Grace Along the Way

John 6:1-21; Ephesians 3:14-21

July 29, 2012

We’re going to begin this morning with conversation rather than end that way. But first we’ll begin in a time of silence in which I invite you to consider this question: where have you experienced grace this summer? What has come to you unexpected as a simple gift that lifted your spirit and filled your soul? It doesn’t have to be earth-shaking or life-altering; perhaps a simple act of kindness, refreshing cool on a sultry day – where have you experienced grace this summer?

* * * * *

We’ve all been shocked and saddened by the news of so much of the summer. I don’t suppose this is terribly different from any other season in any other year. Natural disasters, senseless violence, political intransigence, economic distress. The shootings in Colorado and the fires out there, the violent storm that racked our part of the world, international news that includes wars and rumors of war.

It is not hard to fall into apocalyptic thinking, so it’s not odd that I would get the old REM song stuck in my head: “It’s the end of the world as we know it …” and, of course, the song’s next line, “I feel fine.”

I feel fine! I don’t know why that is. I can get as cynical and morose as the next guy. The news out of Colorado is certainly heartbreakingly sad, and it is far from the only violence plaguing the nation or the world. Indeed, the cycles of violence seem endless and there is no good news to be had. We seem as far from ever from the vision of the psalmist – that we live together in unity – as we ever are.

Nevertheless, in the face of all that, we hear this simple story of feeding – John’s version of the feeding of the multitudes. People gathered by the thousands to hear a message of grace and transformation and experiencing that very grace in the simple gesture of breaking bread. This is the good news of the gospel, and it is enough for the day, somehow.

Imagine the scene: the occupied Middle East; an oppressed religious minority; state violence; extreme poverty and limited economic opportunity for the masses; end of time prophecies abounding; cataclysm at every turn. Sound familiar?

Into all that steps a man who takes a few fish and some bread and feeds the masses. It was the end of the world as they knew it. The world of hunger and hopelessness ended when the bread was broken.

And Jesus felt fine. So did Paul in his letter to the church at Ephesus. “We are God’s work of art, created in Christ Jesus to live the good life as from the beginning God had meant us to live it,” Paul writes.

Live the good life – not in some “don’t worry, be happy” kind of Pollyannish willed ignorance of the world, nor in a pie-in-the-sky-bye-and-bye longing for the next world, but rather in a deeply faithful way of living here and now that trusts God’s providence and God’s saving activity in this world.

If this is the end of the world as we know it, then I feel fine, these texts say to me. Why? Well first, the world as we know it is deeply broken. The good news is that we don’t have to keep on living this way, broken and mired in our own brokenness.

Of course this can be a bit scary. After all, God gives us the gifts to change. Why is this scary? Well, because we have to use the gifts we’ve been given or the change will never come – not in our own lives; not in the life of this community; not in the life of the world.

So why feel fine even in the face of our own fears? Because we have been given what we need. Bread for the day, as the story from John insists. The power of the Holy Spirit, as Paul’s benediction for the church insists.

Grace abounds, as our own lives bear witness. Remember the stories you all shared just a few moments ago: signs and wonders of God’s amazing grace. We live in an economy of gracious abundance. There is more than more than enough for the day. There are all around us signs and wonders as miraculous as feeding 5000 people from a few loaves and fishes.

You remember our amazing Easter Sunday worship? We filled the sanctuary with seeds and seedlings. We actually planted some seeds, right here on this table during the middle of worship. Remember that?

Check this out. Here’s a handful of seeds: tomato, cucumber, pepper. These came from plants we’ve grown and harvested in our front yard, and they’re about exactly the same things that we planted in little seed beds right here on this table back in April.

Tiny little seeds. You couldn’t feed a squirrel on these.

We started with not much. Just an idea, really. Then we got some seeds and some dirt. Then we got a bit of lumber and added some sweat. We prayed together and we worked together, men and women, straight and gay, children and older folks, and now we are feeding our neighbors.

So here we stand – in the midst of the chaos and violence of the present moment – a community called to gather at table, spirits open to the thrust of grace, signs and wonders – and peppers and tomatoes and okra – all around us.

I don’t know if you feel it, but it is abundantly clear to me that we are all witnesses to a powerful sign and wonder: the future of this community laid out before us in joyous worship, joyous service, children, families of all kinds, gay and straight, young and old, filling this house with song and celebration, with laughter and praise, with word and sacrament, and filling this table with bread and vegetables and God knows what else!

It’s time to take this food and feed the world. Time, obviously, to take the literal food and feed the literal hungry bodies of our neighbors, but time also, and way past time, to take the spiritual food on which we are fed in this place and share that with our neighbors as well.

Signs and wonders. If it’s the end of the world of holding back, and fear, and scarcity, and of not sharing invitations with our friends and neighbors, and of unwillingness to share good news with a broken and fearful world – if it’s even the beginning of the end of all that, then I feel fine.

So let’s do it. Let’s go out into the world to share what we find at this table.

And I mean that literally. Let’s go, right now, out to our garden so y’all can see what I’m talking about.

It’s going to take us a couple of minutes, but that’s fine. We’ll process out, with care and assisting those who need assistance, and gather in a circle around the garden where we’ll close our worship this morning – out in the neighborhood where we belong.