bank serves?” Gretchen started digging around in her bag and notebook, and Richard Tupper who was there at the time said with a knowing glance, “You’re going to get more than you bargained for.” Gretchen pulled out the books and thrust a paper with columns and numbers toward me. There, in June, we served 4,716 people.” I thought, “That’s awful close to feeding 5,000.” And I remembered the folks who thought the best thing that could happen here on Beacon and Graham was closing the church and selling the land.

Time and again, God has sustained and surprised Bethany UCC and a fair number of Philips who have looked on skeptically from afar. God can do more than we think or imagine.

The world tells us, there is no way. The cynics say to you, what you see is what you get–get used to it. Forget feeding the hungry hearts of a broken world. But the Word of Lord is that where Jesus is there is enough and more than enough. Where God is there is a power and possibility beyond our thoughts and imaginations. Where Jesus is the powers of death are broken and the power of the resurrection is set loose. Put your trust in him and these words, which he spoke the storm-tossed disciples, shall be spoken to you, “It is I; do not be afraid.”

But, oh by the way, pick up the leftovers.