Sermons from Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] July 18, 2021 “Relentless Need. Persistent Abundance” Mark 6: 30-44, 53-56 – Common English Bible “30-31The apostles returned to Jesus and told him everything they had done and taught. 31 So many people were coming and going, there was no time to eat. He said to the apostles, “Come by yourselves to a secluded place and rest for a while.” 32 They departed in a boat by themselves for a deserted place. 33 Many people saw them leaving and recognized them, so they ran ahead from all the cities and arrived before them. 34 When Jesus arrived and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them because they were like sheep without a shepherd. Then he began to teach them many things. 35 Late in the day, his disciples came to him and said, “This is an isolated place, and it’s already late in the day. 36 Send them away so that they can go to the surrounding countryside and villages and buy something to eat for themselves.” 37 He replied, “You give them something to eat.” But they said to him, “Should we go off and buy almost eight months’ wages worth of bread and give it to them to eat?” 38 Jesus said to them, “How much bread do you have? Take a look.” After checking, they said, “Five loaves of bread and two fish.” 39 He directed the disciples to seat all the people in groups as though they were having a banquet on the green grass. 40 They sat down in groups of hundreds and fifties. 41 He took the five loaves and the two fish, looked up to heaven, blessed them, broke the loaves into pieces, and gave them to his disciples to set before the people. He also divided the two fish among them all. 42 Everyone ate until they were full. 43 Then they filled twelve baskets with the leftover pieces of bread and fish. 44 About five thousand had eaten. 53 When Jesus and his disciples had crossed back across the lake, they landed at Gennesaret, anchored the boat, 54 and came ashore. People immediately recognized Jesus 55 and ran around that whole region bringing sick people on their mats to wherever they heard he was. 56 Wherever he went—villages, cities, or farming communities—they would place the sick in the marketplaces and beg him to allow them to touch even the hem of his clothing. Everyone who touched him was healed. A common interpretation of this story is that people simply shared the provisions they had brought with them from home. That’s how the disciples could start with five loaves of bread and two fish but end up with 12 basketfuls of leftovers. This wasn’t so much a miracle but an example of what can happen when people share. Of all the miracle stories, this might be the easiest one to explain in a rational and compelling way. It’s a story of the vision of the Kingdom of God. A world where sharing by all will mean scarcity for none. And as Jesus kept insisting, on earth as it is in heaven. When we enact this earthly foretaste of heaven, there is enough, more than enough, for everyone. However, in this story according to Mark, people didn’t just wander over to the lakeside with provisions for a lovely picnic while they listened to an inspiring speaker. They “literally” ran from their houses to hear Jesus. They were desperate to hear words that would give them life. They didn’t plan or prepare for a long day away from home. And if that’s so, then where did all that food come from? Perhaps the example and “the vision of sharing by all” isn’t what Mark meant here. Some clues: The passage begins, “The apostles rendezvoused with Jesus and reported on all that they had done and taught.” Earlier in chapter 6, Jesus commissioned the disciples and sent them off in groups of two and told them to take nothing with them, no bread, no bag, no money. They were only to live off the hospitality of the people they met. And if the people were not hospitable, they were to shake the dust off their feet as they left the house. They were out there completely dependent and vulnerable. And reportedly, the disciples did amazing things. In verse 13 it says, “They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.” They had marvelous success at their mission. Mark’s gospel usually reports how clueless the disciples acted, a group who routinely didn’t get it, who didn’t understand who or what Jesus was about. But they got this one right, and for that, Mark calls them apostles, the only time in his entire gospel. It’s Mark’s way of giving them credit. They did it. They achieved the mission Jesus gave them. In response Jesus told them, “Let’s take a break and get a some rest.” But, like it had happened many times before, crowds of people discovered he was there and rushed to him. All the disciples wanted was to have a break. And here was Jesus, once again, full of compassion. When the disciples told Jesus it was getting late and he should send them home for supper, instead, Jesus asked them to feed the crowd. And in an instant, they’re back to being disciples again – a group that doesn’t get it. They asked Jesus how he expected them to feed such a large crowd of hungry people. You want us to feed how many?! You want us to spend how much!? How quickly they lost faith. What could cause them to lose faith? What changed? And does that ever happen to us? There are times when we’re like faith machines. We’re in the zone. We put our problems and stresses and worries and struggles into perspective. We let one thing go and we let another fly by. We don’t let anything get us down. Our faith could move mountains. And then all of a sudden, we ask, why has God abandoned me? Why won’t God hear my prayers? Why has my faith been replaced by such crippling fear? What changed? Maybe it happens when we begin to think everything depends on us. Or that we are the reason we’re succeeding, not that God is working through us. Back when Jesus sent them out two by two, when they were healing the sick and casting out demons, the disciples knew it could only be God at work in and through them. But for some reason, to feed the crowd, they thought it was all about them. Martin Copenhaver wonders whether the 12 suffered from compassion fatigue. They were amazed by what they could do, but the need never quit. They were on their way to a break from the pressure and stress of their calling – a well-deserved retreat. But then this huge crowd showed up, wanting more, needing more from them. I’d be perturbed too. And to make it worse, Jesus, who knew they needed a rest, told them to feed the crowd. Can’t they do it for themselves? In the movie Groundhog Day, the character played by Bill Murray lives a single day over and over again. He wakes up and it’s the same day; always beginning at 6 am with the radio blaring I’ve Got You Babe by Sonny and Cher. Each day the sequence of the same people and the same events repeats anew. But over the course of time, he realizes he can change how he deals with that same person or event. Ultimately, he grows more understanding and compassionate. He discovers that every day he can re-do his interactions with people and from that learn how to improve the situation. But there is one curious exception. Every day he catches a boy that falls out of a tree. The first time he’s amazed. He saved the boy! But with each succeeding day, he grows more annoyed that the boy continues to need to be caught. The relentlessness of this boy’s need for help eventually wears his compassion thin. I think of social workers who begin their careers full of confidence that they can change the world, only to see the same clients month after month, year after year, with no end in sight. My heart aches for all the doctors and nurses during the pandemic inundated every day with more and more sick people. But I can only imagine it's worse now that there is a vaccine and the numbers keep rising. Would you want to care for someone who refuses to help themselves? And keeps putting the rest of us at risk? People in all kinds of healing and helping professions can probably all relate to some extent to the relentless need. Have you ever felt compassion fatigue? Maybe it’s the exhaustion of dealing with family members who constantly need our help. We save them from eviction only to discover they need to be saved again. For every five broken promises, we hold on to the glimpse of that one promise kept. Maybe this time it’ll be different… How often do we worry what would happen if we didn’t keep trying? It’s not an argument to stop, but to not take it all on by ourselves. Maria is a woman with considerable power and influence in the world. Once a year she hikes through the mountains for a week – completely cut off from the world. But she always tells her husband to save all the newspapers from that week. When she returns, Maria reads every single one of them to remind herself that it all happened without her. Despite the pressure we may feel, the world will not end without us. The belief that “If I don’t do it, nobody else will” causes more burnout than anything else. Imagine the miracles that could be accomplished if we shared the work together! This story from the gospel of Mark is a curious combination of taking responsibility for the needs of the crowd and not having to do it all by ourselves – that’s the miracle of multiplying loaves and fish. What do you think about this story? Do you see yourself anywhere in it? What do you think the miracle was? The feeding of the 5,000 comes right in the middle of stories about people rushing to Jesus, overwhelming the disciples to the point that they didn’t even have time to eat, let alone rest. In the face of that constant and relentless need, to me, this is a story about how abundance persists. More than enough. Not as something we have to create but live into with faith. Because God works with us to provide. References: Martin Copenhaver, “Watching from the Boat,” Christian Century, June 29-July 6, 1994
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Sermons from Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] July 11, 2021 “Revolutionary Love” Amos 7: 7-15 – The Message God showed me this vision: My Master was standing beside a wall. In his hand he held a plumb line. 8-9 God said to me, “What do you see, Amos?” I said, “A plumb line.” Then my Master said, “Look what I’ve done. I’ve hung a plumb line in the midst of my people Israel. I’ve spared them for the last time. This is it! “Isaac’s sex-and-religion shrines will be smashed, Israel’s unholy shrines will be knocked to pieces. I’m raising my sword against the royal family of Jeroboam.” 10 Amaziah, priest at the shrine at Bethel, sent a message to Jeroboam, king of Israel: “Amos is plotting to get rid of you; and he’s doing it as an insider, working from within Israel. His talk will destroy the country. He’s got to be silenced. Do you know what Amos is saying? 11 ‘Jeroboam will be killed. Israel is headed for exile.’” 12-13 Then Amaziah confronted Amos: “Seer, be on your way! Get out of here and go back to Judah where you came from! Hang out there. Do your preaching there. But no more preaching at Bethel! Don’t show your face here again. This is the king’s chapel. This is a royal shrine.” 14-15 But Amos stood up to Amaziah: “I never set up to be a preacher, never had plans to be a preacher. I raised cattle and I pruned trees. Then God took me off the farm and said, ‘Go preach to my people Israel.’ Amos describes his unlikely call from a farmer to a prophet: to use a plumb line to determine the faithfulness of Israel – caring for widows and orphans, welcoming the foreigner or alien, practicing a religion that isn’t about showing off but showing up for the stranger. A plumb line is a weight suspended from a string used as a vertical reference line to ensure a structure is centered. As plumb lines always find the vertical axis pointing to the center of gravity, they ensure everything is right, justified and centered. If not, the structure will one day fall to the ground. It makes me ask: What might our plumb line be? How about love? Valarie Kaur is American civil rights activist, a member of the Sikh faith, and someone who can articulate the life and ministry of Jesus better than many who call themselves Christians – myself included. For her, the plumb line would not just be love but revolutionary love. That’s her extraordinary vision, her project, for us – as individuals and as a nation. She asks, what's the antidote to rising nationalism, polarization and hate? Valarie asks us to claim love as a revolutionary act. But just to be clear, she prefaces this with the words of Martin Luther King, Jr. “Power without love is reckless and abusive, and love without power is sentimental and anemic. Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is love correcting everything that stands against love.” A plumb line. We’re going to watch her famous TedTalk from 2018. In the video, she journeys from the birthing room to tragic sites of bloodshed. And shows us how the choice to love is the force for justice. She is also clear: “I do not owe my opponents my affection, warmth, or regard. But I do owe myself a chance to live in this world without the burden of hate.” “Forgiveness is not forgetting, forgiveness is freedom from hate.” “No one should be asked to feel empathy or compassion for their oppressors. I have learned that we do not need to feel anything for our opponents at all in order to practice love. But love is labor that returns us to wonder—it is seeing another person's humanity, even if they deny their own. We just have to choose to wonder about them.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ErKrSyUpEo&t=9s Valarie asks, what if this present darkness is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb. Something waiting to be born. In us. And in our nation. What if this time is our great transition? And so I ask, as she did: “Can you choose one person to practice wondering about? Can you listen to the story they have to tell? If your fists tighten, or your heart beats fast, or if shame rises to your face, it’s okay. Breathe through it. Trust that you can. The heart is a muscle: The more you use it, the stronger it becomes.” As Valarie concludes, you are brave. You are brave. I understand you may not be ready. I may not be ready. Archbishop Desmond Tutu wasn’t sure he was ready either. So, he wrote this “prayer before the prayer” Let’s pray: O God, I want to be willing to let go, to forgive. But I dare not ask for the will to forgive, in case you give it to me. And I am not yet ready. I am not yet ready for my heart to soften. I am not yet ready to be vulnerable again. Not yet ready to see that there is humanity in my tormentor’s eyes Or that the one who hurt me may also have cried. I am not yet ready for the journey. I am not yet interested in the path. I am at the prayer before the prayer of forgiveness. Grant me the will to want to forgive. Grant it to me, soon, but not yet. Can I even form the words? Forgive me? Dare I even look? Do I dare to see the hurt I have caused: I can glimpse all the shattered pieces of that fragile thing That soul trying to rise on the broken wings of hope But only out of the corner of my eye. I am afraid of it. And if I am afraid to see How can I not be afraid to say: Forgive me? Is there a place where we can meet? You and me The place in the middle where we straddle the lines Where you are right and I am right too. And both of us are wrong and wronged. Can we meet there? And look for the place where the path begins The path that ends when we forgive. And so let us pray together as Jesus taught: Our Creator, holy is your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For yours is the kindom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen. |
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March 2024
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