"Don't You Understand?" A Sermon on Mark 8:1-21 on World Communion Sunday

"Don't You Understand?"

Mark 8:1-21

         Does this story sound familiar?   Haven’t we heard this story before?

            Actually, we have.  In Mark chapter 6, we heard a story of a miraculous feeding of a multitude.  But this time some of the details are different.   A thousand fewer people.   Two more loaves of bread.  And five fewer baskets of left-overs.  

            Jesus looks around at the huge crowd that came to hear him and says to his disciples, “I’m really concerned for the people.  They’ve been with me for three days now, and they don’t have anything to eat.   If I send them home hungry, they’ll collapse on the way.  Some of them have come from miles away.”

            The disciples don’t sound like they’ve seen a crowd get fed miraculously as they answer:”” But Jesus, where could you get food for all these people, out here in the wilderness?” 

            The disciples have seen something like this before.  But everything that’s happening is so much bigger and so different from what they’d been expecting or hoping for that they apparently can’t take it all in. 

            Jesus tells the crowd to sit down.  He takes the seven loaves… gives thanks…breaks them…and gives them to the disciples to distribute.   The people in the crowd eat, and they’re satisfied.  Then they gather up seven baskets of left-overs before they send the people away. 

            Over the years, biblical scholars have tried to figure out why Mark tells this second feeding story, when the first one was more impressive, with 1,000 more people in the crowd?  Is he just telling us, “Jesus did it again”? 

            There are some interesting details in the two stories.  In the feeding story in chapter 6, Jesus told the 5,000 people to sit down, and they sat down on the green grass.  In the Galilee, grass grows quickly in the spring, but once the rains stop in May, it gets scorched by the fierce sun.  So, according to N.T. Wright, the earlier feeding took place around the time of the Jewish Passover.[1]   

            Some scholars have suggested that the twelve baskets of left-overs from the 5,000 people symbolize the twelve tribes of Israel, while the seven baskets of left-overs may represent his ministry to the wider Gentile world, with—in Jewish folklore—seventy nations.   The first feeding story took place on the predominately Jewish side of the lake, and today’s story, they’re on the predominately Gentile side.  

           According to William Placher, first-century readers, who were fascinated by number symbolism, would have read this passage and said, “This time Jesus is feeding Gentiles.[4]

            In the early church Mark was addressing, there was a major controversy about who was included and the relation of Jewish and Gentile Christians, so I think Mark is telling us in this story that Jesus came to feed Gentiles as well as Jews. 

            But there’s something else—a theme that becomes more pronounced in the next episode.  Even though the disciples had witnessed the feeding of 5,000 people, when Jesus told them they needed to feed the 4,000 people, it apparently didn’t occur to them to say, “You know, that thing you did to feed the crowd on the other side of the Sea of Galilee—could you do it again?”

            After they feed the 4,000 people and send them away, immediately Jesus gets into the boat with his disciples and they cross the lake, back to Jewish territory.  The Pharisees come and begin to argue with Jesus, asking him for a sign from heaven, because they want to test him. 

            So, Jesus and the disciples get back in the boat and cross to the other side.  Now the disciples had forgotten to bring any bread.  They had only one loaf with them in the boat, and they’re worried about the scarcity.

            Jesus cautions them, saying, “Watch out—beware of the yeast of the Pharisees and the yeast of Herod.”  The disciples say to one another, “It’s because we don’t have any bread.”

            Jesus hears them and says, “Why are you talking about having no bread?  Do you still not perceive or understand?  Are your hearts hardened?  Do you have ears, and fail to hear?  And do you not remember?  When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you collect?”  They said to him, “Twelve.” 

            “And the seven for the four thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you collect?” And they said to him, “Seven.” 

            Then Jesus said to them, “Do you not yet understand?”

            For a lot of us, it is hard to understand.  We’re afraid we don’t have enough bread to share with those in need.    We worry we don’t have enough money.  We get confused by “the leaven of the Pharisees”—the message of those who want God to set up a kingdom that’s about observing the law with great strictness, rather than the kingdom of love and justice that includes all the people Jesus wants to include. 

            The kingdom of God is much wider and more gracious and inclusive than we might have imagined.

            Do we understand? 

            Listen to how Jan Richardson describes it in “And the Table Will Be Wide”:   

And the table will be wide.

And the welcome will be wide

And the arms will open wide to gather us in.

And our hearts will open wide to receive.

And we will come as children who trust there is enough.

And we will come unhindered and free.

And our aching will be met with bread.

And our sorrow will be met with wine.

And we will open our hands to the feast without shame.

And we will turn toward each other without fear.

And we will give up our appetite for despair.

And we will taste and know of delight.

And we will become bread for a hungering world.

And we will become drink for those who thirst.

And the blessed will become the blessing.

And everywhere will be the feast. [5]

May it be so!  Amen!

 

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

October 7, 2018

"What Does Love Look Like?" A Sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church on Good Shepherd Sunday.

"What Does Love Look Like?"

Acts 2:41-47; Psalm 23: John 10:1-10

On Good Shepherd Sunday, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, the lectionary always gives us the Twenty-Third Psalm.  In times of loss or suffering—in times when we face the illness of a child or a dear old friend, or the doctor gives us a scary diagnosis, we can turn to the witness of faith we find in the scriptures.  The 23^rd Psalm has been called one of the psalms of trust, in which those who are praying proclaim their confidence in God’s goodness—despite the very real difficulties they are experiencing. 

            “The Lord is my shepherd.  I shall not want. “I trust in God to provide what I need.

            “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.”

            The Psalmist doesn’t deny the reality of evil, nor its capacity to wreak devastation.  But he has adopted a resolute stance in the face of real threat: “No fear.”   Not because the police and FBI are on the scene.  Not because our military has tools to exact vengeance so that perpetrators can’t hurt anyone again.   No.  Because “God is with me.” 

            This is a core claim of our faith:  that there is one God, the God of love, and that we can place our trust in God to be with us, always.   That doesn’t mean that we will never have to face danger or hardship or sorrow.  But it does mean that we will not be alone in it, and that we will be given the strength to get through.

            “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.  You anoint my head with oil.  My cup overflows.”

            If our first impulse is fear in the face of terror, the second impulse for a lot of people is vengeance.   Just as the Psalmist doesn’t deny the reality of evil, neither does he ignore the reality

            that there are people in the world who mean him harm.  But in the Psalm, the impulse to vengeance is short-circuited by the deep awareness of grace, which re-directs the energy that would have been drained to exact retribution—and channels it to gratitude and joyful thanksgiving. 

            Our Christian faith points us toward an alternative worldview that shuns reactive violence and opens up possibilities for personal and social transformation. 

            We are Easter people—people of the Resurrection.   In the face of violence and death, we hear our sacred texts speaking defiantly, calling us to fearlessness in the valley of the shadow of death.

            At the end of the gospel lesson we heard, we hear Jesus making a clear statement about his mission and ministry.  In contrast to all that would rob us of life—the thieves and bandits he mentions—Jesus says, “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.”  

            What I hear in this is that God loves us—loves the world-- so much that we are given the possibility of eternal, abundant life.  This abundant life is contextual—it looks different in different places and to different people.  But it always manifests itself as a response to whatever seeks to to rob God’s beloved children of their inheritance of life… purpose… and joy.[1]
            Today’s gospel lesson from John follows the story of the healing of the man born blind.  Jesus goes right into this discourse about sheep and gates and shepherds, as an interpretation of the sign that he enacted in restoring sight to the blind man.
            The Pharisees who interrogated the blind man in John 9 are supposed to be the shepherds of Israel, those who care for, protect, and nourish the people. But they refuse to believe that Jesus and his healing work come from God. They’re more concerned about guarding their power and authority than about the well-being of the people. They expel the healed blind man from their community.
            Jesus said, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

            God loves us so much that God wants to be present with us… and to give us what we need.

            The Easter story in ancient times and now is a story of new life, new possibilities, boundaries being broken down, and transformation. 

           

            In the passage we heard earlier today from the book of Acts, we have glimpses of new life in the early church.  Following Peter’s Pentecost sermon, there were many people who had joined the Jesus movement who may never have heard Jesus’ teachings.    They were committing themselves to the teaching of the apostles and to the fellowship.  The new believers were sharing their lives and anticipating a future together.

            It’s a beautiful picture of community:  they’re living together as community, eating together, praying together, doing theology together.   They are literally giving away everything that they have so that nobody will be hungry or homeless.  They’re filled with awe and gladness and joy.  And the community kept growing.

            But we know from the Bible’s accounts that life in the early church had its problems.  Over the centuries, the church did amazing and beautiful and loving things… and also terrible and violent things, in the name of God.
            The bad news is that we often fail to live into the love and unity God intends for us.  Someone will enter the congregation and they will be needy or messy in a way that we can’t cope with, or maybe beautiful and different in a way we can’t handle.  Each one of us will come face to face with someone we will refuse to love.
            Yesterday afternoon I was part of a panel discussion at a gathering of Episcopalians at the Church Cathedral of St. Paul.  My friend Rabbi Dorit was on the panel, and two Muslim women who are Syrian-American.  We were asked to address the question “Why Interfaith?” I shared some history of Littlefield’s history of interfaith work over the years, and talked about what the various traditions have in common.
            My new friend Rouzana told her story.  She told how she had attended a Catholic school in Syria, and had grown up hearing the priests pray to “Allah.” She said she’d never thought she was “doing interfaith” at the time, but she was.
            During very dangerous times, their town was bombed and there were “death squads.” Her father got a warning that he needed to move his family to safety immediately, and he crowded them all into a car and drove them to the nearest Christian village.  He knew the name of one Christian man, whom he’d never met. They found his home and knocked on the door. When the Christian man came to the door, Rouzana’s father told him where they were from.  The man said, “Say no more.” And he invited them in and gave them shelter.”
            Friends, this is what love looks like.
            I had a deadline to decide on a sermon title, and I came up with “What does love look like?”  Then I wondered how I was going to answer my own question.
            It can be different in different contexts.  It might look like a church deciding they could provide supplemental food for the weekend for the neediest children at our neighboring school, giving “blessings in a backpack.” It can look like welcoming someone into your home-- or your community or nation-- and providing safety and care.  It could look like preparing a table in the presence of enemies.

            We live in this broken and fearful world.  As we live as Christ-followers together, we weep with God over what we see--violence to humanity and creation    and, guided by the Spirit, we open ourselves to work with God for peace… reconciliation… and justice.   When we refuse to be silent in the face of injustice and poverty and violence and terrorism and bigotry, we break death’s ability to have the last word. 

            We are Easter people. The good news is that Jesus came to us that we might have life and have it abundantly.  Christ is still working in and among us through the Holy Spirit, leading us into new and abundant life, teaching us to live as loving, generous, joyful people.

            When we trust in the Shepherd God of love and mercy, we can live confidently.  God gives us what we need… and restores our souls… and guides us in paths of righteousness for God’s name’s sake. 

            We don’t need to be afraid, because the God of goodness and love is with us, as we embody God’s love and goodness and work toward restoration and wholeness.

            God is at work in us, in the Church, transforming us, helping us to become more truly a Beloved Community.

            Thanks be to God!

            Amen!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

May 7, 2017

        

             

 

        

      

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[1] David Lose.  Ibid.

"Bending Our Imagination Toward Hope". A sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church on the Third Sunday in Lent.

"Bending Our Imagination Toward Hope"

Luke 13:1-9; Isaiah 55:1-9

            The headlines are grim.  Current events, like much about our lives, can leave us feeling hopeless, fearful, and uncertain.  We may struggle to figure out where God is in the midst of tragedy… crisis and hardship.

            When things go terribly wrong, we try to make sense of things.  We think:  there must be a reason.  It’s a way we try to get a grip on things.

            “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?

            “Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem?”

            Jesus points to two calamities that may have been subjects of recent conversation around the local watering hole--one an instance of state-sanctioned terror, and one a random accident. Both saw people snuffed out with little warning and for no clearly apparent reason. Both kinds of events remind us to how precarious our existence is.

            Do bad things happen because people are bad?  The people of Flint—have they been suffering because they’re worse sinners than people of other cities?  The victims of the latest mass shootings—did they do something to deserve to be shot?

            When bad things happen, we may long for a cause-and-effect scenario, so we can explain away suffering as a means of distancing ourselves from it.  We may want God to give people we think are evil or wrong what we think they deserve.  The problem with that is that isn’t the way God works. 

            As Jill Duffield points out, “The problem with making our relationship with God a transactional one rather than a covenantal one—is that at some point the math just won’t add up.  We will be persecuted by Pilate for no reason other than Pilate chooses to persecute us.  Or the tower will fall on us because we were at the wrong place at the wrong time.  We will seek a reason, some logical explanation, some underlying purpose and it simply will not be there.  Then what?  Are we bad people?  God forsaken?”[1]

            Kate Bowler is a professor at Duke who has researched and written about the prosperity gospel and has been wrestling with how that theology that claims the righteous are blessed impacts her understanding of being diagnosed with stage IV cancer at age 35.  In a recent piece in the New York Times, she writes:[2]

            “Put simply, the prosperity gospel is the belief that God grants health and wealth to those with the right kind of faith…

            “Tragedies are simply tests of character.

            “It is the reason a neighbor knocked on our door to tell my husband that everything happens for a reason.

            “I’d love to hear it,” my husband said.

            “Pardon?” she said, startled.

            “I’d love to hear the reason my wife is dying,” he said, in that sweet and sour way he has.

            As Kate writes, “My neighbor wasn’t trying to sell him a spiritual guarantee.  But there was a reason she wanted to fill that silence around why some people die young and others grow old and fussy about their lawns.  She wanted some kind of order behind this chaos.  Because the opposite of #blessed is leaving a husband and a toddler behind, and people can’t quite let themselves say it: ‘Wow.  That’s awful.’  There has to be a reason, because without one we are left as helpless and possibly as unlucky as everyone else.”

            People may wonder, is she a worse sinner?  Did she smoke?  Did she eat poorly?  Not exercise enough?  Bad genes?  We hope for an answer that will explain why she has cancer—an answer that will help us feel safe from getting it.

            I was very moved by what Kate Bowler wrote, so I want to share a little more of how she describes her experience: 

            “Cancer has kicked down the walls of my life.  I cannot be certain I will walk my son to his elementary school someday or subject his love interests to cheerful scrutiny.  I struggle to buy books for academic projects I fear I can’t finish for a perfect job I may be unable to keep.  I have surrendered my favorite manifestoes about having it all, managing work-life balance and maximizing my potential… Cancer requires that I stumble around in the debris of dreams I thought I was entitled to and plans I didn’t realize I had made.

            But cancer has also ushered in new ways of being alive.  Even when I am this distant from Canadian family and friends, everything feels as if it is painted in bright colors.  In my vulnerability, I am seeing my world without the Instagrammed filter of breezy certainties and perfectible moments.  I can’t help noticing the brittleness of the walls that keep most people fed, sheltered and whole.  I find myself returning to the same thoughts again and again:  Life is so beautiful.  Life is so hard.”

            So what do we do with this?  “Life is so beautiful.  Life is so hard.”

            I think questions about who sinned or who is the worst sinner is irrelevant here.   In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus gets pulled into a worried conversation about the latest news cycle.  Jesus implies that the victims did nothing wrong, nothing that caused their demise.

            It's such a tempting equation.  But Jesus won't go there.  He denies that there is a simple connection between what happens to people and the punishment of God.

            Does this mean that God never punishes us for our sins?   Not necessarily, though there are those who argue that retribution for human evil is built into life.   If we build houses on flood plains, we’ll be flooded out at some point.   If we insist on fighting wars, people will suffer and die.   If we pollute the environment, there will be all kinds of negative consequences.   

            But Jesus doesn’t get into all of that.  He simply denies that there is any easy connection between what happens to people and the punishment of God.    It just isn’t that simple. 

            What Jesus does say in today’s gospel lesson is, “Unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.”  In other words, the issue is not why the tornado hit that particular town…or why the hurricane did so much damage.    God didn’t single out these people for punishment.  The issue is whether or not you and I will repent.

            For the entire previous chapter in Luke, Jesus has been calling for repentance—for lives turned around to embrace God’s mercy and gift of new life.   But people think he is talking about someone else—the Galileans Pilate had slaughtered as they worshiped, or the eighteen killed in Siloam when that tower fell on them.

            Like most of us, they try to avoid Jesus’ challenging words about repentance by playing the "But look; we’re not bad as them" game. You know that game?

            But Jesus will have none of it and makes the point that this is not about comparing ourselves with others.

            Unless you repent, you will all perish.  Unless you repent.

            Jesus follows this cheery thought with a story about an un-productive fig tree that gets one more chance -- aided by some re-invigorating horticulture -- to realize its purpose.  “Give it another year.  Cultivate the soil so more, and add some more manure, and give it another chance to bear fruit.”

            The parable clarifies Jesus’ motivations for previously exhorting people to “repent.”

            A lot of people hear “repentance” and think of behavior and guilt, as if Jesus’ primary goal was to reform personal morality.  But I think this is a misunderstanding.

            To repent is not so much a matter of giving up certain habits or practices… or about being sorry—as it is a matter of loyalty.  The Greek word that we translate as repentance—metanoia—means “to turn.”   Repentance means that we turn away from the forces of sin and evil—and turn toward God’s ways. 

            When we repent, we see things differently, and we come to new understandings of what God makes possible…  about how God wants us to live… and about what the world is like when God’s will is done.

            When Jesus says, “Unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did,” he isn’t saying that repenting will extend our lives or offer some kind of miraculous shield against super-storms or disease or catastrophe.  Rather, our repentance will lead to bearing fruit.  If we turn toward God’s ways and see things as God wants us to see them, we will live out God’s intentions for us.

            When Jesus calls us to repent, he’s inviting us to discover God as the source of our sustenance…belonging…meaning…and hope in this difficult life-- and into the future.  Repentance is the change that occurs within us when God meets us and re-shapes our understanding.

            The gospel invites us to live our lives in response to God’s gracious and patient invitation.  We don’t need to be wicked to repent.  If we find ourselves feeling empty… confused… overwhelmed…barren… aimless…or simply out of touch with the source of life, we have another chance to live out our God-given purpose and to bear fruit.   

             

            As a gardener and someone who grew up in farm country, I love the parable of the fig tree-- especially the image of manure being spread over the roots of our lives, to help us grow into who we are created and called to be.   God is willing to give us another chance… and can use anything and everything in our lives to help us grow, rooted and grounded in Christ, to produce good fruit.

            So, I wonder:  What does it take to turn us around?  How much manure does it take to bend our imaginations to trust in God to provide for us and sustain us? 

I believe God can use the manure of a spiritual or health or relationship crisis to cultivate and nurture us into a new life.   When we repent in the truest sense of that word, we can spend the rest of our lives embracing the new life God offers us.

            Earlier today we heard the prophet ask,  "Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread and your labor for that which does not satisfy?"   This is a question of eternal importance.  

            On this third Sunday of Lent, where do we need repentance?  Where do you need to turn around to embrace God’s love and promise of new, abundant life?

            This Lent, some of us have been getting some extra "fertilizer" and "cultivation" for our spirits through the practice of various spiritual disciplines.   Some of us have been getting our spirits "cultivated" in our weekly Lenten book study gatherings, and a few of you have been reading our Lenten book on your own.   Some of us have committed ourselves to a personal Lenten devotional practice.

            I believe God uses these kinds of spiritual disciplines to cultivate and fertilize our souls.  This cultivation can break up the hard soil that forms around our hearts.  Then, with the help of the Gardener, we will bear sweet juicy fruit-- the fruits of the Spirit.

            The good news in the story we heard today is that we worship a God who doesn't want to give up on us.  In Jesus, God calls us to live a transformed life, cultivating and nurturing our souls with daily care and attention.  If we will return to the God who created us and loves us, we will have life and we will have it abundantly.

            Thanks be to God!  Amen!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

February 28, 2016

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[1] Jill Duffield, “3^rd Sunday of Lent-February 28, 2016”, posted at The Presbyterian Outlook at www.pres-outlook.org

[2] Kate Bowler, “Death, the Prosperity Gospel and Me,” http://www.nytimes.com/2016/02/14/opinion/sunday/death-the-prosperity-gospel-and-me.html?_r=0