Project Welcome

Mark 9:30-37

They went on from there and passed through Galilee. And Jesus didn’t want anyone to know about it, for he had been teaching the disciples, saying, “The Son of Man must be betrayed into human hands and be killed, and three days after they have killed him, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and they were afraid to ask him.

Then they came to Capernaum. When he had entered the house he said to them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” They were silent because on the way, they had argued about who was greatest. He sat down, called the twelve and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first among you must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a child and put it in the midst of them; and taking it in his arms he said, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes, not me but the one who sent me.”

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I have Haiti on the brain these days. Yes, some of it has to do with the terrible, horrible, dangerously racist things being said about the Haitians of Springfield, Ohio. But a lot of it also has to do with the work I do – and that Cross of Grace supports so generously – building houses in Fondwa, Haiti, through Project Rouj.

The work of Project Rouj continues, I need you to know, virtually unhindered by the political instability and gang violence that has done so much damage to the people of Haiti, and brought so much destruction to the city of Port-au-Prince.

Part of the reason Project Rouj is able to continue building houses, as we have for the last six years, is because Fondwa, where we do our work, is a couple hours’ drive from Port-au-Prince – up in the mountains of rural Haiti, and far enough away from the unrest in the capital city. Another reason Project Rouj is able to continue building houses, in spite of the fact that we haven’t been able to travel to the country since 2020, is that it’s our Haitian friends who do the work. Our organization just provides the funds and resources – not the people or the brain-power – for the work we do.

By the end of this year, we will have built 100 homes, since 2018. With anywhere from 4 to 6 to 8 to 10 to 12 people living in a house, we have literally given safe shelter and a bit of generational wealth and stability to hundreds – if not a thousand, or more – Haitian people. (If you want to keep Haitians out of Springfield, Ohio, help us build houses in Fondwa, Haiti. That’s where they’d rather be, anyway.)

And, the money we share – by way of our Building and Outreach Fund – isn’t just about bricks and mortar for buildings, or our own sense of pride and accomplishment, as the white, Christian do-gooders in the world. The money we share is about providing the stable jobs, steady careers, financial security, and very real dignity and joy that lives and grows behind the scenes of every beautiful, red-roofed house that our friends build for their neighbors and live in, themselves.

Now, I’m making no bones about the fact that all of that was basically just a commercial for Project Rouj, to inform or remind you about – and thank you for – and celebrate – the shared investment we make in this meaningful, life-changing, Gospel-centered work.

But because I have Haiti on the brain, Jesus’ stunt with the child in this morning’s Gospel struck a chord and got me thinking differently about this story. I wondered if that child was anything like the kids I know in Haiti, particularly the ones in and around Fondwa, and at the orphanage where we spend a lot of our time when we’re there.

There’s one child for example … a young girl with significant intellectual deficits that will likely never be named or get diagnosed – let alone treated or mitigated in any way – due to the lack of public education, social services, healthcare, and all the rest. (There are no Individual Learning Plans, special classrooms, or teacher’s aides at the school down the hill.) Her family lives between where we stay when we’re there and alongside one of the paths we take to the orphanage. Because of her disabilities – and because of the danger she might be to herself and to others – her parents often tie her to a post or a tree, with a rope around her ankle, in the front yard, to keep her safe while they work.

“Whoever wants to be first among you must be last of all and servant of all.”

There’s another little girl who we’ve watched grow up in the orphanage over the years … she also has some physical and intellectual challenges. She didn’t walk or learn to use the bathroom until she was much older than the average kid. She still doesn’t speak well, as far as I know. After 5 or 6 years of visits, Lindsey Stamper, an Educator and Occupational Therapist, you might remember, joined our team on a trip to Fondwa, and realized that little Nerlie also had a cleft pallet. This explained why, whenever she ate soup or oatmeal or drank anything, equal amounts of it all seemed to stream from her nose as well as whatever made it into her stomach. It’s amazing she never drowned, as a result!

“Whoever welcomes a child such as this in my name, welcomes me…”

And then there’s the orphanage, in general. It can seem like Lord of the Flies down there at times, with kids taking care of kids, and with whatever adults are there to help being far outnumbered by the children. And, in spite of the good care they receive, it’s impossible to keep everything at bay – the ringworm, for example, lice, and respiratory viruses that spread like respiratory viruses do in cramped, hot, humid quarters.

“…and whoever welcomes me welcomes, not me, but the one who sent me.”

See, the reason I wonder about the child Jesus used as an object lesson in this morning’s Gospel – and if that child might have been anything like some of these kids in Haiti – is because I have reason to believe that life among the poor people in Fondwa is a lot more like life was for Jesus and among the peasants in Galilee, than anything we’re used to or familiar with at Cross of Grace, here in New Palestine.

I mean, in Haiti, when the kids aren’t in school – if they can even afford to go to school – they’re just around. They’re doing chores or running or playing or roaming around, up and down the mountainside, in gaggles, with their friends of all ages. They’re parented – without hesitation – by whoever the nearest adult may be. They seem to stay with aunts, uncles, grandparents, or neighbors as life’s circumstances dictate. The people who love them – or their neighbors – are always within earshot, but they’re not hovered over, or micro-managed, or fretted about, the way so many of us have been convinced to parent, it seems, these days.

It’s why it doesn’t surprise me that there happened to be a child around when Jesus needed one that day in Galilee. And when he puts that child in front of the twelve … and when he gathers that child into his lap … I don’t imagine this child was dressed in his or her Sunday best. I wonder if that girl had just freed herself from the rope around her ankle, from that tree up the hill. I wonder if it was a wordless Nerlie with a dirty cloth diaper and oatmeal running from her nose. I wonder if it was a listless little boy with sores on his legs, watery eyes, and a nasty, raspy, cough that sounded like marbles in a blender.

Because these kids and their stories break your heart wide open in surprising, beautiful, humbling, life-giving ways. And I wonder – I believe – that’s exactly how Jesus means for us to receive and to share HIM, and the good news of God’s grace he came to embody.

Because I’ve surprised myself over the years by letting the little girl, who I’d only ever seen tied to a post and wailing, run at me in the woods and grab me around the arms and legs. I’ve used the very shirt I was wearing at the time to wipe snot and soup from the face of little Nerlie, too. And I never balk when the kids at the orphanage – and whatever might come along with them – swarm around, sit on my lap, climb on my back, or play with the hair on my arms, legs, and head. (They are fascinated by hairy white people!)

It’s why the welcome we extend matters. “Whoever welcomes one such as these, in my name, welcomes me. And whoever welcomes me, welcomes not me, but the one who sent me.” It can be impractical and awkward. It can be messy. It can be scary. It can be terribly risky and inconvenient, this gracious, Gospel-centered, Christ-like kind of welcome. But it is God’s command to us. It is Jesus' example for us. It is life-giving and life-changing in every direction, and you don’t have to fly to Haiti to accomplish it.

We can start if we stop arguing about who is the greatest, for a minute – the greatest candidate, the greatest party, the greatest nation, the greatest whatever.

And if we notice, instead, that none of them – and not enough of us – are competing to be last of all and servant of all.

So let’s wonder about who or what would be so impractical, so awkward, so messy, scary, risky … so terribly inconvenient for us to welcome. And if we’re not up to that task – of extending such a welcome or of letting such a thing or such a person climb up into your arms, so to speak – let’s say our prayers this morning, let’s sing a song today, let’s keep showing up here…

…so we’re reminded that all are welcome to this table. All are welcome to this water. All are loved by this God we know in Jesus – just like you and me – even, and especially when, we can’t return the favor.

Amen

The Other Miracle of the 5,000 Fed

John 6:1-21

After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, also called the Sea of Tiberias. A large crowd kept following him, because they saw the signs that he was doing for the sick. Jesus went up the mountain and sat down there with his disciples.

Now the Passover, the festival of the Jews, was near. When he looked up and saw a large crowd coming towards him, Jesus said to Philip, ‘Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?’ He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he was going to do. Philip answered him, ‘Six months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.’ One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, ‘There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?’ Jesus said, ‘Make the people sit down.’ Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all.

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.’ So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets. When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, ‘This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.’

When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself. When evening came, his disciples went down to the sea, got into a boat, and started across the sea to Capernaum. It was now dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them. The sea became rough because a strong wind was blowing. When they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and coming near the boat, and they were terrified. But he said to them, “It is I; do not be afraid.” Then they wanted to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the land toward which they were going.

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I have Haiti on the brain and in my prayers these days because of all the unrest and uncertainty there, following the assassination of their President a few weeks ago. Many of you have asked me what I know, which isn’t much, other than that things are as unsettled and uncertain as ever, but on-edge in a heightened way because of it all. Our friends in Fondwa are safe and stable at the moment, though the unrest and instability in the cities, like Port-au-Prince and Leogane, where our project managers from Zanmi Fondwa get their supplies, will likely make the work of building houses difficult for some time into the future.

And this reading about Jesus’ miracle makes me think about Haiti, too, because poverty and hunger are such a thing for our friends there – something most of us can’t imagine, don’t understand, and haven’t had to struggle with in such systemic, long-standing ways. (I got angrier than I should have when I had to wait in line for 15 minutes at Qdoba, on Thursday, before finding out they didn’t have any fajita veggies for my burrito. So when sat down moments later with this Gospel reading before me, I was reminded that the universe and the Holy Spirit have a funny way of reminding us about our First World problems.) All that to say, when I picture Jesus on that mountain in Galilee, in my mind’s eye, he might as well be on a hillside in Fondwa, surrounded by hungry people. But I’ll come back to Haiti in a minute.

This story of Jesus feeding the 5,000 might be his most popular moment, his greatest hit, if you will. It’s such a popular miracle it appears in all four Gospels. And, Matthew and Mark tell of another event altogether, where Jesus fed 4,000 in one sitting. So hungry people and food and making more of it were a big deal for Jesus and people who wanted us to know about God’s love and grace and abundance in the world.

But, I wondered this week if we like to marvel at the miracle of what Jesus does in today’s story precisely because it takes us out of the equation and gives God and that miracle all the credit. I can’t create something from nothing. You can’t turn crumbs into a banquet. None of us can give away what isn’t there in the first place.

In other words, I wonder if we marvel at the miracle of Jesus feeding the five thousand because then we can pretend all those people – the likes of you and me, the average Joes and Janes – had nothing to do with it. When really, all of that feeding and feasting might possibly have stopped before it ever started had those first followers kept eating, refused to be satisfied, or packed up and headed for home without care or concern for those who were still looking to eat.

Because, notice what happens. Jesus doesn’t ration that bread or those fish when he doles it out to those first in line. He simply gives thanks and delivers the goods. He gives them “as much as they wanted,” we are told, “and when they were satisfied,” …after they ate their fill …when they decided that they had had enough, THEN the disciples are told to gather up the leftovers, the crumbs, the scraps, and start to share it with the rest of the crowd.

Now, maybe all of that is meant to point to the size and scope of Jesus’ miracle – that even after they at their fill … even after they were satisfied and stuffed, there was still plenty to go around. But what if today’s miracle has as much to do with their willingness and ability to share that abundance, as it does with whatever stunt Jesus may have pulled.

 I wonder this because, again, all of it makes me think about our friends in Haiti. Some of you might remember Jamalyn Williamson, the CEO of Zanmi Fondwa, telling the story of her friend Jesula, caring for a gaggle of kids, which Jesula always seems to be doing. She has a houseful of her own (4-6 children, maybe more, I honestly can’t keep track) along with whatever handful of neighbor kids and cousins happen to be around at any given moment. Well, Jamalyn tells a beautiful story about Jesula cleverly, expertly, generously, lovingly slicing a single, solitary hard-boiled egg into slices thin, but substantial enough for a gathering of hungry children each to have something to eat. There might as well have been 5,000 of them. It was kind of a miracle.

Jesula isn’t Jesus, of course. So she could – and she would have been justified in the minds of most to – have gathered her own children into her own home and shared that single, solitary egg with her own, fewer mouths to feed, instead of sharing it with the neighborhood. But that doesn’t feel like a miracle, does it?

Now, I’m not saying Jesus didn’t do something magical, mysterious, or miraculous with that bread and those fish. I’m saying, it seems to me that those hungry people, the first in line, don’t seem to have filled their pockets or stuffed their satchels, which they could have done. They didn’t claim they deserved what was theirs because they got there first or were at the front of the line or earned their place at the table because they had pulled themselves up by their sandal straps. And Jesus doesn’t ask or require any of that, either, of course.

So, I’m inclined to believe that, like Jesula, something about their experience with Jesus made them aware of and mindful about and filled with compassion for those who hadn’t eaten, yet.

I’m inclined to believe that because it’s something else I see for myself in other beautiful ways – over and over again – whenever I’m in Haiti. Yes, when we share toys or food or, especially candy, with the kids at the orphanage, they act just like the kids behave when I pass out popsicles on a “Wild, Wacky, Wonderful Wednesday” evening at Cross of Grace. That is to say, they gather around and press in and act like animals – pushing, shoving, reaching, grabbing, begging – kids are kids are kids, after all.

But they share, beautifully, too, in Haiti, the poorest kids I’ve ever met. The older ones in that orphanage always make sure the younger ones get some of the goods. And, even when we show up with gifts and goodies for particular children from their sponsors here in the states, I see them, without fail, share some of whatever has their name on it with a sibling or a friend or a classmate or a neighbor in some way. That’s a miracle of love and generosity and grace that blows me away every time.

And that’s the opportunity and our challenge in this morning’s Gospel, if you ask me.

Let’s stop minimizing Jesus’ miracle until it becomes nothing more than a magic trick or some sleight of hand that only God can manage. Let’s acknowledge and be challenged by and let’s move in the direction of something much more faithful in all of this. Let’s see that Jesus is showing his disciples – and everyone on the hillside that day – and each of us, too – that we all have a hand in making this kind of miracle run its course.

Because what if the miracle isn’t in the multiplying, at all… in God’s knack for turning scraps into a smorgasbord… in stretching the leftovers… in creating something from nothing, even? What if the miracle of what happened on that hillside lies in the hands of the people who recognized that abundance in the first place, and then decided to share it?

It’s a miracle because that’s not the way the world works. That’s not our inclination enough of the time. It’s not capitalism, it’s the Kingdom of God. And it’s a miracle when it happens.

And it’s our calling as followers of Jesus and as people on the planet – to acknowledge the abundance we enjoy; to recognize that it all comes from God’s grace; to prayerfully, faithfully, humbly, gratefully discern when we are satisfied … when we have eaten our fill… what “enough” really is and when we’ve had it… “enough” food, “enough” money, “enough” resources, “enough” whatever… and then to share the abundance that will be left, the abundance that already is, if we’re honest, with our neighbor and with a wider world that is out there watching us eat our proverbial fill at the front of the line.

Wouldn’t that be a miracle?

Amen