Feeding and Being Fed

A sermon for "loaves and fishes" Sunday by the Rev. Tom Momberg

While walking the streets and enjoying the cafes of Paris a few weeks ago, I was struck by the bread. Symbolically, French bread took on meaning. Where else, I wondered, would we be served fresh bread at every single meal? Where else do people walk, eating a baguette, as a sandwich or just all by itself? Where else but France, the bread basket of Europe, does there always seem to be more than enough bread to go around?

It wasn't just the bread, of course, that struck me. It was the churches and the museums, the Eiffel Tower, the river Seine, the Louvre. It was also the public displays of affection, in the sculptures and in the flesh. One of my favorite places was the garden at Musee Rodin, laid out over more than seven acres, with a rose garden to the north and a vast parterre to the south, complete with hedges, paths, an ornamental pool and rows of linden trees. This quiet, peaceful garden is a place where, after the museum has closed, couples in love continue to sit and embrace one another openly, under the watch of the likes of Adam and Eve, Orpheus and Hercules, and, yes, even the Thinker. After days and days of eating much good food and walking many miles, Eyleen and I rested there awhile.

In life, we need food for the journey and rest from that journey, time to nourish and renew us, body and soul. We say that, in the Christian life, Jesus is the way. This means that, in the lives of those who seek to follow him, Jesus is both the journey and the destination. We also say as Christians that Jesus is the bread of life. And Jesus gives us this daily, life-giving bread in miraculous abundance, in France and in Maryland, as we journey with Jesus and as we rest from our journey. The gospel, the good news of God in Christ Jesus, reminds us that, when we come to Jesus and journey with him, we will receive, when we need it, rest from our labors, rest for our souls. Then we can get up, keep going, keep living our lives in Christ, on our journey with Jesus.

Today, Matthew's gospel shifts gears. For the past three Sundays we've heard seven different parables in a row. Today, according to Matthew, Jesus moves from telling to doing, from parables to miracles. We have had seeds and sower, weeds and wheat, yeast and pearls and nets. Now we move to loaves and fishes, and next week, to walking on water. It is a rich, abundant season, mid-summer, this middle of the church's season after Pentecost. It's easy to bask in the glow of summer parables and miracles and ignore what else is going on.

When Eyleen and I walked Paris streets, someone, sooner or later, crossed our path. It might be a man on the sidewalk, missing a hand or a limb, perhaps a container nearby, sitting silently, head downcast. It might be a woman, moving quickly, approaching us with the words, "Do you speak English?" We soon realized that this was the way people asked for money. Amidst that gloriously diverse population, people of countless races, colors, creeds and clothing styles, it was not always possible to anticipate who would ask for help.

As we walked, the same questions would come up: "Is this someone we should give something to? Is this a legitimate need? And if we think it is, do we give one Euro to this man who lost a leg and two Euros to this woman who says she lost her baby - or the other way around?" I thank God for organizations like the ones our parish supports for outreach and mission, including Episcopal Relief and Development. These good groups give us good ways to discern, both locally and globally, how to give others in true need something to eat.

It is easy to ignore what is going on around us, especially when there is so much need in this world. People of faith get weary from compassion fatigue. But let's be sure to notice something about Matthew's gospel account of loaves and fishes, something about this miracle story it would be easy to miss. Matthew tells us, "Jesus withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself" (14:13). When we compare this version of the loaves and fishes to that in Mark, Luke and John, we find this sentence only in Matthew. What's up with Matthew adding that?

In between parables and miracles, at the end of chapter 13 and the beginning of chapter 14, twenty-some verses are missing from the reading of last Sunday's gospel passage until today's. When we read those verses, we find two stories: the rejection of Jesus at home in Nazareth, and a Roman king's beheading of his cousin, John the Baptist. Out of that context - being unwelcome at home, being told of his cousin's horrible death, living under constant threat - Jesus takes off. The actual text says, "Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew…"

So Jesus goes off by himself to a deserted place. But what might we miss about his withdrawal? It is clear that he does not go off to avoid someone or to do something divine. Jesus simply withdraws - as he has done before, as he will do again and again - to reflect prayerfully on what has been happening to him. The short answer? Jesus goes off to pray.

I don't know about you, but all those things happening to me would make me angry, sad and confused. We could guess, but we can only wonder what his prayer might have been. Yesterday's meditation in the Episcopal devotional guide called Forward Day by Day reminds us that "during the dark days of apartheid in South Africa, Desmond Tutu once prayed, 'For goodness' sake, God, why don't you make it more obvious that you are in charge?' It's one thing to affirm that all authority belongs to Jesus when the sun is shining and the daisies are blooming; it's quite another to do so when darkness and evil grip the world."

Darkness and evil can still grip our world. At times we seem to be living in a perfect storm of ethnic tension, religious misunderstanding and economic failure. At home we will face our own stormy tensions, misunderstandings, failures - maybe chaos, even death. Perhaps you remember a time when you thought, it just can't get any worse. And then it did.

Jesus has just lived through what one preacher calls "the worst moment in his life so far" (Eyleen Farmer). And what does he do about it? Here's what he does NOT do. He does not overreact. He does not take out his anger in eye-for-an-eye violence. It's really not about what he does. He does nothing, except to withdraw. He withdraws, not to shut himself down, but to open himself up. He opens himself to God, and then, he opens himself to the crowds and to his friends. Having replenished his soul, Jesus can feed others in miraculous form.

We really can't withdraw from society. God may call us to withdraw to pray, but not to avoid others. Sooner or later, we have to face the world. "When it was evening," our gospel story says, "the disciples came to (Jesus) 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." Jesus said to them, "They need not go away; you give them something to eat" (Matthew 14:15-16). Writer and priest Barbara Crafton puts it this way: "Today, we are beginning to realize that there is no 'away.' Everything is everybody's problem. The hazards of life in poverty and war also affect the lives of those who have plenty and live in peace, even if they are far away. The search for drinkable water, for arable land, for food, for a safe place to live: these are what cause whole populations to become refugees, changing the economic and cultural life of host nations, which eventually changes the lives of everyone. There is an ecology of human need, as there is an ecology of everything else. It isn't just the case that we shouldn't 'send them away.' The truth is, we can't" (from The Almost-Daily eMo from the Geranium Farm, www.geraniumfarm.org).