Sermon 7/30/06
Miracles: Believe It or Not? - John 6:1-21
(view lectionary notes for this text)
Do you believe in miracles? Today, we read of one of the most well-known miracles of the gospels, where Jesus feeds the 5000 with five loaves and two fish, and ends up with baskets-full of leftovers. This is, apparently, an important miracle for us to know about. The miracle of the feeding of the 5000 is the only miracle that is recorded in all four gospels. Apparently, the gospel writers also considered this particular story especially important. What is it about the feeding of the 5000 that so captures their imagination and ours? What sets this miracle apart from the others recorded of Jesus?
Because of the apparent importance the gospel writers placed on this miracle, modern day scholars and theologians have spent much time as well trying to figure it out. Some debate: is this a literal miracle recorded? Did Jesus actually multiply fish and loaves before the eyes of the crowds? Others suggest that the miracle was that a little boy would share all that he had, which in turn encouraged others to pull out the meals they had packed, knowing that they would need food for their day’s trip.
I’ll admit that I’m ambivalent myself about the miracle. Did Jesus really magically multiply the food? Do I believe that such a thing can happen, or that God would choose to work that way? I’m not sure. The truth is, while I like to think of myself as a free-thinker, a free-spirit, a lot of me is very logical and analytical in my approach to things. I was always good at math in school. It just made sense to me. If you follow the rules, follow the steps, you’ll get the right answer, more or less every time. If you don’t get the right answer, it’s because you didn’t follow the rules exactly. Math was mostly that simple for me. And though I was good at it, I was a horrible tutor, because I was not very patient. I couldn’t figure out how to explain it to someone who didn’t get it. Because, if you follow the rules, you get the right answers! How else can it be explained? This attitude of mine has carried over into other areas as well. I was never one to believe in ghost stories or other claims of supernatural events. It just wasn’t logical. Not real, not likely, not true. If you want me to believe something like that, I need some hard evidence. You need to prove it to me. I need the facts. So, can I believe in miracles? Do you? Still, cynic though I may be, I’m not quite ready to write off a clearly important part of the gospel accounts. They’re full of people who say they witnessed miracles in Jesus – healings, feedings, exorcisms, supernatural storm-calmings. What’s here in this story today?
The crowds have been following Jesus, listening to his teachings, pressing in on him for healing and comfort. Seeing them all gathered on the mountainside, Jesus asks Philip, a disciple, what they will give them all to eat. After traveling to follow Jesus, the people must be hungry and ready for a meal. At this detail, John’s account of this miracle differs slightly from the other gospels: in the other gospels, the disciples raise the questions of how to feed the crowds. In John’s account, it is Jesus who raises the question, perhaps emphasizing the disciples’ inability to see a creative solution to the hunger of the gathered masses. Jesus presses Philip, “where are we to buy bread for these people?” But Philip is skeptical: “Six months wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.” Andrew at least makes an attempt at a solution, bringing up a boy who has five loaves and two fish, but pessimistically responds that they will do nothing among so many hungry. Jesus doesn’t hesitate – he just tells the disciples to get the crowds seated. He blesses the food, and passes it around. We read that all ate and were satisfied, and twelve baskets of food were left over. What has just happened here?
If I look at it logically, there are only a few ways to look at things. First, the gospel writers could have made up the story altogether. It might have no basis in fact. Or, their sources could have made up the story. Or they might have exaggerated the story. Maybe it was the feeding of the five-hundred, and not the five-thousand? Maybe, as some have suggested, others just began to share their own food that they had brought once they realized the little boy was going to share his. No logical examination of the story can lead me to believe that a miracle took place.
But if part of me is logical and analytical, there is a corner of my mind at least that holds on to abstract, or at least a corner that admires and is inspired by the abstract. I love to read, but I particularly enjoy reading good fiction. And in particular, I love fiction where the author has created an entire world that I can get drawn into. I love the Harry Potter series, and the Chronicles of Narnia, and the Lord of the Rings trilogy. And in part, I love these books because I can’t imagine the kind of creative mind it must take to make up a complete world in such detail as these authors do, with their own histories and mythologies and landscapes. A common them in such other-world books, like the Chronicles, for instance, is that people with small minds, who usually are adults in such children’s stories, will never get into these secret worlds, because their imaginations are too small to believe in such places, in such possibilities.
One example? Charlotte’s Web. This year at Annual Conference, one of my youth from CCYM (1) spoke during worship on our theme of Miracles, and she used an excerpt from Charlotte’s Web, the children’s book by EB White, that was perfectly to the point. I want to share it with you too. If you aren’t familiar with the book, or have forgotten it, Charlotte’s Web is about a pig named Wilbur who is the runt of his litter. He is saved from death by the pleadings of a young girl, Fern, who raises him herself. When he gets too big, he goes to live on a farm, where he again faces death – they want to eat Wilbur, if you can imagine such a crazy thing! He is saved by the handiwork of a spider named Charlotte, who weaves words about Wilbur into her web. Fern’s mother is very concerned about everything, and goes to see the doctor, which is where our excerpt begins:
“It’s about Fern,” [Mrs. Arable] explained. “Fern spends entirely too much time in the Zuckermans’ barn. It doesn’t seem normal. She sits on a milk stool in a corner of the barn cellar, near the pigpen, and watches animals, hour after hour. She just sits and listens.” Dr. Dorian leaned back and closed his eyes. “How enchanting!” he said. “It must be real nice and quiet down there. Homer has some sheep, hasn’t he?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Arable. “But it all started with that pig we let Fern raise on a bottle. She calls him Wilbur. Home bought the pig, and ever since it left our place, Fern has been going to her uncle’s to be near it.” “I’ve been hearing things about that pig,” said Dr. Dorian, opening his eyes. “They say he’s quite a pig.” “Have you heard about the words that appeared in the spider’s web?” asked Mrs. Arable nervously. “Yes,” replied the doctor. “Well, do you understand it?” asked Mrs. Arable. “Understand what?” "Do you understand how there could be any writing in a spider's web?" Oh, no," said Dr. Dorian. "I don't understand it. But for that matter I don't understand how a spider learned to spin a web in the first place. When the words appeared, everyone said they were a miracle. But nobody pointed out that the web itself is a miracle." “What’s miraculous about a spider’s web?” said Mrs. Arable. “I don’t see why you say a web is a miracle – it’s just a web.” “Ever try to spin one?” asked Dr. Dorian. Mrs. Arable shifted uneasily in her chair. “No,” she replied. “But I can crochet a doily and a can knit a sock.” “Sure,” said the doctor. “But somebody taught you, didn’t they?” “My mother taught me.” “Well, you taught a spider? A young spider knows how to spin a web without any instructions from anybody. Don’t you regard that as a miracle?” “I suppose so,” said Mrs. Arable. Still, I don’t understand how those words got into the web. I don’t understand it, and I don’t like what I can’t understand.” “None of us do," said Dr. Dorian, sighing. "I'm a doctor. Doctors are supposed to understand everything. But I don't understand everything, and I don't intend to let it worry me.” (2)
My analytical mind wants to understand everything, or dismiss it. But if those are the only two options we have, then truly, we have no place for miracles, and little place for faith either. St. Augustine once said something like, “If we have understood, what we have understood is not God.” In other words, for God to be God, God is beyond our comprehension. Not explainable. Not reducible to rules that can be copied and repeated. Not able to be boxed in. If we must understand everything about God in order to believe it, then what we’ll believe is nothing at all.
Our other option is not so bad, once you get used to it. Maybe a little scary, at first, if you’re used to having all the answers. Our other option is to see the world and all that is in it, and look at our lives, and regard what we see as a miracle. Our lives and the blessings that make them – aren’t they miracles? The future and all the potential – isn’t that a miracle? The present and all that we are and are becoming – isn’t that a miracle?
To be part of this kingdom of God that Jesus is always talking about, we have to believe in miracles. I think that it is a necessity if we are to be kingdom-dwellers. I think what believing in miracles comes down to is believing that with God, all things are possible. In our world, people once would not have believed it possible that people would fly, or that that they would visit the moon, or float in space, or stay in space for months at a time. People once would not have been able to imagine vehicles that would tote people from place to place at great speeds. People would not have believed that there would be ways to instantly communicate with anyone anywhere in the world. And yet, if someone did not believe that these things were possible, they never would have come to be. It is the same in our church life. Maybe most of us believe that we will never see the church pews packed with people to overflowing. Perhaps we believe we will never meet our budget. Maybe we believe we will never eliminate poverty and hungry in our community let alone in the world. Perhaps we don’t believe that we will ever feel called to give up everything to follow God. Maybe we don’t believe that every time we come into this place God will open our hearts and speak to us. And I would agree – if there is no one here who believes those possible – I’m not sure they can happen. If we cannot believe it possible, even with God, then we probably will never see it happen.
But, if we can see, and hope, and imagine, and believe in the miracles that God works in us and through us and around us – if you believe that God might be speaking to you, if you believe that God might be able to make something of us, of this place, of this community, if you are willing to put into God’s hands what little crumbs of the bread of life you think you have, God can use it, I promise you. (4) God can bless it and bless you. God can take you where you barely dreamed of going. Miracles are when, with God, we end up where we only dared hope to end up.
What happened on that day when the crowds sat down and boy brought forward his loaves and his bread? I can’t tell you exactly. And that doesn’t bother me. What I do know is that the hungry were fed, in body and in spirit. I know that from a little came a great abundance. And I know that people experienced the Bread of Life, given to them by a God who loves them. Miracles upon miracles.
Amen.
(1) Thank you, Maddie Horrell!
(2) Charlotte’s Web, pp. 108-110.
(4) Idea from Rev. Richard Fairchild, http://www.spirit-net.ca/sermons/b-or17su.php