Sermon 7/25/21: Impossible? Possible. (Seminarian Jonas Ellison)
Seminarian Jonas Ellison
Lectionary 17b
July 25, 2021
Impossible? Possible.
Grace, peace, and mercy are yours from the Triune God…
Amen.
First of all, I want to say what a joy it is to be here with you. Though my wife, daughter, and I moved to Northern California a year ago, Holy Trinity is still my home church and I’m honored to be able to share this space with you today.
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The human realm is all about possibilities. The human will is limited to what’s… possible. But today, in our Gospel word from John, we’re bumping up against the… impossible.
The feeding of the 5,000 is the only miracle of Jesus mentioned in all four gospels. It’s a big deal. It shows that our God makes the impossible… Possible.
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As I speak, my beloved home, the western US, is drying out and burning to a crisp. You’ve seen the news and I can verify that it’s not fake. Reservoirs are at all-time lows. Houseboats sit perched on cinder blocks because there’s not enough water to hold them.
Every time I turn on the tap, I wince.
Wildfire season, which routinely starts in mid-September, now kicks off in July. The Beckwourth Complex, California’s 2nd biggest wildfire this year, started on July 3rd. We could see the flames from our yard. Though we’re glad it’s now almost fully contained, it has burned over 105,000 acres. Frenchman Lake, one of the places we go to hike, swim, and fish, has been completely ravaged by that fire.
And it’s only July.
Now, that’s just me in my neck of the woods out west. But you have your own impossibilities in life - from micro to macro levels. Cancer diagnoses, sobriety issues, divorce, heartbreak, estrangement from kids, job loss, and the elephant in the room - a global pandemic we’ve all been navigating for over a year with no real end in sight.
It’s all just… Impossible.
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In today’s gospel passage, Jesus and his disciples saunter up a mountainside and take a seat at the top. It might have been peaceful for a moment (this was, after all, the days before people owned those obnoxious external bluetooth speakers that they bring into beautiful remote spaces and blast awful music because, hey, everyone likes Nickelback, right? I digress…). But soon, they see a crowd of hungry people closing in on them - 5,000 to be exact.
It’s a daunting scene and Jesus voices to Philip the concern on all of the disciples’ minds, testing him… “Hey Phil… How’re we gonna feed ‘em all?!” I can see a slight smirk on his face as Philip’s wheels start spinning.
Philip, having had experience in the catering business, I guess, does some quick math in his head. Let’s see here, catering a party for 5,000 people would take - DING! - a half year’s salary! Twenty-Five-Grand in today’s American money.
Jesus is no Joel Osteen… He doesn’t carry around that kind of cash.
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Now, some people credit the generosity of the disciples for the feeding of the 5,000. But here’s what the word basically states that the disciple Andrew says…
“Hey, Jesus! I saw this poor kid with 5 loaves of cheap bread. I mean, we could swipe HIS bread, no problem, but it wouldn’t get us very far.”
Very generous, Andrew… Anyhow…
I can totally relate to Philip and the disciples. If I were Philip, I’d be saying…
Well, we can’t afford 25k in catering fees… Okay… So once we steal the kid’s bread, how can we stretch it? I mean, these people need to share. We cannot tolerate greedy people. ANDREW! You’re working security. Keep this breadline working in tip-top shape, GOT IT?!
And there I am. Dealing with what I have in front of me. Trying to work within the impossible.
But Jesus - he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t tell anyone to get up and do anything. He tells them to do one thing…
Take a seat.
In other words, do nothing. Be still and know that God is God.
This is so… Offensive… To our sensibilities.
But what did Lazarus do to be resurrected? Nothing. As the late and great Robert Capon wrote, “Making things jump out of nothing is God’s favorite act.”
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Jesus shows us that God is not in the fix-it business. God is in the resurrection business.
Where we see limitation and lack, Jesus sees abundance.
Where I see a massive forest fire, God uses that fire to regenerate that same forest. Native Americans have long understood this and cultivated the land thousands of years before John Muir arrived by routinely burning underbrush. But our recent logical well-meaning laws have prevented them from doing these ceremonial control burns.
Now, I know the problem of our climate crisis is much bigger than this. The scope of my meager sermon can only go so far. But maybe… If we could spend more time sitting there and doing nothing as Jesus commanded, we wouldn’t put a well-intentioned stop to the things that actually help us.
Our minds are so focused on making sense of things. On scorekeeping and logic. On problem-solving. This is our only way, you can’t blame us!
But Jesus doesn’t function like that. Unlike us, Jesus isn’t limited to what’s there, in front of him. Jesus creates abundance where there is none, ex nuh -hee-lo (out of nothing).
In today’s gospel, Jesus doesn’t snap his fingers and end world hunger. No… That’s what you and I would do. Rather, he gives us a small sampling of this and satisfies just those who are gathered - with leftovers afterward!
And what do we do? Exactly what Jesus expects us to do. We go for a power-grab. We start to try to make him our king - “by force” the word states. We start to try to get him to be our cosmic winning lottery ticket. But Jesus will have none of it.
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When I look at our forests and reservoirs out west, all I see is rubble, ash, and vast, dry bathtub rings around lakes. When I see the COVID numbers, all I see is death.
But, the good news is (as uncomfortable as it may make us)… Death is the raw material of God. Into death and loss and destruction, God speaks reckless love, plentiful abundance, and new life.
Yes, we will do what we can to help, conserve, and rehabilitate. We’ll wear our masks, get our vaccines, and take care of the most vulnerable. To seek help when we can and to offer support to those in our lives. It’s what we do. And it’s the right thing to do. But in order for us to have transcendent hope in any hopeless situation, we must know that we and our planet are held in the eternal love of Christ. For He is the bread of life.
May you heed the simple words of Jesus on the mountaintop that day. May the faith that Jesus works in you move you to stop on that grassy field - your belly growling, your spirits weary, and your nerves frayed by all that mounts against you - and take a seat. May you behold the power and immensity of God’s endlessly creative and restorative nature. For as I learned, the fire that destroys the forest is the same fire that regenerates it - clearing away the dead underbrush and waking up tiny acorns in the ground in order to make way for new life. It’s not a pretty process, but it’s a miraculous one.
Dear friends, may we do what we can with what’s in front of us with good cheer. And may we trust the work of God that breathed life into the moon and stars. Who pulses the heart in your chest, even while you sleep. Who sent planets and galaxies spinning into motion… All out of nothing. You are fed through this love of Christ that surpasses all knowledge.
Newness is coming
and God is here.
Amen.