Sunday, July 28, 2024
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
John 6:1-21
 
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 toward 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.”
 
When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself. When evening came, his disciples went down to the sea, got into a boat, and started across the sea to Capernaum. It was now dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them. The sea became rough because a strong wind was blowing. When they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and coming near the boat, and they were terrified. But he said to them, “It is I; do not be afraid.” Then they wanted to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the land toward which they were going.
 
 
 
Her name was Andromeda, but she pronounced it “Andromeeda.”  And Andromeda, the mother of my seminary roommate, was a character as unique as her name.  To say that she was a free spirit would be a vast understatement. 
 
Andromeda was a transient of sorts.  She would spend a few months at the family’s rambling home in Western Pennsylvania and then one day would simply announce that she was leaving to go out west.  She would never say for how long.  Then, she would pack her belongings into large garbage bags, board a Greyhound bus, and disappear into the sunset.
 
Andromeda had never had a lot of money.  She grew up during the Depression and her adulthood didn’t really change her lot that much.  She was widowed early and raised her seven children mostly on her own.  And that kind of life had taught her to stretch a dollar better than anyone I have ever known.  
 
Her dollar-stretching ability was on full display whenever she decided to cook.  Mostly, Andromeda made casseroles.  And for Andy, everything was a potential casserole ingredient because every scrap of food was precious.  She would mix breakfast leftovers with dinner leftovers with Chinese leftovers with the crumbs of a potato chip bag.  She would season these odd combinations very generously to mask the chaos, and then, she topped it all with cheese, because, you know, melted cheese can fix anything!
 
And with that kind of creativity and ingenuity and determination, she fed her brood.  She fed me whenever I visited.  And, you know, it wasn’t half bad!  
 
And God is like Andromeda – gathering up all that is leftover, so that nothing may be lost.  
 
Now, if you have listened to me long enough, then you already know that I have an interest in the idea of God as mother.  My benedictions almost always end with the phrase: “one God, mother of the whole creation.”  And perhaps you have wondered about that.  Maybe it strikes you as new-fangled or overly politically correct.  But that’s not my point.  Instead, I am trying to lift up an idea that is found in Scripture, but has been mostly ignored in the history of the church.  And some theologians would not say that it has been purposefully obscured by translators who found the idea too radical.  
 
Here’s an example: one of the Hebrew names of God is El Shaddai.  It is most commonly translated for us as “Almighty God.”  But that is not the full translation of those two words.  El does indeed mean “Almighty God.”  But “shad” in Hebrew often means breast.  And Shaddai means many breasts.  So, then, El Shaddai literally means the Almighty Many-Breasted God, although you won’t read that in any of our English translation.  And that’s a shame, I think, because we miss out on that beautiful image of a God who suckles and nurtures and feeds us all.  And we miss out on a powerful illustration of the way that women also fully reflect the image of God.
 
Jesus too spoke of the Divine feminine.  He said that he himself longed to gather the people of Jerusalem as a hen gathers her chicks.  He said that God is like a woman who searches diligently for a lost coin, sweeping her whole house, until she finds it.  Throughout Scripture, in both the Old and New Testaments, God is variously described as a compassionate mother, a midwife, a woman in labor.
 
And then, of course, there are the subtler indications of a God who mothers us, like today’s Gospel lesson.  
 
The story is the feeding of the 5000.  This is one of the most well-known miracle stories of the New Testament.  And it is the one that is reported in all four Gospels.  In fact, it’s told a total of six times because some Gospels have two iterations of it.  So, obviously, this was an important story for the early church.
 
Its most obvious theological connection is to the Lord’s Supper.  John makes a point of telling us that this event took place near the Festival of the Passover, which is a feast.  And it was during Passover that Jesus had his Last Supper.  So, food is at the center of this story.  And on this day, just like at the Last Supper, Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to the people.  
 
This event is variously understood by the followers of Jesus.  Some of us simply accept it at face value.  Afterall, the one who turned water into wine and healed the sick and raised the dead would have no trouble multiplying bread and fish to feed the multitude.  For others, they see another kind of miracle here.  They say that once the little boy shared his food, everyone else in the crowd was shamed into sharing their own food, which they had hidden in their cloaks and bags.  And when everyone followed their best impulses and shared what they had, there was more than enough for everyone.  And that’s a miracle any way you slice it.
 
But there are other profound messages in this passage.  And food is at the center of those too.  
 
The story begins with Jesus and friends escaping the crowds.  They had gotten into a boat and sailed to the other side of the Sea of Galilee.  And then they climbed a mountain to finally be able to breathe.  But the crowds simply walked or ran around the perimeter of the lake.  And Jesus, from his mountaintop perch, saw them all coming.   
 
Now, I’m just going to be honest here.  If after I had gone to all that effort to get away and to rest, and then I looked up and saw that my boundaries were not being respected, let’s just say, I wouldn’t be happy.  And maybe Jesus sighed a little too.  But then, like any good mom, he wondered: what are we going to feed them?  In fact, according to John, that was his first thought.  And then, like any good mom (or dad), he got busy in the kitchen of the world, gathering up whatever he could find and blessing it and making it enough.  
 
He’s never stopped doing that, you know.  Jesus feeds us all with all kinds of common things that don’t look like a whole lot on their own.  They almost never look like enough in the moment of need.  But we look back on the times of trouble, and see that we were fed and sustained by the very bread of heaven.  
 
And then the feast was over, but the work wasn’t done.  Jesus was concerned with the clean-up and what was going to happen to the leftovers.  Because they were not going in the garbage.  They were not going in a landfill.  They were going to be repurposed because they too were precious.  Jesus said it like this: “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.” 
 
I sometimes use this passage at funerals.  Because funerals are all about what we have lost.  We say of the deceased: “We lost her.”  “We lost him.”  And that is true.  From us, they are gone.  But what might be true for us in that moment, is never ever true for God.  God is like that woman who sweeps her house searching for the lost coin until she finds it.  God is like Jesus, gathering up all the leftovers so that nothing may be lost.  God is like Andromeda, fashioning something new from the bits and pieces and rubbish of our dreams, our hopes, our youth, our health, our bodies, our promise, our passions.  
 
Nothing is ever truly lost.  Nothing is ever wasted.  And everything can be made into something new.  Including you.  Including me.

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56
Sunday, July 22, 2018
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
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.
 
 
 
Cedar Lake, Indiana was the alleged summer home of Al Capone.  But that was hard to believe the day I arrived there because it had certainly seen better days.  The lake itself hadn’t been dredged in years, leaving it a dirty brown color and chocked with aquatic vegetation.  The cottages that dotted the shoreline were worn and faded. 
 
I once spent a summer there, working at a place called the Cedar Lake Bible Conference Center. It was one of those old turn-of-the-century camp meeting grounds with a large wooden tabernacle, guest cottages and an old hotel.  The hotel, oddly enough, was built in the style of a mountain lodge, even though northern Indiana is as flat as a pancake.  The lobby was knotty pine throughout with a huge stone fireplace and dusty deer heads hanging on the walls.  It too had seen better days, but it was not without its charms.  And one of those charms was its name: the Hotel Rest-a-While.
 
The evangelical founders of the conference center used the very Gospel passage we heard today as a basis for the hotel’s name.  “Jesus said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.”  He offered that invitation to people just like us; people who desperately needed to rest.
 
The disciples had been commissioned and sent out to teach and heal and preach.  And they had had tremendous success.  In fact, they were so successful doing the Lord’s work that Mark says they didn’t even have time to eat. 
 
But they were flying high on adrenaline – a feeling we all know: when you can work all night and create things of beauty and you don’t feel tired or hungry.  Adrenaline can mask our basic human needs and trick us into ignoring or even abusing our bodies.  
 
But Jesus saw them in the unforgiving light of day.  He saw the bags under their eyes and their stooped shoulders.  He knew the ones who had low blood sugar and the ones who were extra reckless without a good night’s sleep.  And seeing how tired they really were, his mothering instincts emerged.  “OK children, that’s enough,” he said.  “I am proud of you, but you’re tired and you need to rest and have a good meal.  So I’m taking you away.” 
 
Now the truth is, Jesus needed the rest too.  In the verses that precede this passage, and which we read last Sunday, Jesus had just learned that his cousin John the Baptist had been beheaded by King Herod, at the request of his new wife Herodias.  That must have been quite a gut-punch for the One who preached that love conquers hate.  But not this time.  It sure looked like hate had won.  And that’s enough to make anyone feel bone-tired.  
 
And so, Jesus and company headed off into nature, into the quietness, into the green, to rest a while and to be replenished by a deep connection with the Earth and its Creator.  
 
And that is still the cure for what ails us.  
 
A study out of UCLA observed the typical week of thirty-two middle class families in greater Los Angeles. The results, according to one researcher, were "disheartening." So consumed with working, collecting, amassing, and generally "getting ahead," these families actually spent very little time together enjoying what they were working for.  
 
In particular, Dr. Jeanne Arnold, lead author and a professor of anthropology at UCLA, bemoaned how little time family members spent outside.  And here I quote her: "Something like 50 of the 64 parents in our study never stepped outside in the course of about a week.  When they gave us tours of their house they'd say, 'Here's the backyard, (but) I don't have time to go there.' They were working a lot at home. (But their) leisure time was spent in front of the TV or (on their devices)."
 
Or on their devices.  Well, that sounds familiar.  I, for one, cannot leave my house without my mobile phone.  I feel naked if I do, sort of panicky and disconnected.  What if something happens, I think.  What if one of you needs to reach me?  And so, I tell myself that my being constantly connected is really about all of you.  But that’s simply not the truth.  It’s for me.  It is my own addiction to connectivity.  I am a willing and active participant in the deadening of my own mind and spirit.  I freely offer myself up to the tech gods who are determined and delighted to control me and to sell me something and make me think something, and increasingly to make me hate something or someone.  
 
Sometimes, I think I need an intervention.  Maybe you do too.  Maybe that’s why the language of Psalm 23 is as strong as it is.  The Lord doesn’t ask us if maybe, if it is convenient, if we don’t mind, would you please lie down in a green pasture?  No.  The Lord makes us to lie down in green pastures because the Lord knows we need it.  And so, with rod and staff in hand, he makes us take our rest. 
 
And that is what Jesus was doing for his friends that day.  They were beyond exhausted.  They were addicted to their own busyness.  They were full of themselves.  And so he said: “Come away and rest a while.”
 
Rest is not just about our physicality.  Rest is also about our souls.  Rest is a spiritual discipline.  I would even say that rest is a sacrament, because rest – the temporary cessation of our frenetic pace, is about trust.  And trust is an antidote to the idolatry of self-importance.  It helps us to remember that God is God and we are not.
 
I once read a story about Pope John the 23rd - the pope who ushered in the reforms of the Second Vatical Council in the 1960s.  Of course, as the leader of Catholics world-wide, he was a very busy man.  But he was also a wise man.  
 
It was reported by one of his secretaries that every night as he left his office in the Vatican to walk down the hall to his papal apartment, he would pause as he turned off the lights and say out loud, “OK Lord.  It’s your church.  I’m going to bed now.  I’ll see you in the morning.”  
 
This world is a pressure cooker.  And the flame is especially hot right now.  It’s likely to get hotter.  And it’s in our Protestant DNA to feel the weight of the world on our shoulders, as if that weight belongs to us alone.  And so, we’re always doing something productive.  It’s called the Protestant work ethic, and we’re really good at it.  
 
But what we are not so good at is remembering that we are humans – wonderfully made, but fragile.  Therefore, we require rest.  And we must eat good food.  And we must laugh and sing and rejoice in this world full of troubles.  
 
So, here’s your assignment: go home today and take a nap, or laze on the beach, or play with your dog.  Weed your garden.  Talk to your flowers.  Get in your car and just pick a direction.  And all the while, think of our dear Jesus, whose words restore our souls:  “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.”

Sunday, July 14, 2024
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© The Rev. Dr. James P. Campbell
 
 
Mark 6:14-29
 
King Herod heard of it, for Jesus’ name had become known. Some were saying, “John the baptizer has been raised from the dead; and for this reason these powers are at work in him.” But others said, “It is Elijah.” And others said, “It is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old.” But when Herod heard of it, he said, “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.”
 
For Herod himself had sent men who arrested John, bound him, and put him in prison on account of Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, because Herod had married her. For John had been telling Herod, “It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife.” And Herodias had a grudge against him, and wanted to kill him. But she could not, for Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he protected him. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed; and yet he liked to listen to him. But an opportunity came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet for his courtiers and officers and for the leaders of Galilee. When his daughter Herodias came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests; and the king said to the girl, “Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it.” And he solemnly swore to her, “Whatever you ask me, I will give you, even half of my kingdom.” She went out and said to her mother, “What should I ask for?” She replied, “The head of John the baptizer. ”Immediately she rushed back to the king and requested, “I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter.” The king was deeply grieved; yet out of regard for his oaths and for the guests, he did not want to refuse her. Immediately the king sent a soldier of the guard with orders to bring John’s head. He went and beheaded him in the prison, brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl. Then the girl gave it to her mother. When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his body, and laid it in a tomb.
 
 
Jesus said: “… truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move.”
 
To some folks, those words are a metaphor.  To others, they are hyperbole.  But to a ten-year-old little boy named Jimmy Campbell, it just sounded like a promise.  One Sunday, I heard my father preach about this passage and so I took it at face value because it sounded like a straight proposition to me.  And I had faith – more than a mustard seed.  So, I decided to put my faith to the test.  
 
Now there are no mountains on the great plains of northern Indiana.  So, I improvised.  On one side of our house, there were these large stones.  And so, I chose one of those, and placed my hands upon it and sincerely asked God to move it to the back porch before I woke up the next morning.  And then I went to bed, firm in my conviction that if God could cast an entire mountain into the sea, then moving a rock to my back door was, well, child’s play. 
 
The next morning, I bounded out of bed like it was Christmas Day.  Down the hall I ran, through the kitchen and out the back door.  And there before me… was an empty back porch.  The stone had not moved.  My faith had not done the trick.  And I was crushed.
 
Well, a lot has happened in all these intervening years which has continued to challenge my notion of a God who does magic tricks.  It’s not that I have lost my belief in the ‘wonder-working’ power of the Almighty, but it does mean that I have had to rethink what it means to have faith and to be faithful, in a chaotic and violent world, with no thought of an immediate reward; with no stones left at my back door.
 
Today’s Gospel lesson is a difficult one, full of political violence and unrest.  John the Baptist, the charismatic preacher who lived out in the wilderness, and wore animal skins and ate wild honey and locusts, had confronted King Herod, tetrarch of Galilee and puppet of Rome, with Herod’s immorality.  So, what had the king done?  He took his brother’s wife for his own… because he wanted to, because he could, because he was king.  But John was having none of it.  And so, he confronted the king and told him he had to repent and make it right.  But Herodias, his new wife, liked her living conditions.  It was good being queen.  And John’s insolence infuriated her.  She demanded that Herod have John the Baptist executed.  But Herod had a soft spot in his heart for the prophet and a superstitious fear of his powers.  So, instead of execution, he had John thrown into prison – out of sight, out of mind. 
 
Soon thereafter, King Herod threw a lavish banquet to celebrate his birthday.  The ‘icing on the cake’ was the seductive dance of the daughter of Herodias, whom tradition calls Salome.  Whether there were seven veils or not, Herod was greatly pleased by his niece and step daughter, and foolishly promised her anything she wanted, including half of his Kingdom.  So, Salome, a teenager, went to ask her mother for advice: “What should I ask for?”  And her mother, still nursing a grudge, replied without hesitation: “Ask for the head of John the Baptist.”  
 
Salome did as she was told.  And Herod, trapped by his lust and bound by his hubris, agreed to the demand. The head of the prophet was placed on a platter and presented like a final course at the birthday dinner.  And Mark sadly reports that, “When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his body and laid it in a tomb.”  
 
This story has made some great movies, plays, musicals, and operas.  But it wasn’t nearly so entertaining for John the Baptist, and all those who loved him and believed in his message that the Kingdom of God was about to break forth.  Meanwhile, Herod and family continued to throw lavish parties and live in luxury and abuse the privileges of his office.  It’s a story as old as time itself.  The wicked celebrate.  The righteous suffer.   It was so in John’s day.  It is so in 2024.  And sometimes I long for the immediate intervention of a good and just God.  I want to see, with my own eyes, the mountains of injustice cast into the sea.  But I go to bed and awake, day after day, year after year with them still firmly in view.  
 
So, what are we to do with that inconvenient truth? What is the source of our hope when the forces of evil seem indestructible?  Because there is hope, you know.  Our faith is built upon hope.  You just have to have the eyes to see it.
 
My mentor in ministry, the late Rev. George Bailey, used to have a bust of the patriarch Abraham in his office.  It was a striking image for many reasons, but mostly the artist had perfectly captured that ‘far off’ look in Abraham’s eyes. You will remember that God had called Abraham to go to a place he had never been before and there to found a mighty nation.  And so, with only this mysterious Voice and some vague, nagging promise to guide him, Abraham and Sarah set out on an arduous journey to an unknown place that had been promised to them.  Thus, the far-off look in his eyes.  
 
Likewise, John the Baptist was called by the same Voice, to go into the Wilderness and to preach that the Reign of God was surely coming.  But he would never see it.  A lustful old fool and an evil queen and an executioner’s sword made sure of that.  
 
In our culture of instant gratification; when TicTok has shortened our attention spans to about 30 seconds; when political promises of instant answers are a dime a dozen, we want a faith to match.  We want instant answers and dramatic results or we quickly lose interest.  
 
But I have learned, again and again, that the work of God is most clearly seen in the long view of human history.  And so, I stand in this pulpit week after week and proclaim that the Reign of God is surely coming, even though I know my eyes will likely never see it.  
 
Shortly before his murder, Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke about this “long view” of God’s purposes in the world.  And here I quote Dr. King: “...I've looked over, and I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you, but I want you to know tonight that we as a people will get to the promised land. So I'm happy tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man.”
 
Friends, the road to the Promised Land is long and bumpy and full of danger.  But the promise of God is unstoppable.  It was dreamed by our Father Abraham and our Mother Sarah.  It was proclaimed by John the Baptist.  It was nurtured in and by Mother Mary.  And it was fully revealed in our Lord Jesus Christ, who went about doing good to all. 
 
And in every generation since Jesus, the faithful are called by the same Voice to dream the dream, and make the powerful care, and speak God’s truth to the world’s vain power.  We are called to carry the promise forward, to work with vigor, to sacrifice until it actually costs us something.  We are called to pass along the hope of the promise to those who will follow, and to all those who will also dream the dream of God’s Reign on this earth just as it is in heaven. 
 
No, that stone did not magically appear on my back porch all those years ago.  But the perspective of time, and the faithful witnesses of wonderful people like you, have taught me enough about the slow but steady work of God to still believe that one day the mountains of oppression will be cast into the sea of forgetfulness by a God whose word is faithful and true.