Sermons

A Gathering of Losers

John 6:1-14

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.’


As many of you know, Pastor Cogan and I, along with Angi Johnson, spent the week before last, in New Orleans, at the ELCA National Youth Gathering … with a bunch of losers. And I’m not just talking about John Reece and Jacob Kleine, who affectionately become known as “the Freshmen” over the course of our time together. Or Jack Anderson who we called “Water Boy,” for some reason. Or Max Havel, who garnered a new name that isn’t exactly appropriate for Sunday morning worship.

But I mean we all spent the week with a bunch of losers, because you should have seen and heard the people who were chosen to speak to the over 16,000 young people that showed up for the The Gathering, over the course of those five days. I won’t tell you about all of them, but…

One was Drew Tucker, the proverbial fat kid growing up, who lived in the shadow of his athletic brother as a boy and throughout high school and into young adulthood – never measuring up, he believed, so that he struggled with eating disorders and his body image and all the low self-esteem and struggle that comes along with that. He felt like a loser. But Drew became a Pastor at, among other places, Capital University, my alma mater, and now he’s the head of camps and outdoor ministries in the great state of Ohio.

We heard from young man named Johnson, too, who graduated from high school this year after immigrating to the US from El Salvador when he was just 10 years old. He was a loser, too. Didn’t speak English. Didn’t have friends or finances. Was moved around in surprising ways even after landing at his first home – so much so and so quickly that he didn’t have time to say goodbye to the one friend or two he had made along the way. But Johnson put a face and a story and some humility, courage, and hope to “issue” of immigration that isn’t shared often enough by the politicians, pundits, and our 24 hour news cycle. He reminded me that God’s children are never “illegal” or “aliens” in the eyes of their creator, no matter where they live. And that maybe we shouldn’t consider them that way, either.

Another was Rebekah, a young girl who used to be a boy. At a really young age Rebekah realized the male gender assigned to her at birth wasn’t quite what she was feeling like on the inside. When she revealed all of this on the second or third day of the Gathering, after she’d already emceed the other mass gatherings we’d shared with joy and grace and abilities beyond her years, the adult leader sitting next to our group got up and left in protest, it seemed – because Rebekah was such a loser, I suppose. But she has become an outspoken, prolific advocate for kids of all kinds, writing books, speaking before legislatures, sharing herself and her experiences with churches (her dad is a Lutheran pastor, the poor thing), and living her best, beautiful life, at 17, with the loving support of her family, friends, congregation – and about 16,000 new friends from New Orleans, too.

Another woman, Jacqueline Bussie, was a loser, too. She literally lost everything, on a trip to Iceland with her new husband, the love of her life. He died suddenly on a hike and she was left there, alone in every way, in a foreign land, as a suspect even in her husband’s death, with nothing but his ashes to keep her company when they finally released her to fly home. The shock, grief, and despair she suffered afterward was debilitating. She was utterly lost. But, Jacqueline learned to dance and love and speak and write and teach and live again, anyways.

And there were others, too – losers, I mean …

Lori Fuller, a deaf woman became the pastor of her own congregation, ministering deliberately to children of God who can’t hear. And she reminded us that her deafness didn’t make her a mistake, and that none of us are mistakes, either.

Pastor Sally Azar, became the first female Palestinian to be ordained in the Holy Land. And she reminded us that our identity as God’s children is greater than our identity as Americans, Israelis, or Palestinians, too.

But the overall, abiding message I took from all of these would-be-losers, was that all of this is exactly how the power of God works in and through, in spite of and for the sake of the world. In spite of what makes us losers in the eyes and opinions of others, God creates us to be free of that, and authentic ourselves because of it, and brave in spite of that, and to disrupt the world around us, in response to it, too.

What I experienced and celebrated over and over and over again in New Orleans – and what I read in a strange, new kind of way in this Gospel story from John about the feeding of the 5,000, because of it – is not how coincidental or surprising it is that God takes brokenness and uses it for good … broken bread, fish, or whatever the world might presume about broken people, either.

What I noticed, this time around, is that God is always about using the brokenness of God’s people to bring about wholeness and healing and hope to life. Whether it’s a loaf of bread, or the cynical sinful disciples who distribute it – or whether it’s the death of Jesus himself – God is always using what the world deems “broken” or “lost” in our lives, to teach us about redemption and wholeness and the power of resurrection and new life.

Just like the disciples did that day on the hillside when they doubted that the bread would be enough, or that their wages would be enough, or – I suspect – that their faith would be enough to do the trick, every one of those who shared their stories in New Orleans had plenty of reason to doubt that they were enough to do what God was clearly calling them to do.

By the world’s estimation, they were too sinful, or too imperfect, or too unfaithful, or too different, or too whatever to be instruments of anything good or holy or worthwhile or righteous. But their lives – by the grace and mercy, forgiveness and love of God – tell an entirely different story.

Like so many loaves of bread, they – and we – are broken and scattered for the sake of the world. Like so many loaves of bread, it’s our own broken “lostness” that resonates with this lost and broken world for the sake of mercy and love and justice for others. Like so many loaves of bread, it is our brokenness that feeds the hungry, comforts the sick, loves the lonely, welcomes the stranger, includes the outsider, forgives the sinner.

So one thing I learned in New Orleans – and that Jesus shows us today – is that maybe we should start looking not just at what we’re good at when we wonder about how God might be looking to use us. Maybe we need to start looking at – and letting God take hold of even the crumbs – what’s imperfect or hurting or broken in our lives ... all the stuff that makes us “losers” in the eyes of the world.

Because everyone of us is “less-than” or sinful or lost or different in our own beautiful ways. And if we’re willing and able to humble ourselves – to let ourselves be broken and blessed by the grace of God’s love – Jesus shows us, today, and through his life, death and resurrection from the dead, that there will be more than enough of God’s love and grace and mercy to go around, for us and through us, and for the sake of the world, in his name.

Amen

Blessed Rest

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.


Grace, mercy, and peace from our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ. Amen.

Maybe it’s because Jesus didn’t see himself as “the boss,” but I think he might have been the very best boss ever. Look at this lovely opening to the Gospel reading. The disciples have come back after a few weeks ago in our reading being sent two by two into villages and towns all around the region to heal the sick, cast out demons, and share about Jesus. They come back together to tell their stories and it sounds like they’ve done so much they haven’t even had time to eat!

Productivity is up! Opinion about what we’re doing is strong! These workers get it – promote them, have them do more, strike while the iron is hot! That’s what we’d say in our culture that feeds on productivity, but what does Jesus do? He listens. He tells them to rest.

I wonder what their stories sounded like? We went to this city and people listened to us and asked us great questions, we healed a sick child, and cured someone who had been possessed by a demon. They were so kind and welcoming and wanted us to stay forever, but we said we had to go on our way. So we went to the next village and they were a bunch of rotten apples. They yelled and spit at us, they cursed us and tried to kill us. So we shook off the dust on our sandals like you told us to, Jesus, and we left to the next place.

And I imagine as Jesus listens to these disciples tell their stories that he looks at them with compassion and grace. He laughs with them as they talk about a cat that just wouldn’t leave Peter alone and weeps with them as James talks about how hard the journey was for him.

I wonder what stories we tell to Jesus. I wonder if we really believe that Jesus can hear us. We think about the billions of people on Earth, and struggle to imagine how Jesus could keep all those voices and stories straight. We maybe fall into the trap of thinking that Jesus is too busy to hear us. It’s not that big of a deal. Does Jesus really need to know that I was moved by a particularly beautiful sunrise or a good conversation with a friend? Does Jesus really need to hear me tell him that it’s hard to be a parent and a spouse sometimes? Does Jesus really need to hear me?

And the answer to that is a resounding “yes!” Jesus loves us. And though we cannot fathom how a billion thoughts coming together can be sifted through by the Creator of the World, we trust that somehow it happens. Jesus hears our stories. Jesus loves us in the midst of all that we hold and all that we carry.

And, Jesus then invites the disciples to rest. Not forever. Not as a form of laziness.

Not to say they were done with the work they needed to do. But as a reminder that, yep, there is so much to be done. Spreading the Good News and the justice of God to the ends of the earth is a job that will never be completed. Healing the sick, visiting the prisoner, supporting the outcasts and ignored of society, loving the widows, being present with those in fear – yes, those will always be on the “to do” list. And being a present mom or dad, being a loving child, being a good friend – yes, those will always be things that are needed too.

But you and me, we are not machines. We are not called upon to push ourselves to the brink or beyond of exhaustion. We are not meant to be the Savior of the world. We are called and created to be beloved children of God. And as a beloved child, we sit at the footsteps of Jesus. We rest in the arms of our God. We listen for the movement of the Spirit inviting us to the next thing, which often times is to simply be.

Because there is a whole 20 verses that we skip over today. And those verses are the well-known story of the feeding of the 5000. Where people gather to hear from Jesus and he sees that they are hungry and tells the disciples to get them something to eat. And miraculously from a few loaves and fish the multitude is able to be fed.

I am certain that the disciples could not have done that if they had not followed Jesus’ invitation to rest. If they had kept pressing on, then the task ahead which already seemed impossibly overwhelming, would have simply been impossible.

I’m certain that’s true for us, too. If we do not rest. If we do not take daily and weekly times of Sabbath, we will look at the world and say, “It’s impossible. Why should I even try?”

But you and me – we have a God who tells us to rest.

You and me – we worship a God who gives us abundantly more than we need.

You and me – we serve a God who is with us in all circumstances of life.

You and me – we gather around a Table where God feeds us with good things for our life, grace, and salvation.

You and me – we are beloved. We are loved not for what we do. We are loved not for how productive we are. We are loved not only when we follow the command to rest.

No, we are loved because we are children of God. And it is only through that love that we can share these great things with the rest of the world that so desperately is looking for a better way to escape the rat race of productivity and life.

So, friends, may we tell our stories to Jesus. For he really wants to hear them. He wants to laugh with you and weep with you and be present with you and let you know that you’ve got a lot on your plate, and you do not hold that alone.

Jesus also wants to tell you to rest. And Jesus wants you to know that from that place of rest, you might be sent to feed 5000 with just a couple of loaves of bread and a few fish, or you might be sent to share Good News and grace with people who have been ignored their whole lives, or you might be sent into the world to give your kids or your spouse or your friend a hug and love in the midst of their hard times.

May we be the people of God that we were created to be. And may we know that God loves us. That God hears us. That God rests with us. And that God is always with us. Thanks be to God.

Amen.