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The
Greatest Miracle of All is Mercy Sermon delivered by
Lee Barstow We're going to talk today about both the
readings we have just heard: The two miracle stories from John are among the best
known in the Gospels. In fact, they are the only miracles to appear in all
four Gospel narratives. The story of Jesus walking on the water is often used
as the "proof positive" of his divinity. It is so familiar it has
even become part of our common language, as in the expression, "That guy
is so full of himself, he thinks he walks on water." There is a wonderful movie where this image is used in
the final scene. It is called Being There, with Peter Sellers playing
the lead role of Chance the gardener. Chance had spent his adult life
cloistered within the garden walls of his employer's mansion, and when his
master dies, he is thrust out into the cold world. He is such a simple man,
you would even say slow, so that it appears he is doomed. But fortune shines
on him, and Chance meets a rich and powerful man who is the power behind the Through the rest of the film, Chauncey proceeds to
"save" the movers and shakers he meets, who read into his aphorisms
great truths about governing. By using everyday wisdom about the everyday
miracles that occur in the garden, Chauncey assumes larger-than-life status
in this political circle. The joke is, of course, that by uttering modest
statements of truth, Chauncey is trumping all political rhetoric. He becomes
recognized as the only hope for their party's hold on the presidency. In the
final scene of the movie, his role as a savior is finalized when he is seen
walking across the surface of a pond.It is a good story, though I would argue
not as good as the stories we heard today. What I hope to show is that these
stories are less powerful for the miracles on the surface of them, and more
powerful for what they can teach us about finding mercy in our daily lives. Our tradition is rich with stories like these. If we
have ears to listen, they speak to our own inner longings and hurts and fears
and joys, and they reveal the secrets we sometimes keep even from ourselves.
The Bible is a rich treasure trove of tales within which we can find
ourselves and find inspiration for how to live a better life. For me, much of
this power of bible stories lies in their use of metaphor rather than in
their literal truth. Here's an example: in the Christmas story, the wise men
follow the Star of David to the manger. Is it true that three men actually
saw a star and followed it? It might be, but I don't find it the most
compelling question. I find it more powerful to consider the metaphor as it
might apply to us, today, which might go something like this: in those times
when we experience the deepest darkness, a light comes into the world, and if
we follow it, the light will guide us to the one source of truth and love.
Jesus was certainly fond of metaphor. His parables are, after all,
story-length metaphors. And the Gospel writers followed suit. As with any
good writer, they relied on the power of metaphor to put across their most
important points. Let's consider this approach in the stories we heard read a
few minutes ago. First, scholars call both these stories "salvation
stories." Salvation is a central theme in both the Old Testament as well
as the New Testament. Its literal meaning is "being saved," and is
often interpreted as salvation from our sins. But there's another meaning
that gets closer to my theme today. As Marcus Borg says in his book, The
God We Never Knew, "Salvation comes from the same root as
'salve,' a healing ointment. Salvation thus has to do with healing the wounds
of existence. This is no small matter, for the wounds of existence are many
and deep. Some of these wounds are inflicted on us, some are the result of
our own doing, and some we inflict on others." Thus the feeding of the
multitudes can be seen as a metaphor that uses food to represent salvation.
In this view, the five thousand were hungry for the truth and healing that
Jesus and the disciples had demonstrated. And God did not disappoint them.
Closer to home, the story says that when we are hungry for the treasure at
the core of all of us, when we thirst for the truth and love that pervade the
universe, we can turn to Jesus and he will feed us. He will "save"
us. He is a source of God's mercy. Indeed, in the Gospel narrative, it is shortly after
that John has Jesus recite his "I am" statements, most notably
"I am the Bread of Life." Now there's a metaphor for you. John does
not mean here that Jesus is literally bread, but that he is the way to the
sustenance we need in our lives—physical, emotional, mental and spiritual..
There is a wonderful little study of the Lord's Prayer by Emmet Fox, in which
he expands on this. He says, "It is the Will of God that we should all
lead healthy, happy lives, full of joyous experience; that we should develop
freely and steadily, day by day and week by week…. To this end we require
such things as food, clothing, shelter, means of travel, books, and so on;
above all, we require freedom, and in the [Lord's] Prayer all these
things are included under the heading of bread. Bread, that is to say, means
not merely food in general, but all things that [people] require for a
healthy, happy, free, and harmonious life." Let's get back to the story of the loaves and fishes.
The story occurs at a highpoint of the ministry of Jesus and his disciples.
The gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke describe it as a re-gathering. The
disciples have just returned from their healing the sick and spreading Jesus'
good news that God is with us all, even the lowest of us. They have actually
worked miracles as taught by Jesus, and the surrounding populace has seen
them do it or heard the stories. Now the disciples are reporting back to
share their excitement with each other and with Jesus. But they are victims of their own success. Their fame
has preceded them, and rather than finding the isolation they seek, they find
themselves surrounded by the five thousand. And the huge crowd is hungry.
Imagine yourself in the same position. You've been casting out demons all
over the countryside and feeling pretty full of yourself. Granted you
knew very well that your power came not from you, but through you from
God. But you're a human being, after all, and it's nigh impossible not to
feel pretty special. Until all of a sudden you're facing five thousand poor,
hungry people staring at you, and all you know is you're fresh out of
miracles. So you turn to Jesus, who is not worried at all. He
starts by asking what's available. Five loaves and two fishes. Okaaaay… this
isn't looking much better, right? But John says Jesus took the loaves he
"gave thanks." The other three Gospels say "he looked up to
heaven." An act of gratitude and an act of faith. An acceptance of what
we have and a certainty that a power exists that can move us through the
situation safely, even though our logical minds can see no solution. Words
spoken to God at such a time might sound like this, "This doesn't look
like enough bread for all these people, but what do I know. It is beyond me
to solve this predicament, but not you. Thank you for what we have and for
wherever your will leads us." In the story, of course, the bread multiplies and feeds
all five thousand, with twelve baskets left over. Some say that the miracle
of this story is that everyone had some food with them, and that each of them
shared—the miracle being that when we share, we end up with more than when we
keep it to ourselves. I like that. But the miracle I want to focus on—call it
the "miracle of mercy"—is the one that occurs in our daily lives,
that John was getting at when he talked about Jesus as the Bread of Life. It
is the everyday miracle that when we are overwhelmed and we have used up all
our own power, we can turn to the source of all power for help. If we can
"give thanks" for what we have… if we can "look to
heaven" for help. If we can seek to claim the metaphorical bread, we
will be nourished. Have you ever experienced the agony of knowing that you
can't stand to go on, even for another minute? Maybe it is from grief after
the loss of a loved one, or maybe it is from rage at being treated badly by a
loved one, or shame at treating a loved one badly, or maybe it is
hopelessness at being unable to change a pattern of behavior that is painful.
We hear in situations like this that "time heals all wounds," and
indeed this seems true. Even if we do not "look to heaven" for
help, the pain eventually subsides enough for us to go on with our lives,
even though we had been convinced this would never happen. Mercy happens even when we hardly cooperate at all. But
the point I want to make today is that we possess all the tools we need. We
have what we need to cooperate with the unseen power that sustains all life,
and in doing so we can accelerate the process of healing and growth. If we do
"look up to heaven" we can actually take part in the healing, just
as the disciples did. This is not something, of course, that Christianity has
a patent on. All true faith traditions share the concept that there is a
universal creative force that can transform us and the world. I have heard it
said, in fact, that in order to participate in the "miracle of
mercy," it doesn't really matter what image we have of God, as long we
know it's not us. I don't pretend to know how this works—it is a wondrous
mystery of life—but I know that it does work. The help doesn't come in a
flash of light or a shock of happiness, but when I am authentically opening
myself to the will of God, something always shifts. Maybe it's as
small as the phone ringing, and the ensuing conversation takes me out of
myself enough to relieve the pain, even if only for a few minutes. Often the
results have been more profound. The miracle of mercy proves to us that there is more to
God's love than we can ever fathom. It reminds us that our logical minds are
limited and unable to see all the possibilities. This miracle is always
available, not just when things are at their worst, though it's often only
during the worst times that we remember to ask God for help. God's mercy is
always right here. My ability to see it is as simple as putting on a
different set of glasses. That's all. Certainly there are ways we can improve our ability to
recognize this miracle and cooperate with it. And here's where Chauncey's
gardening metaphors come back to serve us, because making myself ready to ask
for and receive God's help is a little like cultivating the soil. "If
the roots are not severed, all will be well in the garden…. The garden must
be fertilized…. Prepare in the Fall and Winter for growth in the
Spring." Just like cooperating with the mystery of life blooming
from the earth in a garden, I can "cultivate" the health of my
spirit by using the tools I have been given, like prayer, and meditation, and
service to others. When I am at my most healthy—when I am the most
"fit" spiritually—then I most likely to remember that help is
always available from God, or the Holy Spirit, or my Higher Power, or
whatever symbol or name one might use for the truth that is at the core of
all our lives and present in all creation. I believe today that God is constantly luring us into
beauty and truth, and that if I can find the willingness to respond, I will
be rewarded. And I also believe that no matter how many times I refuse—and
God knows I refuse more often than I accept—the willingness will always be
there waiting for me to pick it up when I'm ready. Isn't this the same miracle that occurs in the other
story from John? The disciples are terrified at seeing something they don't
understand—a figure coming across the water to them. They think it is a
ghost. But then they see it is Jesus, who says, "It is I. Do not be
afraid." This tells me that even when we are powerless to pick up that
key of willingness and exert ourselves, when we are simply afraid, God enters
our lives and reminds us of his presence and his power. Finally, what of the story we heard earlier of King
David? What an awful story. David is arguably the most celebrated figure in
Judaism. He established the kingdom and expanded it to its largest size. His
son is awaited as the Messiah to recreate that kingdom, and the greatness of
the Jews along with it. How is it possible that a man who committed the kind of
crimes in the story—and they were certainly not the only ones he
committed—can be so beloved? I put it to you that it is because he sincerely
worked to be faithful to God. When the prophet Nathan confronts David with
these crimes, David admits to them. He puts honesty above imperial might.
When push comes to shove, he has the humility to accept himself as human, and
flawed, and in need of God's mercy. Where else but in the Hebrew Bible would a king allow
himself to be chastised like that, and then have the humility to admit it in
front of everyone? And be remembered as great? Like the other two stories
today, this one gives me great comfort too, because it is in my tradition,
and I can see myself in it metaphorically. No matter how far down the scale I
have gone, God can do for me what I cannot do for myself. Mercy happens. Amen. |