The REAL WONDER Bread given 8/23/15

            Perhaps you’ve heard the rumor that McDonald’s approached the President of our UM Council of Bishops with a business deal? They wanted us to serve Big Macs at Communion. At first she demurred. They offered 500 million dollars. a year. No sale. A billion? Nope? How about ten billion? No, sorry. Okay—final offer fifty billion dollars. That was an offer that at least had to be discussed The next day,  she convened the Council of Bishops to fill them in.

            “People,” she said. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news. The good news is that we have a chance to raise our revenues by fifty billion dollars a year. The bad news is that  we’re gonna lose the Wonder Bread account.”

            “Builds strong bodies twelve ways.” That was the promise that Wonder Bread made to us. And it was a good commercial.  Whether it was true or not might be another question, but it was a good promise to make,  No doubt that promise to build strong bodies twelve ways sold millions, perhaps even billions of loaves of bread.

            Generally speaking, I’ve never met a bread I didn't like. Flat, chewy Near Eastern bread-- hearty, hard-crusted Greek bread—Bohemian rye, German pumpernickel-- French croissants—Jewish c’hallah bread—Irish soda bread—Mexican tortillas--Grandma’s baking powder biscuits. The list is endless—because every culture takes the concept of bread and makes it their own.          

            Bread is important. It nourishes us.  It identifies us.  As with anything so universal and so vital to our well-being, bread also carries a great deal of meaning for us. Bread is a powerful symbol in our spiritual as well as our cultural heritage.  Again and again in Scripture, we encounter verses that point to food in general—but especially to bread-- as a symbol of Divine goodness and grace.

            God sent the Israelites manna in the desert.  Elijah was fed cakes of bread by an angel in the desert.  Elisha was given the last of her bread by a starving widow and her child in a time of famine. And as a result, her larder never went bare until the famine passed. 

            Much of Jesus’ teachings take place around dinner tables. Many of His parables are based around images of meals or feasts, pointing toward the Heavenly banquet. The Gospels agree He fed five thousand on barley cakes and fish on the mountainside.  On the night  He was betrayed, Jesus fed His friends with bread and cup. After the Resurrection, His disciples recognized Him as the Risen Lord in the breaking of bread.

            In today's Gospel, Jesus says that He is bread, “,,,the bread that came down from Heaven,"  “The Bread of Life."  Of course, that’s The Gospel of John for you.   

            John never makes a simple declarative statement when a metaphor will suffice. Water is more than water, wind is more than wind. And bread is certainly a lot more than flour and oil and water and yeast when Jesus says that He is the Living Bread that came down from Heaven.

            I love the Gospel of John. But parts of it can drive me crazy. Much of the time I prefer the earthy accounts of Jesus in gospels like Mark or Luke. In those Gospels, we are on the road with a totally human Jesus, and you can almost taste the dust in your mouth. We visit in people's homes. We sit and listen to sermons. We overhear the conversation at a table. Jesus talks much like most people talk with stories about farmers, and conflict in families, and seeds, and flowers.

            But from the first in John, Jesus seems oddly detached, exalted, serene, as if He were floating a half-inch above the fray, surrounded by an invisible spiritual shield that protects Him from things like anger and pain and exhaustion and hunger. In John, especially the early chapters, Jesus is with His disciples, but He’s also not with them in a sense. He’s above them, talking in ways that sound strange, in ways they—and we, hardly ever understand.

             In today's reading when Jesus stands before them and pronounces, "I am the bread that came down from heaven," what are we supposed to make of that? It sounds weird at first hearing—to the crowd, and to the disciples, and to us.

            Up until this point, John has described Jesus for us variously as "The Word," “The Light of the world”, “God’s Passover Lamb”, and “Messiah”.  “Bread” is certainly a more earthly, mundane, everyday kind of symbol. And when you think about it, this is the very point in John, where Jesus finally begins to come down to earth, finally begins to enter our world and gets to us.

            So maybe it ain’t so weird. You and I may not know much about Light, or Truth, or Passover Lambs, or Messiahs, or "The Word”. But we know about hunger. We know that gnawing feeling in the pit of the stomach when we go without food. We also know that gnawing pain in the heart of the soul. I know lots of people today who are hungry, but not just for bread. Jesus seems to be talking about that kind of hunger here.

              O yes, you and I know about hunger—deep hunger.  We hunger for healing—we hunger for meaning—we hunger for life—new life—eternal life—the Abundant Life Jesus promises to us in The Gospel of John.

            When we are physically hungry, it's a reminder that we are earthly creatures, who need nourishment or we die. But there is another kind of death that stalks us. It is the death of the soul, that wasting away which comes when we lose our lust for living, and when our eyes seem dull to the world, and when we don't know if we can go on—or why we should.

            Yes, you and I know about death. It’s not dramatic, momentary physical death, but the spiritual and emotional death that comes day by day, teardrop by teardrop—one disappointment, one fear, one loss, one tragedy, one depression, one setback at a time.

            When Jesus says that He’s the Bread come down from heaven—spiritual bread—He’s promising that He can feed us on that same deep-down spiritual level.  He’s the healing, He’s the meaning, He’s the true Bread of Wonder that comes down from heaven.  He’s life!

            Of course, all bread, when you think about it, "comes down from heaven." All bread is a gift of God, of God's rain, sun, and soil. Our relationship to God is utterly dependent upon Christ. He’s God’s gift . He’s that life you and I are yearning for so deeply within our inmost hearts. New life—Abundant life is offered us in Him. Not in manna—but in a man. Jesus, the living Bread that came to us from Heaven, reaches out to fill us with life.

            And this is where I for one, begin to really like John.  Ever since the Resurrection there have been those who scoured The Book of Revelation and Daniel and other Apocalyptic literature in the Scriptures longing to link the events of their own particular time, to the end time events depicted in those prophetic books. 

            In their piety, they wait to be judged on the last day. Sure of their own righteousness, they look forward to eternal life in a world yet to come.  And they wait expectantly for this wicked world we live upon—and everybody in it-- to be judged and destroyed.  There’s a “hurry up and get saved because the end is coming soon” attitude in the other gospels—especially in Mark.

            But John carries a different message. In The Gospel of John Jesus promises eternal and abundant life that will not begin on the last day.  Jesus offers that gift now.  Our Lord’s words are clear.           “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood dwells continually in me. And I dwell in them.”  Present tense.  Here. In this existence. On this earth.

           At the very moment that you and I encounter, and truly accept Jesus the Bread of Life, our starving spirits will at last be fed. He will become part of us.  And we will enter a newer, fuller, richer life in unity and communion with Him.  Now that is the real bread of wonder! 

            We need not await, nor fear the end of time.  The Apocalypse did not take place in the year 1000 as many had believed. Nor did it occur in the year 2000--unless I missed it.  Neither did those long awaited final days come in 2012—despite what those ancient Mayans thought.

            No friends, the end of the world is now--anytime—at our moment of commitment to Him, our old world of sin and self is destroyed and you and I enter into a new world—a new way of living and being together on this planet—a new life.  Ever flowing mercy and eternal salvation are now. Our old world has passed away and everything is new and clean.

            And this Divine Judgment you and I receive is not based on how many big black pluses or minuses we’ve earned in St. Peter’s Heavenly data base. It’s not based on our honest mistakes, nor our deliberate sins, or even on our record of good deeds. Divine Judgment is based on our acceptance of Christ Jesus the Bread of Heaven, of Life, of Hope, of Wonder-- into our lives and our relationships and our intentions and our ultimate vision.

            You know, I could never quite understand those brothers and sisters who tell you that once they were saved their lives changed immediately. Their addictions melted away. Their broken marriages were rehabilitated. They reconciled with their estranged children. They got unexpected promotions at work. And absolutely everything was suddenly hunky-dory for ever after. 

            I know. You know. It ain’t that easy. Changing your life is never easy. Changing our lives in order to let Jesus in means the literal death of our old self-centered attitudes and ways of living. It means a literal re-birth into a new kind and quality of life.    Any mother will tell you that birth isn’t easy.  Any kind of birth means pain, and effort, and blood, and sweat, and tears, for everyone involved.  It not only transforms your life. It transforms who you are. 

            Only after the delivery does the beauty and wonder of that new life begin to show through.  And any new life requires continual nurture and care and protection and guidance—whether it is new-born less than one day old, or a new-born 65 year old.  Babies have parents to fill those vital needs. Jesus offers those same gifts—that same relationship to us when we embark on new life.

            And not just to us.  The Bread of Life is offered for the sake of the life of the world.  Just like you and me, the whole world is being offered that same relationship, that same rebirth, that same opportunity, that same judgment now.  Not just every Christian, or every Jew. Not just every spiritual descendant of Abraham. Not just you and me. Jesus came not just for Israel, but for the world.

            Every day is the Last Day. Every day is Judgment Day.  The salvation of the world is now. Eternity begins now. New life begins now.  

            All you and I have to do is enter into the relationship offered to us—make our lives, our whole selves into a “fragrant offering to God”, as Paul says in Romans. Living sacrifices—and that phrase means nothing more or less than this—to let God in—to eat the Bread of Wonder and drink of the Water of New Life.  To begin living in Him and with Him—now. To accept the free gift of grace offered us—now.

            New life will not always be easy. There will inevitably be challenge and heartache and struggle. Our faith does not promise an invisible shield against the trials and troubles of this life.  But our faith does promise us that if we take Jesus into us, in good and bad, in joy and in struggle, our Savior will be there with us—through it all. 

            The Scripture this morning is quite explicit.  It’s not enough to merely say we want to follow the example of Jesus’ life. It’s not enough to merely acknowledge Him as Savior and as Lord of our lives. It is not enough even to welcome Him into our hearts. It’s not enough to engage in spiritual disciplines and live with kindness and faithfulness and integrity.  All of these things are absolutely necessary.

            But one more thing, one more act is also absolutely necessary. Jesus calls us, invites us to make Him, and His attitudes and His way an essential part of who we are in the very deepest sense. He wants inside us—into our very guts. He calls us, invites us to participate in His relationship with our Maker, and in His ministry, in Communion with Him.

            It is within the context of Holy Baptism that you and I are initiated into that relationship, and we begin our life-long journey of growth into full partnership in ministry with Him. It is in our worship with Him, and with one another, that you and I are nurtured and empowered to live together in the world as He calls us to live.

            And it is in the day to day sharing together of the Bread of Life—the Bread of ministry—the bread made up of our service, and tears, and sweat, and sacrifices, and prayers, and hopes, and joys, with one another and with Him-- that you and I can find the nurture, the courage and the grace that allows us to live fully-- opening our hearts and lives—our very deepest selves to Him.

            Jesus says, "I am bread. I am bread come down from heaven to nourish you forever." I believe in such bread.  Come to Him and be fed forever. Amen.

Wilberforce

The whole point

"A Listening Heart" given August 16, 2015

                                                                                           

What a deal! A blank check from Yahweh the Sovereign God of Hosts, the Creator of the Universes.  That's what Solomon is promised in his night-time vision of the Holy One of Israel.

"What shall I give you?  Just tell me what you want”,  asks God.

Stop and think about that for a minute.  Consider the possibilities. What would you or I ask if we were to receive the same offer from our Creator? “

           "O God, please let me win the lottery”,  “Please let  me pass my algebra test.”  “Just let my kid get into college!”, “Oh Lord, won’t ‘ya buy me a  Mercedes-Benz?”

           Hopefully we’d ask for something a little more altruistic.   Something easy, like-- I don’t know-- peace in the Middle East?  A cure for AIDS? A zillion dollars for world hunger relief?  A new roof for the church? 

              Of course the truth is that our God is not a genie in a bottle.  None of us is likely to get three wishes-- not even one.   It is fun, and maybe a bit insightful to consider what we’d ask for if we were ever to receive a celestial blank check.

             That’s what Solomon was offered. Anything.

              “What shall I give you? Tell me.”   Solomon could have chosen long-life, riches, the defeat of his enemies-- even a though Mercedes-Benzes hadn’t yet been invented, I’m sure that Solomon could have had one if he’d known to ask for it. 

            Instead,  Solomon asked nothing for himself. He asked for a gift that would make him a better ruler of his people, and a better servant of his God.         

“I’m not experienced at this leadership business, Lord.  Here I am,  suddenly king of your chosen people-- more people than I can count.  Now give me a heart with skill to listen, so that I can govern them with justice  and determine wrong and right. For without you, who could possibly govern your people?”  

            And we read that God was pleased with Solomon for this self-less prayer. And for his willingness to pass over long-life, riches, fame, and Mercedes-Benzes-- for his willingness to put the needs of his people before his own gain, Solomon was granted by God, long life,  riches, and fame. His willingness to serve brought  Solomon  Divine favor beyond his wildest dreams.

          And in response to his prayer, Solomon was granted the ability to understand,  to discern,  to listen. And in response to his prayer Solomon was granted the gift of wisdom by the Creator-- “a heart so wise and understanding, like none before or since.”

            I am fascinated by the young king’s request.  Solomon was supposed to be the wisest man in Israel, perhaps the wisest man ever to live.  But here we see that his wisdom was actually a gift of God’s grace. 

           Because, notice-- Solomon didn’t specifically ask God for wisdom.   In different translations of the Bible  Solomon’s request reads differently.  “An understanding mind”, “A discerning mind”,  or my favorite-- “A heart with skill to listen”

            Ultimately, as Solomon must have somehow figured out, listening is crucial-- not only to good governing, but even more so in order to attain true wisdom. Listening is not all there is not all there is to wisdom.  But true wisdom requires first and foremost a listening heart.

            If you and I are wise at all it is only because we have learned to listen-- to our Maker in prayer and meditation and Scripture-- to the transmitted wisdom  of the culture through books and art and drama and music-- and lastly to the hearts and souls of others through honest and open encounter with them.

            Some people, like Solomon (and no doubt Jesus),  just have the gift of listening hearts. Those are the kids that the other kids want to confide in. They are the ones who ought to grow up to be pastors or counselors or teachers. Sometimes they do. 

            But even if they become auto mechanics or CPAs  or housewives they are still the people who everybody tells their troubles to over a cup of coffee. They are still the ones who know all the secrets in town. And they are the ones who never breathe a word.   For them, as for Solomon, empathic, active listening is a gift that over time they have made into an art. 

            Fortunately, listening is also a skill that the rest of us can learn.  Like all skills, we have to practice in order for it for it to work. Like all skills, unless we keep practicing it, we’ll lose it.  And until we learn to practice it, we will never grow wise.

            True communication between human beings requires listening. And listening requires a conscious effort on our part.  We must truly want to hear the message the other person is trying to convey. We have to be willing to open ourselves to the other person’s point of view. So often we only think we are communicating.  The reality is that all too often we talk  past  each other rather than listen to one another.

            Carl Rogers said that properly done, listening is the greatest gift one person can give to another.  And he added that most people are afraid to listen to one another because they are afraid that they will be changed.  .

             And that’s true. Change is the risk of listening.  Why? Because true listening is always a two-way process-- encountering one another without preconceptions or prejudices and sharing in trust and mutuality. It means opening ourselves to what that other child of God brings to the encounter. In order to really listen to someone else, we’ve got to be willing to meet them as they truly are, come to know them, understand them and accept them. And when the process is two-way—we come to love one another as people and as fellow children of God.

            Once you and I come to know and accept and serve and love someone-- we aren’t quite the same afterwards.  No doubt that’s what happened to each of the disciples when they heard Jesus’ invitation to “follow me” and did so.  We open ourselves to the other and touch them, and they’ve touch us. 

            That’s the moment when you and I have the opportunity for real spiritual and emotional growth. That’s when deep personal transformation and inner healing occurs. And that’s why change can be so hard.  It’s not easy or comfortable to open ourselves up that much. That’s what the best therapy and counseling is always about. 

             And all that is why true human wisdom is so terribly rare and precious.

            But unless we can do that, take the risk and open up and listen and understand and accept and serve and love-- then we’ll never experience the gifts that others bring to us-- their humor,  their insights, their point of view, their pain, their joys.

         And we’ll never be able to receive their love,  their ministry to us as they open themselves and trust us to  insights and humor and point of view and pain and joy as well. And we’ll remain just as we are, locked into our own head full of preconceptions and  pain and prejudices.

            We don’t become a mirror of one another. In order to remain true to our own selves we will at times disagree. We don’t necessarily have to accept the other person’s opinions or point of view as our own. We don’t necessarily have to accept their actions.  But if we are loving, we will come to accept them.—warts and all.

            If we are wise we will realize-- before we criticize, before we judge, or even express our own position— that it’s best to make the honest effort to listen with care and concern to that other person.

            Listening is serving as well as loving..  It’s not always  easy or even always comfortable. But unless we are willing to make the effort to open ourselves, all we’re really doing  in our conversations with others-- all we’re really doing in our relationships,  is waiting for that other dumb-bell to shut up and finish blathering so that we can talk.

            We, after all, have the truth.  We after all, do in fact have the correct opinion.   We, after all, can solve the problem.  We can fix up everyone else’s life, and while we are doing so, we can illustrate it all with a wonderful anecdote from our own wealth of vast experience that will illumine the superiority of our own point of view. 

            As the old saying goes, “those people who think that they know everything are incredibly irritating to those of us who do.”  And it’s absolutely true. There is no human problem that could not be solved.  If only everybody would simply take my advice and do it. As a friend of mine (who is a professional counselor) puts it—take my advice, I’m not going to be using it.

            One commentator wrote  that  we are in the midst of a wisdom famine in our world today. We are bombarded by input and information on all sides. But has it brought us any closer to God? Are we any humbler as a people? Or as a church? Have we learned anything about the way that life really works?

            Who after all, wants to be wise anymore? Who wants to listen?  Our culture urges us to be cool, to be rich, to be right, to be popular, to be in control. Those are easy. But wise? That’s harsh, dude! Who wants that? Who wants to bother to listen?

            But the truth is, wisdom and hearts with skill to listen are in desperately short supply in this world of ours. Have the Israelis really ever really listened to the plight of the Palestinians? Did the Unionist and the Republican Northern Irish ever really listen to one another for all those years? Did the Russians really listen to the cries of the Chechnians? The Hindus to the Muslims?  The Hutu to the Tutsi? The Shi’ites to the Sunnis? O either side to the Kurds? Has the Western world really listened to the legitimate aspirations of the Arab peoples?

             It's only in a vacuum of understanding and tolerance and justice that a Hitler or a Stalin or a Sadaam or a Bin-Laden can arise. It’s only in a vacuum of wisdom that we resort to police actions, pre-emptive wars, civil wars,  ethnic cleansing, no-fly zones, surgical strikes, and armed confrontations.  Isaac Asimov wrote that violence is the last refuge of the incompetent. He might well have added-- and of the unwise.

            Tragically, listening hearts are in just as short supply within the church of Jesus Christ.   How many church squabbles could have been avoided  if we were more willing to listen to one another?  How many times have people, congregations,  whole denominations gone off half-cocked,  or gotten offended, chosen sides?  

            There’s the story of a modern Robinson Crusoe, rescued from his desert island. He showed his rescuers around. There’s my living quarters-- the hut where I sleep. There’s my kitchen--the hut where I cook. There’s my church-- the hut where I go to pray every Sunday.

            What’s that other hut over on the hill? He was asked.

            That’s the other church—I don’t go there anymore.  He replied.

            I have to wonder how many tears could be spared,   how much pain could be avoided,  how  many would not be driven away if people in churches,  people in their homes,  people in the workplace,  people in the classroom,  people in government circles, people in relationships would base their interactions upon respect for the other, and by resolving to listen and understand before speaking-- much less acting!

            And if you and I can learn to listen to one another—another gift comes.

When we truly encounter one another in acceptance,  honesty and love—when we are vulnerable and listening, that’s the moment when you and I can most clearly hear  God speaking to us—in the needs and hopes and prayers and the love of one another.

            We need to learn to hear the voice of our God. We can learn to use those same listening skills in our spiritual disciplines. Our Maker yearns to be in dialogue with us. That’s where Bible study and devotional reading and prayer and (dare I say it?) meditation come in.

            Oh, many of us can pray readily enough. “God, give me strength. God, do something about poverty. God, bless my country and my family and my friends and by the way God—you know what to do with all those other sinners.” 

         We even can confess our sins. “I’m sorry I said that about Susie to Sally God—please forgive me. Sorry I yelled at the kids Jesus, I know they didn’t really deserve it.  Sorry I goofed up, Lord. I’ll try to do better next time.” And we don’t— not until the next time.

            So many of our prayers are asking God or telling God what to do. We place our orders and try to clear our consciences.  It’s a one-sided conversation. We talk and talk to God and before we give God a chance to reply, we’ve run through our “Amens” we’re back on our feet and ready to head out into the world to sin again.

             You and I need to shut up in your prayers. I invite you to learn to listen—just  be   still and know that I am God. Listen to see if God has anything to say to you. God does—I promise you. I invite you sometime to just be there with your Maker.

             No special techniques, no mantras, just be in the Divine Presence. Relax. Clear your mind of day to day clutter and listen.  See what thoughts and insights and possibilities float across your mind. Enjoy the silence and know that God is there—in the silence. Maybe ought to spend as much of our prayer time in meditative listening as we do in intercession and confession. That’s the source of true wisdom. The psalmist tells us this morning that “reverence for the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”

               And friends, this blood-soaked and tear-stained world desperately needs wisdom—the human wisdom of Solomon, the Divine Wisdom of God, even the humble wisdom that the people of God— you and I-- can bring to it. This broken planet desperately needs to learn how to listen-- to hear the cries of the oppressed, the tears of the neighbor in need, the words of the lost and the lonely and the hurting, the brothers and sisters of Jesus Christ in this world.

            Lord, give us listening hearts-- that we may become wise-- and learn to love.

Hanging Between Heaven and Earth given August 9, 2015

Absalom was the third of King David's seventeen sons. Maybe it was just because David had too many children to do a decent job of parenting any one of them. That of course was in part because David had too many wives. Let's see-- seventeen sons, probably close to that many daughters--round it off-at thirty kids.

            So what? Somewhere between twenty and forty wives?  No wonder David was a lousy father-- the man could have had anywhere from fifty to eighty in-laws to contend with!  It's a wonder that David got anything done in his kingdom! 

            One thing this story illustrates is that there is no “Biblically ordained” model for the structuring a family. All sorts of family and marriage arrangements are found in the Bible. Family structure is cultural—not Biblical.

            Of course, as this morning’s reading also illustrates, some structures tend to work better than others. In fact, it may well be that the most basic moral of this morning's sermon would have to be, for heaven's sake, keep the number of your excess wives and husbands  down to a manageable level!

Just as likely though, David was such a lousy father was because he was too busy being King to pay attention to his kids. Maybe it was also in part because, as we saw in his rather cold-blooded seduction of Bathsheeba, David didn't have much respect for the virtues and values of family life. Maybe it was also because, as history teaches us, royal princes and princesses are almost always a handful to raise.

In any case, David was never much of a father-- not to Absalom, not to any of his children. The old man was always ignoring them, or spoiling them rotten, or reading them the riot act. And at the back of all of David's sons minds must have been the knowledge that when pop finally kicked the bucket, there was sure to be one bitter and bloody struggle for the succession between the seventeen of them. And they would have expected that the struggle would likely end with the massacre of any surplus surviving Princes.

None of that can possibly make for the upbringing of an emotionally healthy child.  None of that is likely to lead to the development of well-rounded adults.  None of that could have promoted a whole lot of stability of character or affection among Absalom and his brothers and sisters.

From the beginning, Absalom had a couple of other strikes against him as well. For one thing, he was the pretty boy of David's brood. He was too handsome for his own good. and his pride and joy was his long, luxuriant mane of blue-black hair.

For another thing, Absalom apparently had an impatient nature and a terrible temper. This, combined with his single-minded blood-thirstiness and twisted sense of justice, made Absalom capable of acts of vengeance that would have done the Godfather proud.

When his lecherous half-brother Ammon raped Absalom’s full sister Tamar, Absalom swore to have revenge. He bided his time for two years, waiting for his chance. Finally he set it up. He invited all of his brothers and half- brothers to a sheep-shearing party and murdered Ammon in front of them all. Then Absalom fled the country to take refuge with his mother's family.

When Absalom returned to Israel several years later, David refused to see him, and had him placed under house arrest in a distant estate. A couple of years after that,  Absalom asked Joab, David's old friend and faithful general, to intercede with the king for him. But Joab refused. Angry, the King's son set fire to a neighboring hay field that belonged to the old war-horse. Of course, soft-hearted David eventually forgave Absalom-- probably just as the boy knew that he would.

Once back in Jerusalem, Absalom did everything he could to undermine David’s rule. The ordinary people of Israel must have found this combination of good looks, well-bred arrogance, and romantic derring-do well nigh irresistible. And a few years later, when the impatient Absalom decided to lead a revolt against his father, a great many supporters flocked to his banner. The young and dashing Prince probably reminded them greatly of his father as a wild and reckless young man. They no doubt remembered David's own rebellion against his father-in-law Saul.

On the eve of the crucial battle, David was a nervous wreck. The old King no doubt feared losing his throne, but more than that he feared losing Absalom.  The boy had been a thorn in the old man's flesh, but he had apparently been David's favorite all along. Again and again, David told his generals that he wanted the boy taken alive

"Go easy on him for my sake." The father pleaded. "Promise me you'll spare him if he falls into your hands." They all promised.

The outcome of the battle was never really in doubt. Absalom's troop of citizen-soldiers met with the seasoned veterans and hardened mercenaries of David's army and they crumpled. Fleeing the battlefield on his mule, Absalom rode under an oak tree and found himself caught in the low-hanging branches by his beautiful hair. There on that tree the King's son hung, suspended “between heaven and earth", as Scripture puts it.

A common soldier saw him hanging there and reported it to Joab.

"Did you kill him?" asked Joab.

"Hey, not me. You want him dead, you kill him." The soldier replied.

The tough old general no doubt recalled his promise to spare the rebellious prince. But then, did he remember his hay field? Or did he think of all the pain and trouble and death that this spoiled princeling had brought upon his country over the years? Did Joab imagine all of the havoc that Absalom would yet be capable of wreaking in the future, if soft-hearted David forgave the rebellious prince once again?

Was it revenge? Or duty?  Or a little of both? In any case, without hesitating or blinking an eye, Joab put three javelins through Absalom's chest. Then he had his armor bearers finish the job-- probably to spread the blame around.

Joab was a cold-blooded pragmatist. He broke his word to his friend and betrayed the will of his king. His motives were at best, mixed. Yet, like all good soldiers, he clearly acted in what he deemed to be his country's best interest.

This is a story with morals and lessons and heroes and villains on all sorts of levels. We can all identify with, and at the same time condemn the behavior of all of the protagonists. David was certainly neglectful of his duties as father and as King. In his blindness and muddleheaded-ness, he ended up pardoning those who were disloyal to him and punishing those who were loyal. 

Yet we weep with him in his moment of ultimate tragedy when he loses his child.  Like David, we all know what  it is to have had hearts broken at the futility of our plans. We've all known the pain that circumstance and our own tragic mistakes have brought us. 

Like Joab, we’ve all let bitterness and unresolved grievances from the past poison the present. And we've all from time to time, made choices that would have devastating effects on the lives of others-- sometimes out of the highest motives-- but not always.

And like the King's spoiled son Absalom, we've all found ourselves through our own unwise actions, our inappropriate pride, our errors in judgment, or just plain old bad luck, hanging suspended between heaven and earth. We all know what it means to be caught in the branches of our own sins and anger and over- reaching ambitions and unbridled emotions.

Absalom was a rebellious child and traitor to his country. His primary motives in life seemed to have been pride, revenge and ambition. He's not unlike many of our own young people today who continue to get in trouble, get off, get in trouble, get off, until one day to his great surprise, the criminal justice system turns around and says,

"You aren't a kid anymore. This time you'll be prosecuted as an adult." Yet Abasalom none-the-less remains a romantic and dashing figure in his quest for power and recognition.

The only sensible person in this whole, sad story is that anonymous foot soldier with the brains to know that despite all of Joab's fine promises of reward, killing Absalom would leave him twisting and turning in the wind just as surely as the Prince had been.

This isn't a very pretty story. But it's illuminating. This story isn’t necessarily included in the Bible solely to teach us a lesson in history and royal politics. Rather, I think the story of Absalom is included in the Bible in order for you and I to see ourselves.

David and Absalom and Joab and just about everybody else were all fools and villains and heroes at different times in this story. Just as you and I are fools and villains and heroes, at different times in the stories of our lives. 

We can all be poor parents, disrespectful children, vengeance seekers, rebels, slayers of the helpless, carriers of grudges, betrayers of friends, exploiters of one another, and sly underlings who cover our own tails. We all get angry and wrathful and neglectful and impatient and impetuous. We can all be, on the other hand, dashing and handsome and loyal and patriotic and dutiful.

Any time when parents and children and old friends quarrel is sad. When they are Kings and Princes and Generals, quarrels escalate into wars and the situation becomes a national tragedy. But regardless of their social standing, whenever squabbling family members and feuding former friends claim to be people of faith, it must grieve the Creator greatly.

Because this story of tragedy is at bottom the story of a family-- dysfunctional and broken, but a family none-the-less.  The truth is though, that in any family-- even the best of families--  there’s always regret, or disappointment, or sometimes even tragedy.   Things don’t always necessarily work out for the best.   Children disappoint their parents.  Parents fail their children.  The kids squabble over the estate after mom and dad are gone.

Truth be told, lots of peoples’ lives are in a mess.  We can’t quite get it together,  Our families don’t always live up to that Ozzie and Harriet,  David and Ricky ideal.  Shucks, sometimes we can’t even live up to that Roseanne and Dan and Becky and Darlene ideal.   Homer and Marge and Lisa and Bart are more our speed/

It doesn’t always work out for us.  We’re not perfect-- none of us. And neither are our families.  Like our personal lives, our family lives are suspended between Heaven and earth as well. And if you and I find ourselves at times hurt in our own family life,  what must it be like for God-- hurting for the faults and foibles of the whole human family?

Maybe that’s why this story is in the Bible-- to remind us that unhappiness and regret, ambition and failure, tragedy and victory, joy and anger and jealousy-- forgiveness and compromise and accomplishment  all are part of loving and living together as a family.   It was true at King David’s palace. It’s true at Buckingham Palace.  It’s true at the White House. It’s true at your house, and it’s true at mine.  

The story of David’s whole reign is drenched in tragedy. It is marked by intrigue, murder, theft, abuse, and no small lust for power on the part of many people. All these things end up being manifested in David’s family circle. And all of that tragedy and grief can ultimately be traced to David’s own abuse of power. The story perfectly illustrates the intricate interweaving of sinful acts and their consequences—even a generation later.

The story is also a tragic reminder of the way our sins and wrongdoings can pervade the most intimate connections of life, destroying everything before them and bringing to us a despair that is like death itself:

 ‘The king was deeply moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept; and as he went, he said, “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would that I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!”

The story of King David and his rebellious son Absalom is a story of humanity in the full scope of its broken-ness. It’s a story of deceit and anger and vengeance. It’s is a story of grief and pain and harsh justice. But for you and for me, there is also a symbol of wonder and hope for broken humanity in this story. 

The wonder, and the hope of it all is that all the broken and flawed people in this story are portrayed as the people of God, who continues to work with, and through them to build God’s coming Reign. The depth of tragedy on the human plane is surpassed only by the irony and wonder of God’s overwhelming grace at work in the world.

We can readily imagine Absalom, the son of David, hanging between heaven and earth in the branches of that oak tree.  We might feel pity. We might even be able to say, "he got what was coming to him."

But I for one, cannot help remembering another son of David-- a far, far better man than Absalom-- who would never-the-less also hang from a tree, centuries later. This other son of David would hang, not out of pride or ambition or anger or vengeance-- but out of love. Not to raise himself up to a throne-- but to raise humanity up from its own broken and imperfect nature.

  David’s cry of grief and pain has echoed down the centuries.

"O Absalom, Absalom my son. Would that I had died instead of you. O Absalom, Absalom my son."

David no doubt meant every word of it. If he could have hung up there, dangling between heaven and earth in place of his beloved child, he would have. If he could have taken that shame and pain on himself, in order to make things right between them, he would have. If he could have paid the price of that boy's betrayal of him, he would have.  If he could have done his beloved child's dying for him, he would have.  If he could have given his life to bring his son alive for him, he would have.

But even a King-- no matter how great-- cannot do things like that. As later history was to prove, it takes a God to do something like that. Let us give thanks that we have a God like that.                                                                       Amen.

You know you are a Methodist

The Cross

Give Us This Bread

            There is something mysterious, and yet very tangible at work in our world-- and in our lives.   It’s a power, or energy if you will.  It flows around us and within us and among us in a kind of two-way street. This unseen energy is a power of attraction reaching out to the emptiness in our human lives..

            That power or energy is invisible and universal. We can't hear it, smell it, taste it, or touch it. We can only feel it—calling to us from God. We can only know it—pushing us toward God-- from the very depths of our beings.  We know it, feel it, in many ways. We call it by many names.

I read about a rabbi who died in England. His obituary told of his life, how when he was a young boy, he and his family were prisoners in a Nazi death camp. In the camp, the prisoners were given just barely enough food to survive - some grain, a bit of stale bread, and a few grams of lard each week. Despite their harsh environment, this boy's family continued to observe the Sabbath. Somehow managing to scrounge up a piece of candle and a little food each week, they said the Sabbath prayers and pronounced the Sabbath blessings.

            One week, however, there was no candle. So, when the evening came and the Sabbath was at hand, the boy's father took some of their precious lard and molded it around a bit of string. Lighting this makeshift candle, he began to lead his family in the prayers and blessings.

            His son was enraged. When the prayers were done, he confronted his father. "How could you do that? How could you waste what little lard we have to make a candle? It's the only food we have."

            His father answered, "Son, without food we can live for several days. Without hope, we cannot live an hour."

            We hunger for hope. We’re looking for a reason to get up and out of bed every morning and get on with the process of living-- because it will be worth it to do so. We yearn to believe that perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps even in a day we cannot see— it will have been worth it.  “Without hope, we cannot live an hour."

We hunger for purpose.  We want to understand that there was a reason we were born in this time and place and cosmos. We want to know that there are things that we can accomplish to make this existence rewarding, or just simply a bit better—for ourselves, or those we encounter or those we love, or for what we stand for. We’re want to know that we are accomplishing something in our lives, contributing by being here on this planet.  Without a sense of purpose, how can we go on living, even for an hour?

We hunger for meaning— for the feeling that we are not just here on this planet as a result of blind accident or random chance. We yearn for the certain knowledge that we are  somehow connected to something (or Someone) greater than us, that there is sense and ultimate justice in the Universe. We want to know that we are known and accepted and loved by the One who made us.  Without meaning in our lives, why would we want to live, even an hour?

Hope, meaning, purpose-- we hunger for all those things with an aching in our spirits that can only be healed by the touch of the Divine, that can only be fed by the Living Bread that does not perish.  Bread of hope, bread of meaning, bread of purpose—Bread of Life.

Preachers talk about feeling the presence of God in our lives. But if you think about it, it's really more properly a sense of the absence of God in our lives that burns within our hearts. It's a deep spiritual hunger we cannot assuage that will eventually bring us to our knees before our Maker. It's an emptiness in our lives that we are seeking to fill that brings us to church each Sunday. We seek to fill it with prayer and worship and fellowship. We come to church, to Christ's Table seeking to feed that hunger. Frederick Buechner comments that even the blackness of the preacher’s robe reflects that emptiness.

            The saints have spoken of it as a very real-- almost physical yearning. Augustine was talking about it when he said our hearts are restless until they find their rest in God. Just as the emptiness in our bellies creates a yearning in us for food, so does the emptiness in our lives create a yearning that draws us to the Living Bread.

            In this discourse on the Bread of Life found in John’s Gospel, Jesus uses the physical hunger of the crowd to point to this deeper hunger. Our Lord has begun by reaching out to the crowd on the mundane level of bodily need. He fed that hunger in his listeners. Oddly enough, the crowd seems to take their miraculous feeding as a matter of course. They don't take it as a Sign of His Divinity, as John does telling us the story. It's more along the lines of "good trick, now what's for desert?"

            Maybe that's the real point of the reference to manna during the Exodus --that they were just as dense as their ancestors. The Hebrew children in the wilderness couldn't see the hand of our Maker in the miracle of the manna. Their descendants couldn't see the hand of our Maker at work in Christ Jesus when he fed them.

            Since Jesus has begun ministering on the level of physical food, the crowd no doubt is anticipating that He'll do supper as well as lunch. But instead, He begins to speak of Bread on a deeper level. From the bread that fills an empty belly, Jesus moves to Living Bread that fills an empty soul.

He tells them. The God who fed their ancestors manna so long ago, was the same God who fed them earthly bread the day before. And that same God has planted within them a hunger for heavenly Bread-- the Bread of God's own word, the Bread of truth, the Bread of life, spiritual Bread, the life-giving Logos that nurtures and fills the nagging emptiness with our hearts and souls.

            It's that hunger for Bread, that deep-seated need for hope, that yearning for meaning and purpose in our lives, that restlessness with the way things are, that dissatisfaction with the way we are that draws us to our Maker. That's the root of the power from God that Jesus speaks of. That’s the ultimate drawing invisible power-- our awareness that on our own, you and I are incomplete, broken-- and our instinct that the only way for us to become whole is through deep communion with the One who made us.

            It ought not to surprise us that there are invisible powers in the universe. The very air around us is filled with power. Stop a moment. Listen. What do you hear? Nothing? Yet we all know that with the turn of a knob I could fill this sanctuary with music-- country, folk, rock, reggae, jazz or classical. I could bring us the sound of monks chanting plainsong half a continent away, twenty-five years ago, or a symphony orchestra performing right at this very moment. . Yet we don't marvel at that. We accept as a given fact the mysterious invisible power in the very air around us that we call radio. With the proper  passwords, you and I can bring whole libraries, store inventories, music catalogues, go to meetings in other towns, visit with people in other countries. We accept the invisible power of WIFI and the Internet without question. The power, the vibrations are there. We all agree.

            It doesn't surprise us that there are other, equally strong invisible powers in the universe as well. There is a drawing power in nature that's very clear for those who care to look. Babies are born and they begin to grow. Tree shoots spring up from underground roots and begin to stretch up toward the light of the sun. Plants flower, butterflies flutter by, fish swim, animals roam. Lovers embrace, and the clouds chase each other across the sky even the very planet we stand upon rotates in space. Yet how often do we stop and marvel at the drawing power of nature?

            Physicists and biologists tell us that there is an invisible power within each of us-- and they believe in everything that lives. They can measure an electrical charge that we all carry in our very bodies. They can measure it in every animal, every bird, even plants. It is, they believe, the very energy of life. That unseen but essential life energy is there-- measurable-- just as long as there is life within us-- and not a moment longer—scientists seek to measure that loss of energy at the moment of death.  Is that so difficult for us to believe?

            We accept that there are invisible powers in the universe. So the power of God in Christ Jesus ought not to surprise us. Jesus speaks of that Divine power that draws all men and women to God through Him. John Wesley called it prevenient grace-- the little spark placed in every baby that naturally draws us toward our Maker.

            It is just enough grace to make us just hungry enough for the Divine that we can almost instinctively reach out for it in time of need, and grab hold of the Salvation offered to all people. It is the original blessing that is the antidote to original sin. It is the power, the hunger, the restlessness that can only be met by feeding upon the Living Bread.

            When Jesus tells the crowd that's how it is, that's who He is, they can't believe it. They deny Him.

            "We know him. That's the carpenter's kid. We remember his mother and his father.”

            Jesus doesn't react to their skepticism by defending himself, or counter-attacking.

Rather, He goes on to reveal an even deeper truth. He began by supplying physical bread.  Then he spoke of Bread as the nurturing power of God's Word. Now he identifies Himself with that Bread. He identifies His true origin.

            "I am the Living Bread. God the Great I AM has sent me. God has placed within you a hunger and within me the means to fill you. Feast on the Word of God within me. Feast on what I tell you. Feast on my energy, the drawing power that our Maker has placed within me. Feast on my life and be filled. Feast on me."

            Jesus’ teachings and life and power draw us to Him. And it will draw us to one another, if we allow it. Orthodox, Anglican, Catholics, and Protestants; Whites and people of all different colors; Asians and Europeans; Americans and Russians; LGBTQs and straights; first, second, and third worlds; poor and prosperous-- we need to come together. We desperately need to dialogue and begin to understand the madness of our apart-ness and the infinite possibilities of our togetherness under our Maker.

            We have a long way to go. The conversations must begin. But those of us who have found Christ, have at least the beginnings of a common language.

            There is, we know, an unseen power all around, and among, and within us. We call it the power of the Holy Spirit of God. It is capable of changing the face of the earth.  It is capable of changing us—and making us whole.

The Holy Spirit is a Spirit of Unity. God the Holy Spirit is not particularly interested in divorces-- but the Spirit loves a good wedding. God is continually calling us to unity with one another—just as God is continually calling us to unity with God’s own self.        As you and I move toward unity with our sisters and brothers in this world—we’ll find that we’re moving closer and closer into unity with our Maker and our Maker’s Will.

When you and I move to meet the needs of the needy, rescue the lost, lift up the fallen, heal the broken ones, minister to the lonely and infirm and addicted, we’re not being a good person—we’re becoming disciples-- God’s people—Christians—“little christs”. And we’ll begin to know hope, and purpose, and meaning in our lives.  We’ll begin to find unity within.

 When you and I stand up for racial and economic and social justice with our voices and votes and monetary support, we’re not just doing a good deed—we’re doing God’s Will.  And we’ll find that we’ve begun to feed that spiritual hunger within us. 

When you and I reach out to an estranged neighbor with reconciliation and forgiveness, we’re not just doing the right thing-- we’re responding to the call of the Holy Spirit for unity in the world.  And we’ll find we’re actively participating in the Divine Plan.     When you and I take a foster child into our home, or become a Big Brother or Big Sister, or even just teach Sunday school, we’re not just being good Christians-- we’re feeding Christ’s sheep with the Bread of Life. And we’ll find ourselves in deeper communion with Him.

            When you and I commit our lives and hearts to Christ Jesus, we’re not just buying our way into the after-life – we’re fulfilling our deepest potential as God’s children. And we’ll find that we’ve discovered at last the real reason we were placed on this planet and we’ve begun to fulfill it-- by becoming those whom our God always wanted and designed us  to be

            Jesus revealed it to us. That’s the nature of that unseen power within Him-- and the hunger for it within us.  It is the drawing power of our ultimate origins. Our Eternal Parent calls us home. It is the home from which we all came, and the home to which we shall one day all return.

            You and I are surrounded by that drawing power. It is within us, and among us, and flows through us. It explains the feeling we sometimes get that we're missing something ultimately important, that the colors we see are not necessarily all the colors there are, that the sounds we hear are not necessarily all the music there is.

 It explains our deep feelings at times that this world is indeed, not our home—nor is it our ultimate end. It explains our uneasiness with the way things are, with the way we are. It explains our undefeatable willingness to hope.  It explains our unquenchable hunger and thirst for justice, and our unrelenting desire for existence to make sense.   

            We feel it in our hunger for unity with God, and with one another. We feel it in our conviction that the love of God we encounter in Christ Jesus is but a foretaste of the eternal love yet to come when the Divine drawing power will have finally brought together all of the family of humanity-- celebrating in that eternal Shalom of Christ, nurtured by the Bread of Heaven and forged by His blood, by human tears and sweat, and by the transforming, drawing power of the Spirit.

            Jesus is that Bread. His Altar—His Table awaits.  Jesus calls us, draws us to His service, to His love. Let us begin. Let us invite the Spirit into our hearts. Let us begin to allow ourselves to become all that we are and all that we can become. Amen.