Pentecost + 12

Matthew 14:13-21
Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” Jesus said to them, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” They replied, “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” And he said, “Bring them here to me.” Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And all ate and were filled; and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.


Table stories are among the most entertaining and meaningful stories we tell. Think about the times you have been at your family’s table—your family of origin, your immediate family, your urban family—and remember the things you have shared and learned, talked over and talked out. There is something magical about food and proximity that brings us into communion with one another around a meal table that not many other things do.

When I was in high school, the monthly Family Night Suppers our church in Madison, Georgia, hosted were just wonderful. The kitchen counter was filled with all kinds of homemade dishes: meats, vegetables, breads, salads of all kinds, and my personal favorite: macaroni and cheese. One night, a friend and I surveyed the table before the supper was to begin and were delighted to discover more dishes of homemade macaroni and cheese than we could count. So, we decided this would be a special night; we would pile our plates high (like everyone else would do!) but only with macaroni and cheese. There would be no vegetables, no meat, not even any bread to fill our tummies that night. Just the most delicious combination of cheese, pasta, and cream that God ever made come to life on this earth. And the best part was that those suppers brought the community together for nourishment. Each member of the community brought something to share. Each person ate from the fruits of the labor and generosity of someone else. And there was always enough to go around a few times with plenty leftover for shut ins and the hungry. I thought of those suppers as monthly miracles of sharing, and boy did they keep me nourished and satisfied. I won’t even mention the desert table which required an entire wall of the fellowship hall all for itself.

We gather around other tables at other times in the life of the community of faith. We gather around conference tables to settle the business of keeping an organization up and running. We sit around classroom tables to discuss faith and ask questions. We read the Bible together and learn from each other’s experience and perspective. We gather regularly around this table here to receive grace for the journey in bread and juice. These occasions bring us together in laughter, in tears, in joy, in sorrow, in anger sometimes, and forgiveness in others.

Once, when I was a young teenager in Commerce, Georgia, I was kneeling at the rail in the front of the church to receive Holy Communion with other youth. In our midst was a younger kid—probably about 3rd grade or so. This was a small town, First Church, so we were all dressed in our “Sunday best”, dresses, heels, slacks, and jackets. The little boy at the rail with us had on a little elementary-sized suit, complete with a jacket and tie. We were the most dignified looking group of teenagers you could imagine. In this congregation we used individual serving cups instead of a chalice to serve the grape juice, and when the tray came around, you chose your own, drank it in a sip or two, and left it on the rail when you returned to your seat. When the dressed up 3rd grader got his cup out of the tray, he didn’t immediately turn his head back and drink it. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a plastic drinking straw, stuck it in the cup, slurped out the sips of juice, shook it a couple of times to rid it of excess juice that didn’t make it to his mouth, and put it right back in his pocket. I could hardly keep the giggles from escaping and was SO relieved when it was time to get up and go back to my seat.

Another time, when I was in seminary at Emory, I attended a Friday morning Communion service. It was simple and small, with scripture reading, prayers of the people, some contemplative music, and the celebration of the holy meal. I was living with a lot of stress at the time as students are wont to do. I had a time consuming job, more reading and studying to do than could possibly have been done in the course of 14 weeks, and so many questions in my mind and heart about where exactly God was leading me in ministry beyond that point. As I sat in the chapel that morning and heard the familiar words of the prayer that, by this time, I had learned by heart after weekly celebration of the sacrament, I realized only after it had begun that tears were streaming down my face. It was the familiar grace and belonging that I felt in that moment that seemed to rescue me from the dark place into which I had spiraling when I walked in the door.

When Jesus encountered the crowd that day, he had just received word of the beheading of his beloved partner in ministry John the Baptist. Wanting to be alone for some time to grieve and pray, he left the others and went off by himself. But the crowds followed him, desperate for something they just knew he had that they wanted. What it turned out that they needed after he had healed them was simply to be fed. There were lots of them, and the disciples were understandably nervous about a hungry mob of people surrounding them on the side of the sea. They had not prepared a fellowship supper with every kind of macaroni and cheese you could imagine and a dessert table as long as the eye could see. There weren’t urns of sweet tea and cups filled with ice waiting to be served. There wasn’t even a tray of wafers and tiny cups of juice prepared to be shared among the crowd. All there was to be consumed was some bread and fish, and likely not enough to feed a crowd of thousands of people.

Feelings were undoubtedly stirred up. Would there be enough? Would my family get anything to eat? Would my children have to go hungry? Would fighting break out as a result of a food shortage? With whom would I have to share?

It is this story that introduces us to the 4-fold action of Christ at the Eucharist, the holy meal, which calls each of us to a table of plenty, often out of personal circumstances of scarcity. Among the doubt and fear the disciples must have been feeling, Jesus took what was offered; blessed it; broke it so that it would feed everyone; and shared it with all who were gathered.

The first action is to take. In our passage Jesus took the five loaves and two fish that were offered to him from the disciples—all they had to feed the massive crowd. In our communion liturgy, we acknowledge that on the night in which he gave himself up for us, he took break and the cup as they were prepared for use in the meal he would share with them. There he began to proclaim to them the very words of institution of both the supper they would share and that we share today, as well as the giving of himself for them and for us. God takes the talents we have, the gifts we have been given, the times in which we live, the situations in which we find ourselves either accidentally or on purpose, and finds ways to use them ultimately for the salvation of the world. What do you have to give that God can use? Perhaps you have a gift for music and could help enhance the worship service each week or on occasion. Maybe you have administrative abilities that could help us continue to thrive as an organization of people whose purpose is Christian worship and service. Perhaps you are called to serve in mission projects—locally, internationally, or both—and could help us continue to rediscover our calling and commitment to helping others. No matter what you bring to the table, God will take it and use it for good.

In the story today we see Jesus immediately bless the food he has taken from the disciples. He offers prayer for it—thanking God for it and how it will be used among them. So it is in blessing and thanksgiving that we gather today around the Lord’s table, remembering the miracle of abundance promised to us in Jesus’ feeding of the thousands as told in our gospel for today and in his mysterious presence in this meal we share together. We, too, give thanks at table together: for the opportunity to worship, for brothers and sisters who love us and hold us accountable, for the experience of the Holy Spirit that inspires and drives us forward in reaching out to others, and for the journey of faith, no matter how long or frustrating or full of joy it can be.

We even give thanks for the times in life when we have experienced brokenness. It is Christ’s third action and one that we may often misunderstand. I know that just as mine has your heart has been broken from time to time: by a loved one, by dashed expectations, by your own pride or the damage someone else’s pride has done to you, or even by the people and institution called the church. How often we hurt one another within the Body of Christ! But it is often in this brokenness that we eventually find wholeness and healing, the wholeness and healing we needed all along but could not see until there was an urgent situation before us—a time of great hunger as in the story from Matthew, or a time of great pain and suffering as in the story of our Lord’s trial and crucifixion. But from those experiences or brokenness, ultimate hope and promise springs forth. The hungry are fed, what was dead is raised to new life, and darkness is overcome by light.

But being broken is not the end. Finally, we share. We are shared, and we share. The good news is that we don’t have to live in a state of brokenness. There is healing for us; there is sustenance for our needs at the hand of Christ. When Jesus feed the thousands by the sea, he took a small gift, gave thanks for and blessed it, broke it, and had enough to feed the crowd with twelve baskets full of leftovers. In our prayers at the table, after having taken the bread and cup, blessed and given thanks for them, and breaking the bread, he shares bread and cup with the others, commanding them, and now us, to continue to share bread, drink, and life in his name.

We can learn something about communal living and sharing from this story. When we are willing to put something of ourselves forward for someone else, Christ takes what we give and blesses it, sometimes helping us to see that in our brokenness can be found pieces that fit the needs of others, and then calls us to give what we have found away. Then we are an outward-facing fellowship, sustained on the inside by the gifts of the body. So come to the table, friends, and take part in our communal table story, confessing those things that separate us from God and one another, giving of ourselves what is needed to fully realize the reign of God, receiving the blessing of Christ and giving thanks, recognizing our brokenness, and sharing the love of God with those who are hungry for it.

Amen.