“Miracle Sunday”
John 6: 1-13
May 3, 1998
A friend has on his shelf a copy of the New Testament edited by Thomas Jefferson. This testament is smaller than you might imagine, for Jefferson omitted any mention of miracles.
Jefferson’s Bible seems to be the one that many of us would like to claim as our own. If we’re to be perfectly honest, we don’t quite believe in miracles. What seemed like a miracle in biblical times has now been shown by medicine and science as something other than a supernatural act of God. Galileo, Newton, Darwin, and Freud have all changed our understanding. What previously had been thought of as the hand of God is now seen as the law of nature. So when we read of miracles, at best, we look at these stories with a jaundiced eye. We live more comfortably with Jefferson’s Bible and with the absence of miracles.
Episcopalians, of all people, shy away from miracles. The one thing we don’t want to be known for is religious fanaticism. We Episcopalians avoid the label. We’re the thinking person’s church. Our motto is “doing everything decently and in order.” And therefore, we pride ourselves on being rational, modern, intellectual, and very sterile. We have very little time for the odd or mysterious.
And then we come to our Gospel on this memorable St. Philip’s Day. What can we do with this story? The feeding of the 5000 is a simple story found in all the Gospels. A story most of us have heard countless numbers of times. A story we are reminded of every time we look at the altar. A story of a meal: bread and fish, at the end of a day. Last week, we spoke of having breakfast with Jesus. Today, we speak of having dinner with Jesus. A simple, ordinary, routine type of meal – bread and fish. But wait, there is something more here. The Bible tells it as a miracle.
Jesus had been preaching for a long time, and the people, about 5000, were. becoming hungry. (In those days, you weren’t able to send out for a Domino’s Pizza.) And so Philip, our patron saint, sounding much like an Episcopalian, took stock of the resources and brought a rational word to the situation. “There are about 5000 people, and the only thing we seem to have is this small boy’s five loaves and two ashes. But what are they among so many?” Jesus takes what is offered, and turns it into plenty. Whether you believe He multiplied it the way the Bible states it, or something else happened, the essential meaning is true. A miracle happened on that day. Something extraordinary took place. The meager offering became a great banquet. And the Gospel writers want us to know, to see, to believe that the presence of Jesus made a difference
You see, a meal with Jesus is more than routine. It’s more than meat and potatoes, or bread and fish. A meal with Jesus is a spectacular event. A meal with Jesus is about miracles. This story is about perceptions more than magical multiplications.
The issue isn’t about how it happened. That really doesn’t matter. What matters is that our perception gets changed. When Jesus joined himself to the bread and fish, everything looked different. The bread and the fish suddenly became Holy. And the ground these 5000 sat on became Holy ground.
One of my favorite poets is Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Once she wrote:
“Earth’s crammed with heaven
And every common bush dire with God.
But only he who sees takes off his shoes
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.”
It’s not that we’re bad, or irreligious, or don’t care. We’re just dull. More used to picking blackberries than perceiving that the very ground we walk on is Holy ground. Miracles happen when we perceive that the most routine, most ordinary can be changed, multiplied, and made Holy with the presence of Jesus.
Good people, we are gathered here on St. Philip’s Day, the day we honor our patron saint. But more than that, we are here to celebrate the presence of Jesus in music and prayer. A presence who tells us not to look at the meagerness of our resources, or at the ordinariness of our causes, or at the pedestrian nature of our hopes and dreams. Do not look and say, “Surely no miracle can happen here.” Instead, see a banquet. For when Jesus is present, all things take on new meanings. Our very dreams become multiplied.
On this St. Philip’s Day, I would leave you with a folk tale that I ran across on a plane from San Francisco. Once upon a time, the priest announced that Jesus Christ himself was coming on the patronal festival day. On the following Sunday, the people turned up in large numbers to see him. Everyone expected Jesus to preach, but he only smiled and listened to the wonderful music. Many offered him hospitality, but he refused. He wanted to spend the night in the church. How fitting, everyone thought. So they turned off the alarm and left after the service to go picnic. When the next day came and the church doors were opened, Jesus had already slipped away. And to their horror, the priest and the people discovered their church had been vandalized. Scribbled everywhere was the single word “Beware.” No part of the church was spared. The doors and windows, the pillars and the pulpit, the altar, and even the Bible resting on the lectern. “Beware” was scratched in large letters, and in small, in pencil and in pen, and in paint of every color. Wherever the eye rested, one could see the words – Beware, Beware, Beware, Beware. Shocking, irritating, confusing, terrifying. What were they supposed to beware of?
The first impulse of the people was to wipe out every trace of this defilement, this sacrilege. The only thing that stopped them from doing it was the thought that it had been Jesus himself who had done this deed. After a while, the mysterious word “Beware” began to sink into the minds of the people each time they came to church.
They began to beware of the scriptures, for they discovered meaning behind the stories. They began to beware of the sacraments, for they recognized the presence of Jesus and the difference it made. And they began to beware of the music, for with new beats their unconscious religious feelings were rearranged.
Finally, they inscribed the shocking word over the entrance to their church. This was done to warn people that worshipping here might be more than what one expected.
The message of the fable is a simple one. Beware of taking things for granted. Beware of being too rational. Beware of receiving bread and wine, and not seeing something beyond what your eyes behold. And beware of religion that doesn’t make you conscious that the earth is crammed with heaven, and every common bush is afire with God. Beware, Beware, and Beware.
Amen