Good Shepherds, Green Pastures, and Bread From Heaven

Proper 12B; 2 Kg 4:24-44; Jn 6:1-21; St. Paul’s Smithfield, NC 7/26/15

Jim Melnyk 

“Good Shepherds, Green Pastures, and Bread From Heaven”

The breaking of bread is a sign of the kingdom of God.  Throughout the Scriptures, both the Old and the New Testaments, shared meals are a sign of God’s presence with and God’s abundance toward humanity.

Sometimes the meals are unexpected, like when the three divine beings – one of them most likely meant to be God – visit Abraham and Sarah, and a veritable feast is placed before them (Genesis 18).  Some meals are eaten in haste, with girded loins, sandaled feet, and staff in hand, as on the first Passover (Exodus 12).  Some meals are as wonderful and breathtaking as the sunrise – manna – God’s gift from the heavens to a people wandering in the wilderness; and we are told that those who gathered much had nothing left over and those who gathered little had no shortage (Exodus 16).

Sometimes the meals are with friends, such as Jesus at the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus (Luke 10), and other times with the very people who debated with him (Luke 14) or even with tax collectors and other sinners (Luke 5).  And sometimes the meals are surrounded with both great love and yet deadly intrigue – in places like an upper room with betrayal and death as a final course (John 18 ff).

Which brings us to today’s gospel lesson from John – first of five Sundays spent with what are called The Bread from Heaven Discourses.  The theme is kicked off with a story about an unexpected feast – if one could call bread and fish a feast – and Jesus, in this simple meal along the shore of Galilee, ties the ancient stories of his faith to the unfolding presence of God’s kingdom among his listeners. 

More than that, in this portion of John’s gospel we hear the early echoes of what will become for us the Eucharistic Feast which not only looks backward in time to Jesus in the upper room with his disciples, but which looks forward with great anticipation to a great banquet in the presence of God at the close of the age.

Now, I’ve always seen with great ease the tie between Jesus feeding a great multitude gathered by the Sea of Galilee and God’s gift of manna to the children of Israel as they journeyed through the wilderness.  And our lectionary framers do a great job in tying the actions of Jesus to the prophet Elisha who fed a great gathering from twenty loaves and some ears of grain (2 Kings 4:42ff).  But there is one more connection being made in today’s gospel lesson that I had never noticed before.

John, like Matthew before him, seems to go to great length to tie Jesus to Moses – the first and greatest prophet of Israel.  And the connection is tied to good shepherds, green pastures, and bread from heaven.

I am coming to see John’s version of the feeding of the five thousand as an enacted parable by Jesus.  What I mean is this: rather than simply telling a story or offering us a pithy saying that describes the kingdom of God, Jesus acts out what he wants us to know about the kingdom.  It’s sort of like a youngster at summer camp being given a Bible passage and being asked to script out a one-person play to illustrate the story.  And the assignment Jesus takes on is what has come to be called The Twenty-third Psalm.

Think about it for a minute.  The twenty-third Psalm.  You may recall it was part of our lectionary cycle for last Sunday.  We sang a metrical version of the psalm at 11:00 rather than read it – but either way, at both services last week we offered that ancient hymn of praise.

Our story today opens along the shores of the Sea of Galilee – in an area that is traditionally a calm part of the Sea.  Jesus, on the side of the nearby mountain – which brings to mind Moses on Sinai – sees a vast multitude of people streaming toward him, having heard about his healing ministry and seeking wholeness for their lives.  Realizing the people are far from their homes and there are no villages nearby, Jesus takes the initiative to consider their physical need.  Knowing already how he planned to take care of the situation, Jesus looks to Philip to “see if [he] has been listening to all of this ‘birds-of-the-air’ and ‘daily bread’ teaching.  [Jesus] asks Philip as the crowds approach, ‘Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?’  Philip,” a late colleague of mine writes, “oblivious to the mathematics of grace, gets out his pocket calculator and gives Jesus the bad news: ‘Six months of wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little’ (Jn. 6:7).  Period.  Send them home” (H. King Oehmig, Synthesis, 7/26/2015).

Of course Andrew pipes up about the young boy with five loaves and two fish, but even he is at least as skeptical as Elisha’s servant.  Yet the fact that Andrew brings up the boy’s inventory might be an indication of Andrew’s expectation that Jesus can do something with what is at hand.  Perhaps he recalls the request Jesus has taught them, “Give us this day our daily bread.”

Jesus has them sit down in what is described by John as a place with a great deal of grass – he makes me lie down in green pastures (Ps. 23:2) – and reclining becomes a hint of the promise of good things to come – the coming of the kingdom of God.  And so Jesus sets for the multitude a banquet of bread and fish (Ps. 23: 5). All eat until they are filled, and there are twelve baskets full of broken pieces of bread left over – my cup overflows (ibid).

Like the shepherd Moses in the wilderness, who wondered to God where he was to find enough meat to feed those following him (Numbers 11:13),  Jesus cares for his people, and in him the very opening words of Psalm twenty-three find fulfillment: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want” (23:1).  Too often we listen to stories such as the feeding of the multitude without seeing the richness of the tradition that surround them.  

Both Jewish and Gentile listeners would experience this enacted parable and unavoidably be reminded of Israel being fed with manna in the wilderness, of David’s proclamation of God being the ultimate shepherd, of whom both he and Moses were mere shadows, and of prayers for our daily bread. 

And later, when the followers of the resurrected Jesus gathered together  to give thanks – eucharistēsas – sharing the bread and the wine, they would recall Jesus taking the loaves and the fish, giving thanks, and sharing it among those gathered on the hillside.

During the immediate aftermath of this most incredible outpouring of kingdom food, the crowds will be overwhelmed by what Jesus has done, and beginning to see in him an echo of Moses – seeing him as the prophet Moses proclaimed would come after him – they will seek forcibly to make him their king, and Jesus slips away.  They get it all wrong – but getting it all wrong “doesn’t mean Jesus is not a king” (Peter Eaton, Feasting on the Gospels: John, Vol. 1) – he’s just not the kind of king the people want.  He is a king who doesn’t covet or desire a throne (William Brosend).

Jesus is a king who will build his kingdom on love.  He is a king who will show his love by giving up his life.  He is a king who feeds those who are hungry – those whose hunger resides in the belly as much as in the soul – a king who asks us “Do you love me?  The feed my sheep.” Jesus is a king who brings healing and wholeness to all who need his touch, rather than one who places obstacles in the way of healing.  Jesus is a king who says “If you love me, love one another,” who says, “If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.”

We come to this Holy Table today and we should expect to meet the same Jesus the crowds met on the green grass beside the Sea of Galilee.  The king whose only earthly throne resides in the hearts of his followers is present with us today – calling us to the same witness he bore for us two thousand years ago: Feed the hungry.  Heal the sick.  Care for those in need.  Love God.  Love your neighbor.  Love your enemy.  Change the world. 

As retired Episcopal priest James Liggett puts it, “Every Sunday is our turn to sit down on the mountainside; and we join that crowd in the Gospel.  Every Sunday, what happened there happens here” (Synthesis, 7/26/2015).  We get to experience the wonder of Good Shepherds, green pastures, and bread from heaven.  And having been fed by Word and Sacrament – having sat with the multitude on the hillside – we get to decide what we will do with all that – we get to decide what comes next.  Amen.

The Compassionate Life

Proper 11B; Ephesians 2:11-22; Mark 6:30-34, 53-56; St. Paul’s, Smithfield, NC 7/19/2015 

Jim Melnyk “The Compassionate Life”

Two weeks ago, prior to getting sidetracked by King Herod’s butchery of John the Baptist, we might recall Jesus sending his disciples out to the neighboring towns to preach, teach, and heal.  Apparently they come back excited – “Jesus, you’ll never believe all that we did and taught!  It was fantastic!”  They also come back to what sounds like a thriving ministry with people coming and going all over the place, and they feel exhausted – well, at least they’re looking tired enough that Jesus’ heart goes out to them, and he calls them away to a deserted place to rest, to hopefully get something to eat in peace, and to pray.

But there seems to be no rest for the weary in a world beset with poverty, illness, abusive kings, and occupying armies.  Before Jesus and his crew can even reach land there is a multitude of people waiting for them – and they have brought with them many who were sick and in need of healing of one kind or another.

Mark tells us that “as [Jesus] went ashore, he saw [the] great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things” (6:34).  And it’s easy for us to lose the power of what Mark is telling us about Jesus.  We get sidetracked about the sheep – we always love hearing about the sheep – and we miss what sounds like one simple little word: compassion.

The key concept in this passage from Mark – and the concept behind the passage in Jeremiah as well – is compassion.  Moreover, those who created our lectionary schedule for today frame the compassionate response by Jesus over and against the actions of the king and his functionaries in the days of Jeremiah, leading up to and including the fall of Jerusalem and the Babylonian exile. 

In other words, what we have today is a comparison of what it means to show compassion versus leadership which models a complete absence of compassion.  And in the days of Jeremiah, as well as the days of Jesus, it is usually the kings and their appointees – those in power – who fail the test of compassion.

But what do we mean by the word compassion, and why is it so central to how Mark understands Jesus?  Why is compassion so important in how we understand what’s going on in Jeremiah?  Compassion literally means “suffering with.”  Some define it as “feeling with,” but that definition is a bit wanting.  Compassion is more than simply “feeling with” someone – it’s more than a pat on the back and a caring, gentle “there, there.”  And it certainly has nothing to do with a “pick yourself up by your own bootstraps” or “there but for the grace of God go I” sort of mindset.  Compassion is less an emotion than it is an act tied to an emotion.  Compassion is not the same as empathy or altruism, although they are related.  Compassion includes a desire for action – a desire to enter into another person's place of suffering and help lead them out.

Compassion is “not only the capacity to be moved by the pain or joy of another; compassion also denotes an important source of the energy we need to respond – to right a wrong when we can, [it] not only [entails] motivation but movement” (Sally Purvis, The Dictionary of Feminist Theologies, 1996).  Compassion is relational – it involves mutuality.  Brother Vryhof of The Society of St. John the Evangelist puts it in terms of relationship.  He writes, “God does not stand outside our pain but within it, as a Companion, holding us in his arms and sharing in our grief and loss. Indeed, God has shared our suffering and knows our grief. We are not alone” (Brother, Give Us A Word, 7/15/2015). 

And so when it comes to today’s lessons we begin to realize we’re not really talking about shepherds and sheep in either Jeremiah or Mark.  We are talking about political and religious leaders who either lack compassion or who have compassion for the people.  As shepherds care for their sheep – feed them, guide them, guard them, the political and religious leaders of Israel are called to do the same for the people – they are charged with the well-being of the nation – the whole nation. 

But some shepherds have no sense of compassion – they are either looking out for themselves, or acting out of fear.  The shepherds charged with caring for Israel – both those referred to by Jeremiah and shepherds like King Herod – don’t suffer with those they are called to serve, nor do they challenge or change the systems of the day in order to alleviate the causes of suffering.  Rather, they actually participate in creating the systems that are abusive – they are actually part of the reason for the suffering!  Their lack of caring is one of the major themes addressed by the prophets throughout the Old Testament.

Jesus, on the other hand, is called the Good Shepherd, and he has compassion for those who have experienced little or no compassion in their lives.  One thing we learn about Jesus in the gospels is this: Whenever Jesus is said to be filled with compassion for anyone, that “compassion always results in concrete action: The leper is cleansed, the blind men are healed, the demoniac is exorcised, and the widow's son is raised from the dead. When Jesus has compassion for the crowd, he heals some of them, and the hungry are fed” (Dennis MacDonald, Sojourners Online, Preaching the Word, 7/15/2015, paraphrased).  There are no litmus tests – no credentialing – no “You’re not from around here, are you?” or “Do you believe what we all believe?” sorts of questions.  We come to understand the ultimate act of compassion on God’s part when we look to Jesus on the cross.  It is only then that we begin to realize the depth of what “suffering with” means in the heart of God.

At best, the danger we face as modern day Christians is mistaking sympathy or pity for compassion.  We feel bad about folks who have to work for poverty level wages, or who deal with abusive labor practices.  We hurt for people who find themselves in abusive relationships.  We feel rightfully uncomfortable when we see racism or sexism acted out in our community.  But we do little to change the systemic problems that cause that suffering.

At worst, the danger we face as modern day Christians is mistaking a heavy hand toward those in need as compassion thinking “It’s their own fault.  Therefore it’s not my problem.”  Compassion doesn’t cause suffering, nor does it leave someone in the midst of their suffering to figure it out for themselves. 

And while compassion does involves sympathy – the human ability to understand and to share the feelings of other human beings, even experiencing the same feelings within one’s own being, it also involves beneficence – that is, active well-doing on the part of the compassionate person (James F. Childress, The Westminster Dictionary of Ethics, 1986).  Compassion is getting down in the muddy, thorn-infested ditch with a person and helping them find a way out. 

Perhaps the question we have to ask ourselves has something to do with how we model the compassion that Jesus lived.  Jesus proclaimed a gospel of wholeness.  Jesus fed those who were hungry – whether that hunger resided in their spirits or in their bellies.  Jesus touched people and brought healing.  Jesus called for systems to change in ways that would recognize and honor the image of God in all people. 

What are the implications of modeling our own understandings and expressions of compassion upon Jesus’ compassion?

·         Modeling the compassion he showed for the disciples who needed rest,

·         Modeling the compassion he showed for the crowd who needed healing and who needed to be fed,

·         Even modeling the compassion he showed for those who conspired in his death and nailed him to a cross?  “Father, forgive them….”

How would modeling such compassion change the face of our communities?  Our nation and the world?

Where are we being called to show compassion in our families?  Where are we being called to show compassion in our communities? Where are we being called to show compassion in the wider world around us – a world that might not know that we at St. Paul’s even exist? 

Where are we feeling tempted to say, “there, there” and quickly turn away?  Where are we tempted to say, “take care of it yourself, it’s not my problem?”  I suspect it’s the places that make us feel the most uncomfortable that might actually be beckoning to us – calling for us to model the compassion of Christ in our lives. 

As Jesus came ashore he saw the great crowd: women and men, old and young, fellow Jews as well as gentiles, wealthy and poor, sick and whole; and Jesus had compassion for them all.  We look all around us.  We look at the person in the next pew.  We look at our families, our friends and our neighbors.  We look beyond the doors of this place of worship and we see the stranger among us: women and men, old and young, fellow Christians as well as people of other faiths, wealthy and poor, sick and whole, the many nationalities that comprise our communities; and we – we have compassion for…?

Living on the Edge

Proper 10B; Mark 6:14-29; St. Paul’s, Smithfield 7/12/2015

Jim Melnyk: “Living on the Edge”

At one level, Mark’s Gospel can be seen as a case study on what it means to live on the edge.  Now don’t get me wrong – living on the edge can be exhilarating if we’re talking about hang gliding in Hawaii or zip lining through the Amazon rain forest.  But living on the edge takes on different meaning when one begins preaching about the coming of God’s reign on earth – when it comes to preaching about things like repenting of our sins, seeing God’s image even in those least like us, or loving and praying for one’s enemies. 

Certainly the first followers of Jesus received some rather heady lessons about living life on the edge rather early on in their ministry together.  Today’s Gospel passage brings us an object lesson about what can happen when we live life on the edge – when we risk proclaiming the Good News of God in Christ to a world that doesn’t want to hear about a need for repentance – doesn’t want to hear about a need for forgiveness and grace – to a world that doesn’t want to hear about compassion – to a world that doesn’t want to hear about mercy.  Today’s passage from Mark is an object lesson about what can happen when we risk proclaiming the Good News of God in Christ to a world that is threatened by having its brokenness name – threatened by the shared power that come with the Good News – threatened by an inclusive gospel that says there should be no outcasts in the kingdom – and threatened by the possibility that God can and does say a new thing in each new generation.

In many ways the rather abrupt story about Herod’s drunken oath and the execution of the Baptist feels like a non-sequitur – stuck in the middle of Jesus sending out the twelve on a mission trip through Galilee and their return – a bookmark of sorts – an aside by a writer who lost his train of thought.  But there’s a method in Mark’s editorial exercise. 

John the Baptist was a populist prophet.  The people from all around the region were drawn to him and his message of repentance.  John’s popularity, as much as his denunciation of Herod’s marriage, was a threat to the king whose reign stood on shaky footings.  Herod had taken care of the Baptist problem – first by imprisoning him, and then by executing him in response to his step-daughter’s request.  But now this Jesus character comes on the scene preaching repentance and the coming reign of God – a reign that challenges the political status quo not only in Herod’s realm, but the stability of Rome as well. 

Jesus’ popularity is growing well beyond that of John’s.  People are flocking to him and even his disciples are out on preaching missions drawing great crowds and doing wondrous things.  He and his disciples are proclaiming renewed freedom and the coming of the kingdom of God, and we are told that Herod heard these things about Jesus.  Herod heard these things about Jesus – six words that carry significant and sinister connotations.

Jesus was a threat to Herod – even if he wasn’t directly challenging the king the way the Baptist had.  Herod’s reign wasn’t respected by the populous – and the Baptist’s charges against him had made for even more distrust among his subjects.  What’s more – Rome didn’t appreciate the rise of populist prophets – ones that offered any sort of challenge to Roman rule.  And here was this Jesus – whose followers used titles for him that Romans reserved only for their Emperor.  No wonder Herod was troubled – it was enough worrying about his subjects, but to risk Rome’s wrath….  No wonder the Good News preached by Jesus and his disciples put them on the edge – in a risky place – in a place reserved for the likes of the beheaded Baptist!

Mark’s inclusion of the John/Herod story tells us that living the Gospel faithfully will draw attention to us – and not always for the good.  True, many will be drawn to our gospel witness by the power of its message.  They will be drawn to our witness because somewhere deep within them they recognize the truth of God’s compassion, mercy and grace – somewhere deep within they recognize the truth of God’s all-inclusive love; they recognize the dignity of sharing power with rather than holding power over; they recognize that God truly can and does speak a new word to new generations as we become more attuned to the wonder of God’s dream for creation.

But there will also be people who are deeply disturbed by our witness to the Good News of God in Christ.  There will be those who disagree with how we interpret that Good News – and risk takers like the Episcopal Church often finds itself standing on the very edge – challenged by the world.  There will be those who feel challenged by what we see as the diversity – the openness – the welcome – the inclusivity of the kingdom of God.  “You want to let who in?!  You want them sitting at the table next to me?  Using the fine china?  How ‘bout putting them out back with a paper plate?” some will ask. There are those who will be greatly disturbed by the grace of God – challenged by the compassion of God – challenged by God’s mercy – challenged by the justice of God’s kingdom – because for too many people, justice is about judgment and condemnation; whereas for God, justice is always about the mercy and love of God for all of creation.

Many years ago when I was an undergrad student, there was a saying going around the evangelical circles: “If you were arrested today for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?”  Do you remember?  It’s actually not a bad question – though I look differently today at what might constitute the body of evidence used to convict me.  If people aren’t  paying attention to us – either being drawn in wonder to our witness for God in Christ, or pushing back at us because the gospel challenges their comfort zones, or their power, or their authority, then perhaps we need to stop and take stock of just what our witness has been. 

The Herod’s of this world should be threatened by us.  The complacent of this world should be shaken – and the broken-hearted and lost of this world – including the broken hearts and sense of loss each of us at times carry in our own lives – should feel welcomed – should feel valued – should feel empowered by our witness. 

Are we living on the edge of gospel witness, or flying under the radar?  Do our lives mirror what we say we believe and value in our lives?  Do we put those beliefs into action?  Do we believe that God loves us with an undying love and compels us to proclaim that love to the world – even if it shakes the footings of the empire?  Or does it feel just a little too embarrassing to talk about the love of God and about the dream of God with others – a little discomforting to talk about the place of faith in our lives?  After all, that’s more the home court of evangelical Christians – including the ones who preach about the exclusivity of God’s love.

 Jesus gets in trouble with the power brokers of his community when he suggests they have left their own faith behind, using portions of Torah Teaching to their political or even financial advantage, and ignoring the spirit that so deeply infuses their nation’s faith tradition. 

The arguments we hear throughout Mark and the other gospels between Jesus and others are actually in-house, religious debates – debates about Sabbath observance and dietary traditions were not uncommon between teachers then or now.  Those differences of opinion are not what put Jesus at risk.  Touching lepers, welcoming gentiles and honoring their faith – as with the Syrophoenician woman whose daughter was ill (Mk 7:24ff) – are not uncommon acts in first century Judaism and therefore do not put Jesus outside the bounds of his Jewish faith.  

Jesus gets into trouble with the political leadership of Jerusalem – the Sadducees, the Sanhedrin, the High Priest, and Herod – not so much because of his theology, which is soundly within the boundaries of Jewish faith, but rather because he is drawing too much attention. 

Jesus gets into trouble because his popularity is threatening, and because Jesus’ witness to God’s ultimate authority risks the wrath of Rome, and therefore risks Herod’s standing as king, as well as the power of priestly leadership who were all serving at Rome’s whim.

In the end, Herod is more concerned about the oath he makes and his honor among his guests than he is about the Baptist, who according to the story he was protecting.  As one commentator puts it, Herod’s “willingness to sacrifice others to maintain honor, prestige, and power remains one of the greatest temptations” for those in power today as it was for people like Herod and Pilate two thousand years ago (The New Interpreter’s Bible: A Commentary in Twelve Volumes, Pheme Perkins, Vol. VIII, Abingdon Press, Nashville, 1995, p. 599). 

We may think that religious differences were at the heart of the matter in Jesus’ day – we may think religious differences are at the heart of the matter today – but really, it’s all about power.  What does living on the gospel edge look like in today’s church?  What about our gospel message causes power to tremble and react with swift recourse?  Where and how are we willing to take a risk to not only proclaim God’s love for the whole of creation, but live that proclamation out in our lives? 

Last week we heard the action statement first used in the Diocese of Ohio: “Love God.  Love your neighbor.  Change the world.”  It might mean living on the edge – it might just mean leaping over the edge and growing some wings on the way down.  It could be a bit scary at times.  But it could also be the most exhilarating and meaningful time of our lives.