John 6:1-21
Presented July 26, 2009, by J.D. Kline
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost
One of the qualities of life among the Church of the Brethren, one of the values of the gospel we hold most dear, is that of nonconformity. A key text comes from the apostle Paul’s letter to the Romans, chapter twelve:
I appeal to you, therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect (12:1-2).
Paul’s words remind us that nonconformity is not an end in and of itself, but rather, the result a new way of thinking—a renewing of the mind—that comes to us as we center our lives on discerning the mind of Christ and the will of God, and then seek to live out this new life perspective in all our encounters and relationships. Part of that new way of thinking is a willingness to grapple with difficult questions. What does it mean for us to live, here and now, as if the kingdom of God were fully present in us and among us? How willing are we to stand against the values and mores of the culture around us, when the gospel compels us to live differently from that culture? Indeed, what shape will our living take, should we fully embrace life in God’s realm? What does it mean to be peacemakers living in a world far more prone to opt for violence and warfare? What does it mean to embrace the call to simplicity, to a life of downward mobility, in a world that extols upward mobility and defines human value in terms of how much we have and earn and are willing to hoard? How do we affirm our dependence upon God and our interdependence with the entire human family, while living in a world that ever encourages us to “look out for number one,” to care for ourselves alone?
Tough questions, yet questions raised by a serious reading of Christ’s gospel. Back in the days leading up to the Civil War, Brethren leader John Kline wrote some reflections in his journal in response to hearing the distant thunder of cannons, apparently ignited in celebration of George Washington’s birthday. While not opposed to sincere love of one’s country, Elder Kline mused, in his journal, if there might not be a higher understanding of patriotism for those who embrace life in Christ. Wrote Elder Kline,
I have a somewhat higher conception of true patriotism than can be represented by the firing of guns which give forth nothing but meaningless sound. I am glad, however, that these guns report harmless sound, and nothing more. If some public speakers would do the same, it might be better both for them and for their hearers. My highest conception of patriotism is found in the [one] who loves the Lord his God with all his heart, and his neighbor as himself. Out of these affections spring the subordinate love for one’s country; love truly virtuous for one’s companion and children, relatives and friends; and in its most comprehensive sense [it] takes in the whole human family. Were this love universal, the word patriotism, in its specific sense, meaning such a love for one’s country as makes its possessors ready and willing to take up arms in its defense, might be appropriately expunged from every national vocabulary.
This morning’s Gospel lesson from John, chapter six, begins with the familiar story of Jesus feeding the crowd of thousands. Eager numbers had followed Jesus, intent upon seeing, and perhaps experiencing, healing. You know the story, how Jesus took the five barley loaves and two fish of a young boy, and was able to multiply that meager meal into enough to feed five thousand, with baskets left over. Enthralled by this remarkable act, the crowd determines, John tells us, to seize Jesus and “take him by force to make him king” (John 6:15). Problem is, the crowd wants Jesus to fit into its image of what a leader ought to look like, how a messiah ought to act, rather than questioning how they might fit into Jesus’ expectations—not unlike much of the church today.
Eugene Peterson, author of The Message, a contemporary paraphrase of the Scriptures, laments that much of the church has chosen to embrace consumerism. Writes Peterson tongue-in-cheek,
If we have a nation of consumers, obviously the quickest and most effective way to get them into our churches is to identify what they want and offer it to them. Satisfy their fantasies, promise them the moon, recast the gospel in consumer terms—entertainment, satisfaction, excitement and adventure, problem-solving, whatever. We are the world’s champion consumers, so why shouldn’t we have state-of-the-art consumer churches?
It is an attempt to refashion Jesus into the world’s mold—is it not?—rather than grappling with how we might fit into Jesus’ mold, how we might reflect the values and priorities and lifestyle of Jesus. I’m reminded of the story of Abraham Lincoln, in the early days of our nation’s Civil War, expressing concern about the rather glib way in which many seemed to assume that God was on their side. Quipped Lincoln, “The question is not whether or not God is on our side. The question is whether or not we are on God’s side.”
In the journey of discipleship, is that not a critical question for us as well? Are we, or are we not, on God’s side? And if we are, what shape will our living take? How will our lives be altered by a fundamental commitment to walking in the ways of God? Will we find new definitions, not only for concepts like patriotism, but even more, for how we live, as our Brethren forerunners counsel us, “for the glory of God and the good of our neighbors?” What does it mean to move beyond consumer congregations, embracing instead life on God’s side?
Look with me at today’s Gospel lesson in more detail. John tells us that the time of Passover was drawing near, a detail not included by accident. Instead, John wants us to make connections between the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand and a central story in the life of the Hebrew people—that time when God heard the cries of the suffering people, led them out of slavery in Egypt, guided them towards the Promised Land, along the way feeding them in the wilderness. Indeed, the lengthy sixth chapter of John’s Gospel calls to mind again and again this familiar Passover story, especially God providing manna from heaven.
All four Gospels tell this story of a wilderness feeding—a clear indication that the early church held the story as a central one in their life and faith. It’s a story that tells us much about who Jesus is, and what it means to embrace life with Jesus. Each of the Gospel writers tells us that Jesus is seeking to withdraw from the crowds for a time of reflection, rest, and prayer, but the crowds follow him into a deserted place. Yet John tells us that, once the crowds have found Jesus in the wilderness and he prepares to provide food for them, he first commands them to sit down “where there is a great deal of grass” (6:10). Even more, Mark tells us that there was “green grass” (Mark 6:39), signaling that the people are in no ordinary desert, and the meal they are about to receive will be no ordinary meal. Could it be that the people will discover the desert areas, the dry and broken areas, of their lives transformed, as they share in this meal?
Jesus takes the loaves and fish, and after a prayer of thanksgiving, distributes all that the people want, and more. In barren moments, in dry desert times, Jesus offers the lushness of green grass and a meal that far exceed their expectations. But Jesus has not come to the people, simply to perform one remarkable deed after another, all at the people’s whim. Rather, Jesus has come to invite the people of his day—and us—to a new way of living, introducing us to relationship with a transforming, re-creating God. Sadly, we are tempted to draw back from this transforming God. As Joan Chittister, Benedictine sister, laments, “It is so easy to make God to our own image and likeness. It is so easy to get stuck into the images we make of the Unimaginable. It is so easy to make God small and call that faith.”
But Jesus will have none of our efforts to make God small. Indeed, this is the power of the story that follows. Jesus carries on in prayer, having withdrawn from the excited crowds, and having sent the disciples across the sea to Capernaum. An unanticipated storm emerges, and the disciples are terrified, just as you and I, all too frequently, find ourselves confronting in terror life’s storms, life’s losses and grief, life’s uncertainties and fears, life’s brokenness and pain. But if we listen through the roar of the wind and the waves, we too, like those early disciples, may well sense the Presence and hear the voice that asserts, “It is I; do not be afraid.” And if we take Jesus on board with us, we may well find ourselves encountering a God who leads us back to a safe and secure harbor.
We often struggle with whether or not to trust in this God who is little satisfied with the smallness we would attribute to God. And yet, as the poet W.H. Auden asks in A Certain World, “May it not be that, just as we have to have faith in God, God has to have faith in us and, considering the history of the human race so far, may it not be that ‘faith’ is even more difficult for God than it is for us?” Yet the remarkable affirmation of the gospel is that God does indeed trust us. Even more, God invites us to become God’s partners, to anticipate new possibilities as we embrace a new set of values, a new life perspective, a new hope, a new way of living.
The question is not whether or not God is on our side. The question is whether or not we are on God’s side. May it be so. Amen.