John 6:25-35

25 When they found him on the other side of the sea, they said to him, "Rabbi, when did you come here?" 26 Jesus answered them, "Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. 27 Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For it is on him that God the Father has set his seal." 28 Then they said to him, "What must we do to perform the works of God?" 29 Jesus answered them, "This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent." 30 So they said to him, "What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing? 31 Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, "He gave them bread from heaven to eat.' " 32 Then Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. 33 For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world." 34 They said to him, "Sir, give us this bread always." 35 Jesus said to them, "I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

I feel like I’m supposed to wax theological about all of this “bread from heaven” stuff in today’s Gospel – about the difference between the worldly bread that perishes and spiritual bread that endures for eternal life. And I plan to. And I hope it comes together when I do.

But first, instead, I want to talk about these sad saps – these people who we’ve heard were like sheep without a shepherd – who keep chasing Jesus around Galilee. I feel bad for them because I think they really may have been hungry people – for food of the worldly sort, I mean. Manna. Bread. Cheese and crackers. Whatever. Something they could chew on and swallow and from which they could gain some serious physical satisfaction and nourishment.

See, last week we heard about the feeding of the 5,000, where Jesus fed all those people with just five loaves of bread and two fish, which he got from some boy’s lunch. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that no one else had a lunch with them that day. Jesus wasn’t preaching and teaching and healing the rich and the powerful, after all.

And I get that today’s story follows all of that, and that that mass feeding is sort of Jesus’ point: that these people had just seen him work that miracle; that they had had their fill, but were hungry again; that that’s really why they were looking for Jesus – so that they could get their hands on more of that grub.

So, these poor people come off like a pack of lost puppies, really. You know, the ones you’re never supposed to feed because they’ll just keep coming back for more? Well, I’ve always been a sucker for a lost puppy.

And that’s because they really are hungry. They really are in need. They may be pathetic, pitiable, and persistent – and annoying because of it, even – but who can blame them? The reason they keep coming back for more – even when they’re bellies have just been filled – is because they’re never sure where or when or if they’ll ever find food again.

And I can’t help but wonder if this isn’t what was up with the people who followed Jesus around back in the day. And, frankly, I can’t help but wonder if Jesus’ words about “bread from heaven” and “the bread of life” and “working for the food that endures for eternal life vs. working for food that perishes” sounded like a bunch of nonsense to those people, if their bellies really were growling – for real food… from the kitchen… not for this baloney that comes down from heaven.

And so, maybe it’s because I worked on today’s message while eating lunch at Q’doba and then breakfast at the new McDonald’s in town, but I couldn’t help wondering again about the privileged position most of us hold as people on the planet. From what I know and can tell about most of us here, our needs get met regularly enough. We have enough. We have our fill, most of us – of food and water and shelter and other basic needs. And we are able to hear Jesus’ words about ‘bread from heaven,’ and ‘food that endures for eternal life,’ and ‘the bread of God that comes down to give life to the world’ – from a spiritual perspective that gives us hope in the face of our struggles and suffering, doubts and despair, whatever.

But I think we forget, too much of the time, that it’s a unique privilege and luxury to hear these messages and metaphors about food and bread and then make our intuitive leaps to the spiritual things of God, as Jesus intends.

We are in a position to eat the bread and drink the wine of Holy Communion and let it fill us in a faithful, spiritual sense, because our bodily, physical needs are met in so many other ways. But that simply isn’t the case for too many people in the world. And that’s a fact we so easily ignore; dismiss; avoid hearing; neglect to address, whatever.

This is Psychology 101 stuff, after all. When someone is hungry – unable to consume enough of the right kinds of calories – their brains and bodies simply can’t function in order to work; or look for a job; or go to school; or do their homework; or take care of their children; or stay out of the hospital; or make it to church; or ask for help.

So this Gospel seems like an invitation, this time around, to be – or to find and share – real bread for the sake of the world. What if all we’re supposed to hear and do in response to this story is more find ways to feed hungry people? What if all we’re called to today is to love one another the way God has first loved us – by feeding us enough… plenty… more than we need, in too many instances – so that once their physical needs have been fed, their spirits might be nourished, just the same?

868 million people in the world are hungry – that’s 1 out of every 8 people.

50 million people, in the United States alone, are food insecure. (They’re not sure when, or where, or if they’ll eat again.)

Every 3.6 seconds someone dies of hunger in the world. And 75% of them are children.

I read an article last week that said France wastes something like 55 pounds of food per person, every year, to the tune of 20 billion Euros. In the UK, 12 million tons of food are wasted every year. And, not to be undone of course, 30% of food in the U.S. is wasted, too, which totals something like $165 billion dollars in unused food, right in our own backyard.

And again, 1 in 8 people are hungry in the world. And I’ve gained 10 pounds since my trip to Haiti in June, and I take medicine to control my cholesterol, which has a lot to do with the kind of food I put into my body, and so on and so forth… It’s shameful – sinful, even – plain and simple.

We are in a unique, blessed, gracious, privileged position as God’s people on the planet. And I can’t help but think – and give thanks because – our privilege is meant to put us to work. We can use our abundance to share money and meals with ministries like the Agape Alliance, which we’ll hear more about today. We can use our abundance to give away food and gift cards to people in our community through the food pantry. We can use the luxury of our abundance to make choices that are better for ourselves and that will share bread – real bread and water; real food and drink; real fuel and sustenance and nourishment – with God’s children whose lives really will be transformed because of it.

And once there is food in someone’s belly…once a worldly, physical need for nourishment is met…hope might be born; new life may take root; second chances may surface. And then what God promises, in Jesus, will be realized. And all of God’s children can stop working for food that perishes…stop struggling for life…can begin working for food that promises eternity, and unending joy, and amazing grace in this life and the next.

Amen

Mark 5: 21-43

When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live.” So he went with him.

And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him. Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.” Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?” And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’” He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house to say, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?” But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.” He allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, he saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. When he had entered, he said to them, “Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. Then he put them all outside, and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha cum,” which means, “Little girl, get up!” And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. He strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.

We preachers can barely keep up with the news these days. I mentioned last Sunday that I had no intention of ignoring the sadness and tragedy that happened in Charleston, South Carolina, the week before – that we would celebrate our graduating High School Seniors, as planned; that we would at least pray about Charleston and the Mother Emanuel AME church in our worship; that I would sit with the news of it, at least for another week, because sometimes silence and prayer and holding my tongue is better for me at times like this.

And while the country seems to have shifted already many ways, at least by the looks of my Facebook page and Twitter feed, to news of the Supreme Court decisions on Obamacare and Marriage Equality – even to reflections on how well President Obama’s eulogy appears to have wrapped things up in South Carolina – I don’t want to fall for the temptation to move on, as we are wont to do, or at least to be distracted away from, what is yet to be resolved or repaired or at least grieved fully enough – as far as South Carolina’s tragedy is concerned.

So here we are…a week and a few days later. I’ve watched my fair share of news about it all. I’ve read some things. I’ve been asked for my two cents. I’ve resisted suggestions to listen to or read what others have already preached. And I’ve prayed about where to go, what to do, what to say and how to say it.

And I deliberately didn’t choose a different Gospel for today, trusting there’s something in virtually every ounce of Jesus’ life and ministry that speaks to whatever we’re supposed to hear about issues of racism and hate and violence that did so much harm at the church two Wednesdays ago.

And Jesus, in the appointed Gospel for today, doesn’t disappoint.

First of all, this is a great time to say something I’ve said before: that the healing of sick and suffering people throughout the Gospels, is rarely just about the healing of any particular sickness or disease. In other words, Jesus doesn’t heal people simply for the sake of saving them a trip to the doctor, or to save them some money on their insurance deductable. Jesus heals people as a way of announcing that the Kingdom of God has arrived, and as a way of inviting people to live differently because of that good news.

Jesus heals unclean women, untouchable lepers, and blind, lame and deaf people, whose diseases were viewed as symptoms of their sinfulness in the eyes of God. So, Jesus heals these diseases as a way of loving others that society refuses to love – and as a sign and expression of the way God so loves the world. Jesus heals these diseases as a way of breaking down barriers; as a way of upsetting the apple-cart of society’s norms; as a way of changing how people like you and I are called to love one another.

So let’s let the woman in today’s Gospel – sick and hemorrhaging as she is – represent for us something in our midst from which we need to be healed. The disease from which we need healing, of course, is racism. It is a sickness in our spirit. It is an illness in our souls. It is a disease in our culture. And this woman’s 12 years of hemorrhaging have nothing on the centuries of sickness that have shed blood and lost lives and broken spirits the way racism has done in the United States and around the world, too. And the symptoms of our sickness are legion.

It is a symptom of our sickness that – true or not – one of the first things I heard about when moving to New Palestine was a rumor about why our High School’s mascot is a dragon.

It is a symptom of our sickness that one of my son’s friends told him, just three weeks ago, that he shouldn’t – could not, in fact – buy a certain sweatshirt, because the model wearing it in the advertisement was black.

It is sick that someone told me once, standing in our worship space, that he wasn’t happy with his new job because he had to work “colored man’s” hours. And it’s sick that I was too surprised and too timid to call him on that.

It is sick that a recent children’s Sunday school curriculum of the ELCA used, in one of its lessons, “Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe, catch a tiger by his toe…” (If you don’t know, or don’t remember, “Tiger” replaces the “N” word in this revised, politically correct version of that little ditty which, if you’re an African-American parent, grandparent, or Sunday School teacher, you would notice right away.) It was an oversight…and an accident…and it will be corrected…but it is a sign of sickness, just the same.

It is sick that the man who committed the crime last Wednesday, was a member of an ELCA congregation, and that two of his victims studied at one of our very own ELCA seminaries.

It is sick that African-American people have been expected to smile and nod and live in the presence of that flag – that flag – that some people pretend means heritage and history and Southern-pride, knowing full-well it means harassment and hangings and slavery, just the same.

It is sick that the white man who did what he did to those nine people in a church was arrested, and escorted around town in handcuffs and a bullet proof vest, while black men die in police custody for selling cigarettes; for driving with broken brake lights; or even for stealing cigars and resisting arrest.

It is sick that that white man in South Carolina killed twice as many Americans in just a couple of minutes than ISIS has killed in two years. And it’s sick that we’ve been convinced to be more suspicious and afraid of one of these ideologies than we are of the other.

We are a sick people, people.

Now, part of me hopes I’m preaching to the choir. I hope we can all see that the disease of racism in our culture affects us in large ways and small; in ways that are obvious and ugly and in ways that are too often subtle and unseen. But the problem with just preaching to the choir is there’s often no challenge or change to be had. (I overheard the coach at my sons’ basketball camp tell the kids on Wednesday, “If it doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you.”) And something needs to change, people. And I think it’s me, somehow. And I think it might be you, too.

We can sit through another Sunday, safe and sound in our little white church. And we can smile and nod our way through all of this – maybe even feel appropriately convicted for a spell. But where is the challenge here? How will the healing come? What will change finally look like, if we’re ever able to achieve it?

In the language of today’s Gospel, in other words, how will we stop the bleeding? And, how will we ever be raised from the death that our disease brings?

For my money – the hope and challenge of today’s healings are found in those who come looking for it in the first place. See, neither Jairus nor that hemorrhaging woman had any business coming to Jesus. The woman was just a woman – and an unclean woman at that. In her day and age, she had no place out and about in the world bumping up against the crowds or deliberately reaching out to touch another man, like she dared to do with Jesus. And this Jairus was a leader of the synagogue. He wasn’t supposed to be spending time with Jesus, either. He wasn’t supposed to be sharing space with or following around or listening to – let alone putting his faith and trust and hope in healing miracles from this knucklehead from Nazareth.

But for the woman, it had been 12 years for God’s sake. No other doctor had been able to help her or heal her. And for Jairus? His little girl was sick. Her life was at stake. These two were both desperate and afraid. They were both in need and out of options. Neither one of them could do anything but set aside all expectations; disregard all social norms; utterly, completely, wholly humble themselves. They couldn’t help but risk their safety, risk their pride, risk their lives, even, by coming to Jesus, so that he might help them.

And I think that’s just the first, small, hard, holy step we must take – that you and I must take – before we even begin to heal the disease and sin of racism in our lives and for this country. White people will have to humble ourselves utterly, completely, and wholly to own our part – past and present – in perpetuating the disparity that exists between us and people of color in our culture. I believe we have to admit … confess, really … that we enjoy – yes, that we enjoy – benefit from – take advantage of – our status as white people in this world.

As a rule, we make the rules – or we let the rules be made. And the rules have been made, historically, to benefit us at all costs and at the expense of others. We make more money. We live in better neighborhoods. We have access to resources by virtue of our nation’s long, historical, chronic disease that separates white people from black people – in our communities, in our schools, in our prisons and in our churches. And until we’re ready to start giving that up or changing that reality, the least we can do is fall at the feet of Jesus, confess the truth of our diagnosis, and let God’s grace change us – change our behavior, change our choices, change our unfounded fears, and change our unholy self-interests.

Then…maybe…by grace and through faith…we can be healed.

Amen

"Bread from Heaven and Something to Chew On" – John 6:25-35

12 Years A Slave and Then Some – Mark 5:21-43