First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: John 6:1-14
I found the cereal box, got out the milk, made a piece of toast, buttered it, and then completed this marvelous culinary enterprise by sectioning an orange. Then I sat down the coffee and the Free Press, waiting for the Galloping Gourmet to sweep into my kitchen and paste a gold star on my forehead.
That was when Julie said those five wonderful words that symbolized one of the great moments in the history of father-daughter relationships: “Dad, I need a lunch.” Actually, Julie can make her own lunch, and often does. But she also counts on the fact that I will not remind her of that. Therefore, I made a lunch. It consisted of a tuna fish sandwich and a banana. I even made the tuna fish from scratch (well, not exactly, but you understand what I mean), applied it nice and thick and even, and then proceeded to cut the sandwich into triangles.
Later that afternoon, I asked Julie how she enjoyed her lunch. She said that it was fine. Secretly, I was hoping for a little bit more than “fine.” So I said: “Wonderful?” “It was wonderful, Dad,” she answered. “I bet all your friends wished they had a lunch like that.” To which Julie said: “Dad, don’t be dumb. Kids don’t sit around in the lunchroom looking at other kids’ lunches, saying: ‘Gee, your dad sure has a great way with a tuna fish sandwich.’” I bet her friends really did say that. Julie probably doesn’t want to tell me, lest it go to my head.
Actually, all of this has absolutely nothing to do with anything. Unless you consider the fact that today’s gospel story literally pivots upon what happened when a boy, who had gone to hear a teacher, opened up a lunch that his father (or maybe his mother) had packed in a sack. The story is incredibly familiar. Every gospel has a version of it. This is John’s.
In other words, John suggests that Jesus feeds more people with less bread, and fills nearly double the number of doggie bags to take home. There are 12 bags of leftovers. And if you said: “Gee, that adds up to one doggie bag for each disciple,” you’d be right. You could probably go home and make a nifty sermon out of that. Or you could go home and cut the lawn.
Ah, but there is at least one other major difference. It is only in John’s version that we have a kid. John gives us a boy, the proper Greek translation being “lad.” You can do what you like, but I choose to see him as a sixth grade boy from Tiberias Middle School, who has come to listen to Jesus and has brought a lunch.
Now I know that the boy is not the hero of the story. Jesus is. And if we are too blind to see that, John tells us that Jesus is the hero. Verse 14 reads: “Now when the people saw the sign he had performed, they began to say, ‘This is undoubtedly the prophet who is to come into the world.’” I suppose that this could be a rough translation of what people in the crowd might actually have said: “Did you see that? Totally awesome! That was out of this world. But we saw it with our own eyes.” To which, John would say: “Yea!”
The real point of the story is that Jesus fills people up….in unlikely ways….using unlikely people….working against ridiculous odds….and would not have been able to do it unless God were with him. That’s what the story seems to say. But there may be more.
Go back to the kid with the lunch. But first, let me set a stage. Jesus sees a large crowd. He turns and says to Philip: “Phil, where shall we ever buy enough bread for these people to eat?” But Philip knows that this is not a “where” question. If it was a “where” question, Philip would have given a “where” answer. Philip might have said something about a bakery on the road, or the 7-11 Store in Tiberias. But Philip knows it is a “how” question. (“How shall we ever buy enough bread to feed these people?”) And the answer is: “No way.” “Lord, I could work for 200 days and not be able to buy enough bread for all these folks.”
Enter Andrew! See him waving his arms furiously. “Over here, Lord. Andrew, on microphone three. I’ve got a kid here with a lunch. He’s got five barley loaves and two dried fish.” But, then, even Andrew seems to realize how ridiculous he sounds. “But what good is that for so many?”
Now what I’ve got to do next is tell you something about those five loaves. They are barley loaves. Barley loaves are cheap. Poor people eat them. Wheat loaves are not only better, but preferred. Barley loaves are also smaller. Somewhere it is written that three barley loaves make one meal. And the fish are dried. What John is trying to tell us is that this kid is not carrying a feast.
Now I don’t know where this kid got this lunch. I think his father packed it. But I don’t know that for sure. And I am left to guess at the rest of it. The fact that he brought a lunch indicated that he knew he might be needing one. Perhaps he was planning to spend the day. The fact that a sixth grader from Tiberias Middle School would plan to spend the day listening to Jesus, says something rather special about this kid.
No, I suspect that the kid volunteered it. And I also suspect that his offer, once made public, may have stimulated a widespread miracle of sharing. Maybe everybody brought a lunch, but they kept it hidden. They were too selfish to bring it out. So Jesus made an example out of this kid, and people began to feel guilty. So one guy says: “Well, I didn’t say anything before, but I’ve got six oranges in my knapsack.” And another says: “Well, I’m kind of embarrassed to say so, but I’ve got a kielbasa up my sleeve.” And pretty soon, presto feasto! A miracle of sharing, stimulated by a middle school kid.
Let me tell you about kids in middle school. One of the things that I know about kids in middle school is that they are not always all that sure of themselves. They know that they aren’t what they used to be (hence, the oft-repeated phrase, “That’s kid stuff”). And they know that they aren’t what they’re going to be (hence, all the grandiose talk about what they are going to do when they grow up). So here they are. God’s in-betweeners. There is not a one of them of whom their parents have not said: “Some days this kid is 13 going on 25; other days this kid is 13 going on 6.”
But I know something else about kids in middle school. Kids in middle school can also do a whole lot of things they never give themselves credit for. In the years when I made my living doing youth work, I remember something that happened on a junior high retreat. I asked the group of kids to make a name tag. But, in addition to their name, I wanted their tag to include two additional notations. I wanted them to write something they were proud of. I also wanted them to write down something they were good at. About half of the kids couldn’t think of anything to write. And many who could, were reluctant to put it down. That didn’t surprise me. For to be in the middle school years is not only to occasionally wonder who you are, but to have an occasional doubt or two as to whether you are (or will ever be) very good at anything. A lot of kids in middle school feel that way. They doubt themselves. But that is not something that you ever share with anybody. Middle school is a time for keeping doubt a secret, trying your best to hide your worst.
But I also know a third thing about the middle school years. No matter how bad your day is going….no matter how bad your life is going….relief is often just a phone call away. To live with an adolescent is to discover that sometime around the 12th or 13th year, an amazing capacity develops in human beings. The telephone rings, and bodies that were nearly comatose, suddenly spring to life. I call it resurrection by telephone. Bodies leap into action, footsteps pound and race, and you hear a voice shouting: “It’s for me.”
Well, how do they know that? So you ask them: “How did you know that call was for you?” They say: “I was expecting a call.” Mark Trotter says: “I think that to be 13 years old is to be expecting a call.”
You see where this is going, don’t you? One of the best things about being 13, or even 14, is to be expecting a call. Maybe one of the best things about having a little bit of age 13 or 14 left in you, even if you are long past it, is to be expecting a call.
Not every caller uses the phone. Jesus doesn’t. But I believe that he is trying to reach people. And you never know when he is going to try and reach you. Jesus called out to the boy with the sack: “Hey, you with the brown bag….”
“I want what you brought today.
I want your lunch.
I need it.
I can use it.
I need you.
I can use you.
It’ll do.
You’ll do.”
Erik Anderson, Chris Banas, Brent Barnhart, Steve Blair, Peter Boyle, Tom Cassel, Alexandra Chadwich, Michael Comeau, Caitlin Cummings, Jacque Dauch, Josh Dickerson, Greg Fenton, Allison Finney, Jonathan Firth, Dan Glisky, Steve Grabiel, Todd Griesen, Craig Johnson, Matt Jones, Jaclyn Julow, Whitney Kulas, Adam Lachowicz, Katie Lohr, David Lorenz, Michael Marburger, Jay Markevich, Eric McComas, Mike McGill, Sarah McNab, Bill Meese, Niki Mehta, Lindsey Muirhead, Alexander Roberts, Sophie Rokicki, Brent Saeli, Patrice Sherman, Jill Signorello, Laura Stewart, Haley Sztykiel, Mark Thomson, David Tomlinson, Claire Torok, Sara Tull, Amanda Venettis, Emily Wilkinson, Matt Williams
This is your Confirmation Sunday. Don’t ever apologize for what you bring. Don’t ever apologize for what you are. Don’t ever stop expecting a call. Listen for Jesus! You never know when somebody will be hungry. You never know when He’ll need your lunch. You never know w hen He’ll need you.
