A great old story goes like this.
There were two elderly sisters who lived together in a big, crumbling house they had inherited from their parents. One had deep religious convictions and believed that God blessed her and met her every need. The other had nothing but anger, bitterness, and skepticism in her heart and resented her sister’s faith. In fact, they had only one thing in common: neither had much money.
One day, a beggar seeking help rang their doorbell. The faithful sister answered, listened to his sad story, and managed to find just enough food in the pantry to make him a sandwich. The grateful man thanked her, but, noticing the dilapidated surroundings, asked if she could spare what she’d given him. “God will take care of me,” she answered.
The bitter sister saw what happened and could not control her wrath. In a fit of spite, she went to the jar where she kept her meager savings and shook out every last penny. She marched to a local store and purchased enough groceries to fill four big bags. Then she put the bags on the front porch of their house, rang the doorbell, and hid behind a bush.
When the faithful sister came to the door she could not believe her eyes. “Praise the Lord!” she exclaimed at she stared at the overflowing bags. “Look how God has multiplied the small kindness that I did for a stranger!”
On hearing these words, the other sister stepped from behind the bush and laughed mockingly. “You’re such an idiot,” she said. “I’m the one who bought all this stuff!”
For a moment, the faithful sister stood speechless. Then she started to weep. “Oh, God,” she said between her tears, “you are even more amazing than I had believed. Not only did you provide me with all these beautiful groceries. You actually got the Devil to pay for them!”
Like the faithful sister, we believe that God provides for us and that God multiplies exponentially the good that we do for others. Indeed, we encounter this theme over and over again in the New Testament—for example, in this beautiful passage from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians. And we find it in some of the miracles performed by Jesus.
Now, in my view, whenever we approach one of the miracles of Jesus we should remember how the Gospel of John ends. It concludes: “But there are also many other things that Jesus did. And, if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain all the books that would be written.”
In other words, the New Testament recounts only some of the miraculous deeds that Jesus performed. And it seems fair to assume that those miracles were remembered and retold because they are particularly important and instructive. The reported miracles of Jesus therefore deserve our attention not just because of their astonishing qualities, but because they have something deeply significant to teach us.
Those miracles can be analyzed and categorized in different ways. We might divide them into groups based upon what Jesus did, or when in his ministry He did it, or who received the benefit of the miracle. But, for purposes of this sermon, I want to separate His miracles into two categories that might not have occurred to you.
Some of the miracles performed by Jesus move a person from death to life or from illness to health. We might think, for instance, of the raising of Lazarus or the healing of the Centurion’s servant. In these instances, God’s love lifts someone from the lowest point imaginable to that place we call survival.
In other miracles, though, Jesus moves people from survival to that place we call abundance. Consider, for example, the miracle where Jesus feeds thousands of people by multiplying a few fish and loaves of bread. Importantly, Jesus did not just provide people with enough to eat; He gave them more than enough. The gospels tell us there were twelve baskets of leftovers!
And this abundance is qualitative as well as quantitative. For instance, at the wedding feast at Cana Jesus does not just turn the water into wine; he turns it into really good wine, much better than what they’d been drinking. Indeed, it probably wouldn’t strike us as much of a miracle if one guest turned to another and said “gee, this tastes like the stuff I get at the grocery store that comes in a box.”
Now, these “abundance miracles” have three important things in common.
First, the gospels make a great deal of them. The story of Jesus multiplying loaves and fishes shows up in all of the four gospels—in some gospels more than once. Very few stories receive similar emphasis.
Second, these miracles relate to food and drink. This should not surprise us. We all understand that feeding others serves as an expression of love.
As a personal aside, I will note that few people understand this as well as the big, boisterous Italian family that I joined when I married Lisa. Her ninety-plus-year-old grandmother, who I adore, treats a vacant spot on your plate like a personal insult. I remember one afternoon where I started to fill up a bit after feasting on pasta, sandwiches, meatballs, and ribs. As I paused to catch my breath, her grandmother appeared at my elbow and offered me a donut.
Alas, the idea that food is love rules in our own home. Indeed, the priority it receives is reflected in a sign that Lisa, like her mother and her grandmother, has hanging in the kitchen. The sign says “mangia e statti zitto.” Roughly translated, this means “shut up and eat.”
A third, and critical, point about these miracles is that they are given to the community—not to any particular individual. The community shares in the nourishment and in the abundance and in the joy that they bring. There is no miracle in the gospels called “Jesus feeds the five guys who worked the hardest” or “Jesus feeds the ten people with the most impressive resumes.”
In my opinion, this is where the so-called “prosperity gospel” that you hear televangelists talk about loses its way. When we focus on abundance for us we’re being selfish. When we focus on abundance for others we’re being selfless. And giving some sense of abundance to those who spend most of their lives striving just to survive can make a huge difference.
I recently heard an interview with a psychologist who had closely watched the ordeal of the Chilean miners trapped for months before being rescued. He said that there was a particular moment when he realized that the miners were psychologically healthier than he might have thought. A mechanism had been put in place to get food to the miners while they were still underground; some peaches were delivered; the miners tasted them, didn't like them, and sent them back. This was a wonderful sign because it showed that they had moved from surviving to living.
We see an expression of this idea in the way our own church does business. When this church volunteers to bring food to a shelter we typically provide dessert in addition to the basics of meat, potatoes, and vegetables. We do not do this because brownies and ice cream sandwiches are two of the four major food groups. We do this because we understand that offering a bit of abundance to those who have very little is good for their souls—and for ours.
•
I suppose that Sara Miles, who wrote the book Take This Bread, does not fit the stereotype of a churchgoer. Her parents were strident atheists. And for most of her young adult life her views about religion vacillated between indifference and hostility.
Then, one day, for reasons she still does not understand, she walked into a church and took communion. In that instant, her life was changed. She became a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ. She believed, and knew that she had been fed and was called to feed others. So, in the year 2000, she opened a food pantry at an Episcopal Church in San Francisco.
The small piece of bread and slight sip of wine Sara Miles consumed that morning has, shall we say, multiplied. St. Gregory’s food pantry now buys between nine and twelve tons of food each week. And the pantry distributes it—for free—to anyone who comes and asks. It turns out that's a lot of people, about 800 per week, all fed as the result of a single, Christ-like impulse.
And so it goes. We replay the miracle of the loaves and fish over and over again, each in our own way, each act of kindness and generosity multiplied by the relentless and divine mathematics of love and grace. We labor to bring every last person on this tired old planet to the point where they can survive. On occasion, we even manage to show them a little of that glorious thing we will all experience when the kingdom of God has been finally and fully made known: that thing called abundance.
The Lord is watching.
The people are waiting.
The table is set.
What will you bring to it?
Amen
No comments:
Post a Comment