A Stone of Another Name...

Acts 4:5-12

April 26, 2015

Easter 4 Year B

Frist and Harmony Presbyterian Churches

The Rev. Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

            Unless you are a real Arkansas history buff, the names Prospect Robbins and Joseph Brown probably mean nothing to you.  Don’t feel too bad about that, there is not really much known about them except that they both lived part of their lives outside of St. Louis. MO and were both land surveyors. 

            In 1815, at the order of the Madison administration, Robbins and Brown began a monumental task; surveying and mapping the Louisiana Purchase into precise map squares. 

            Years earlier at Thomas Jefferson’s urging the nation had adopted the federal survey system that laid out land in precise one square mile rectangles called sections.  Since the earth is not flat, and the landscape is not either, surveyors have a challenging job and early in the 19^th century it was doubly so. 

            Over the next several years these two pioneer surveyors would map a small portion of east Arkansas mostly in and north/south of Phillips County.  It would take dozens more surveyors and more than two more decades of work before most of the state was mapped according to the survey system.

            To make the system work, there has to be what is called an Initial Point.  It is the point of intersection of a north-south line and an east-west line by which all the succeeding lines are measured. 

            Imagine being the person in charge of making that calculation!  Imagine what would have happened if they had been off by a little!  The whole Louisiana Purchase would have been crooked (of course given the history of Louisiana politics, that might be the case!)  Thankfully, Robbins and Brown were good at their jobs and even without the help of GPS satellites, they managed to precisely map hundreds of thousands of acres and lay the groundwork for generations of surveyors to follow all thanks to the accuracy of that first Initial Point meeting in Phillips County.

            What, you are probably wondering; does any of that have to do with Jesus, the bible, or our valuable time this morning?  Only this. 

Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, speaks to the assembled and tells them that the one in whose name the disciples have healed the man who could not walk is none other than the cornerstone that they have rejected.

            You see, a cornerstone in Roman architecture was not the ceremonial rock it has become in modern buildings.  It was the Initial Point of the building.  The cornerstone was the stone by which all the remaining stones would be laid.  The whole building- a house, a temple, a market, a coliseum- was built based on that one stone. 

            Being the mason in charge of setting that stone must have been like standing in a Phillips County swamp with Robbins and Brown meeting and marking that Initial Point for their maps.  Get it wrong and the whole thing will be off kilter.

            I wonder how often we really hear this text that way? 
            Jesus is the cornerstone.  No one and nothing else, Peter makes clear, but only Jesus.  He is the cornerstone; the stone by which every other stone in our lives is laid.  He is not ceremonial stone laid to mark an occasion or hold a time capsule.  He is no ornamental stone placed to make the building look more official or to make sure that the building committee’s names are memorialized forever. 

No, he is the cornerstone.  He is the stone by which every other stone in our lives is laid. 

Or at least he should be.

I don’t know about you, but if my life is supposed to be constructed with Jesus as the cornerstone by which all the other stones are laid, I am carrying around some pretty crooked rocks.

I suppose that is another way of talking about sin; as mislaid stones in our lives.  Maybe that is why it is so hard to change from some of our sinful ways; it is like changing a mislaid stone in an already built wall.  Cemented into place we cannot just shift it.  We have to chip away at it and clear away all the mortar that is holding that crooked stone in place before we can reset it according to the line of the cornerstone. 

If you life is anything like mine, there is still a lot of chipping to do.  In fact I imagine that I will draw my last breath with the chisel still in my hand chipping away at the mortar holding my sins in place. 

Of course the crooked stones are not the only ones mortared into place.  The cornerstone is as well. 

I wonder if Peter had that in mind when he called Jesus the cornerstone?  I’m sure that part of the reason he uses that metaphor is that it is used in the Old Testament and in the Gospels, but so are a lot of others.  Jesus is called everything from the cornerstone to the Lamb of God, so why chose cornerstone in this moment; in this story.

It may be giving Peter too much credit, but I like to think he did it because after his little outburst in chapter 3, he knew his audience and his moment a little better and realized that everyone was afraid.  Jesus was gone and they felt alone and his followers needed a word of courage and hope.  Lamb of God would have been fine, but lambs wander off.  He needed one of those familiar metaphors that would tell them that not only is Jesus the foundation of all hope and promise, but that he is also never going to leave them.  He is the cornerstone.

Of course it is not just the followers of Jesus who are going to hear him.  He is also speaking to his accusers who have seized them after healing in Jesus’ name.  So he reminds them that they are the very ones who rejected Jesus as the cornerstone. 

The traditional reading of this text makes it sound like Peter is chastising them again for the crucifixion and in fairness I think there is merit in that interpretation.  But I also think Peter saw this as a teaching moment. 

You rejected the cornerstone.

You rejected the one stone in the whole building by which every other stone is measured.

How can you have a solid building without a good cornerstone?

How can you have an ordered life without THIS cornerstone?

He scolds, but I think he also teaches. 

Christ, he says, is the true cornerstone.

Christ is the starting point for every life and the point by which every life is measured and built.

It is an elegant and powerful metaphor.

And, like so much of what we get in the Greek New Testament, it is only part of the story. 

Like so many words and phrases in Greek, the words that mean “cornerstone” also have another meaning. 

Keystone.

Christ is the cornerstone and, according to another possible translation, Christ is the keystone.

If the cornerstone provides the starting point for building a solid building, the keystone has an equally vital role; it keeps the ceiling from caving in!

Now that we have had a short lesson in the history of surveying, here is another short rabbit trail into architecture. 

The stones in an arch are called voussoir (vu-swar).  Each vussoir is wedge shaped to fit the curve of the archway.  You can have just a few or several dozen voussoir to create the arch, but whether it is large or small, one must serve as the keystone. 

Like the cornerstones of old, keystones in ancient and even some modern architecture are more than decorative headpieces above a doorway.  Thought it does not bear much weight, the stone placed at the apex of an arch provides the stability and structure that keeps the two sides from collapsing.

Christ, Peter says, is the keystone.

Right there at the top, holding things up, keeping all the stones of the archways of our carefully constructed lives from slipping away, is Christ the keystone.

It’s a nice image.

In a way, I like it better than the cornerstone.  The cornerstone is nice and all, but it seems so permanent; so invasive.  I have to measure my whole life by that one stone?  How about I measure my life by the stone I set at the corner, and Jesus can focus on holding the roof up over my head?

Christ is the stone that stays out of my business but still serves to keep the roof from caving in above me. 

That sounds better. 

It sure sounds easier.

So which is it? 

Cornerstone or keystone?

Is Christ the measure by which we build our lives or the stone that keeps the roof from caving in on us?

Like so much of the interpretation we do with scripture, there are loopholes we can find in the text.  This one provides a huge one.  It is not inaccurate to translate this passage as saying that Jesus is the keystone and run along with our days claiming that the role of Jesus is to keep the roof from caving in.

It is also faithful to translate it as cornerstone and get into all that measuring business.

So which is it? 

Both.

It is both. 

Jesus is both the measure by which the building is built and the stone that keeps it from crumbling down.

He is both the measure by which we build our lives and the sustenance by which we live them.

He is both cornerstone and keystone.

Or to use the words of the writer of Revelation, he is Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. 

When Peter stands accused of healing in Jesus name, he reminds the crowd, he reminds us, that Christ is both the measure by which we live our lives and the promised hope that keeps our lives together. 

He is the cornerstone and the keystone.  And in those times when we don’t quite measure up, he is always there to hold us up.

We can hope for nothing more, and our loving God will give nothing less.

Alleluia.  Alleluia.  Amen.

What’s in a Name? Everything!

Acts 3:12-19

April 19, 2015

First Presbyterian Church Clarksville

Harmony Presbyterian Church

Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

               

          This is a difficult text.

            In fact, it is more than difficult.  It is downright nasty.

            The disciples, fresh from the Pentecost miracle experience, go to the temple at the appointed time to pray and when they arrived they encountered a man.  The man was unable to walk and was carried there by his friends.  Each day, he would ask for money from the people entering the temple.  The text does not tell us how successful he was, but if his friends brought him back day after day after day, there must have been some luck in the spot.

            When Peter and John are about to enter the temple, they see him and when he asks for a gift they heal him in the name of Jesus.

            With Peter’s help, the man stood up and walked.

            It was a miracle.

            And if it sounds familiar, there is a reason.  It was a miracle with echoes.  Echoes of the healing of the man whose friends carried him to Jesus in Mark 2.  Echoes of the healing of the man who was ordered by Jesus to take up his mat and walk.  Echoes of so many moments when so many people had their lives transformed just by the words of this one named Jesus.

            The first moment out of the gate after Pentecost, the first public act of the church of Jesus Christ gathered and formed by the Holy Spirit, the first encounter between the world and the community of the Word is the restoration of bodily wholeness to a man to whom the disciples spoke the name of Jesus.

            It was a miracle.

            That is the easy part.  Strange for the miracle to be the easy part of the story!  To our modern ears, the miracle is usually the hardest part to believe.  But in the case of Acts chapter 3, the miracle is the easy part.  The trouble is in what comes next.

            We have a clue that what is about to come is trouble because we know who is speaking; Peter.  Whenever Peter speaks, part of me starts to shake my head and think, “oh no, here we go again.”  Not that Peter is somehow a bad figure, far from it, but he does have a tendency to step in it from time to time.  Watching Peter fumble and stumble with the gospel is kind of like watching a two year old make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  It makes a mess, but usually comes out in the end. 

            What makes this particular Peter moment difficult is that the first experience the world has with the disciples is an encounter that is wrong on so many levels.

            Hear it again, but this time imagine that you are part of the breathless crowd that has just seen this healing and, in its wake, run to Solomon’s Porch to get a glimpse of these two who heal in the name of Jesus. 

12 Seeing this, Peter addressed the people: “You Israelites, why are you amazed at this? Why are you staring at us as if we made him walk by our own power or piety? 13 The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—the God of our ancestors—has glorified his servant Jesus. This is the one you handed over and denied in Pilate’s presence, even though he had already decided to release him. 14 You rejected the holy and righteous one, and asked that a murderer be released to you instead. 15 You killed the author of life, the very one whom God raised from the dead. We are witnesses of this. 16 His name itself has made this man strong. That is, because of faith in Jesus’ name, God has strengthened this man whom you see and know. The faith that comes through Jesus gave him complete health right before your eyes. 17 “Brothers and sisters, I know you acted in ignorance. So did your rulers. 18 But this is how God fulfilled what he foretold through all the prophets: that his Christ would suffer. 19 Change your hearts and lives! Turn back to God so that your sins may be wiped away. (CEB)

            Did you hear it that time?  After demonstrating the miracle of transformation that comes just through the faithful name of Jesus, Peter stands in front of the awe struck crowd and essentially calls them murderers and fools.  “You rejected the holy and righteous one,” he says.  “You killed the author of life.”

Like I said, difficult. 

When the first crowd gathers to hear the first sermon, Peter starts by calling them Christ-killers.  In fairness to Peter, the writer of Matthew and the writer of Luke-Acts make it pretty clear that the real culprits in the crucifixion were not the Romans pounding the nails but the crowd calling for blood.  So Peter is not entirely off base when he says what he does about the past.  And as we know from our biblical studies, sometimes an author will take liberties when recording a speech by making helpful revisions to ensure that it complies with the theology of the broader narrative.

There is also the fact that the style of writing in this short passage from Acts demands some measure of the scolding that Peter gives.  In the tradition of Greek rhetoric, there were three broad types of persuasion that were used depending on the timeframe of the conversation.  In this case, Peter wants the people to see a past event in a different light.  More specifically, he wants them to see a person from their past in a different light.  Using the style of Greek judicial argument, Peter points the crowd back to their own misunderstandings and misdeeds and encourages them to rethink their mistakes, see Jesus for who and what he really is, and, later in the story, repent of their mistakes and believe in his name. 

Both of those academic arguments help to deflate the difficulty of this text, but I am not sure that we can really hang our hats on technicalities if we press down a little.  If we begin to peek around the edges of the text, I think there is a third possibility to explain Peter’s ill-advised and less than pastoral response to the awe of the crowd.  It is one that does not involve the technicalities of Greco-Roman rhetoric or the theological implications of authorship in the text.  

Stepping back and looking at this text in the larger context of the whole narrative of Luke-Acts, I have to admit that though I am taken aback by Peter’s harsh tone and scolding words and even the anti-Semitic undercurrent of the speech, I am not wholly unsympathetic to Peter because beneath it all- beneath the formal rhetorical style and the theological coherence with the larger narrative- Peter is angry.  He is sad.  He has lost a friend and when the people whose shouts of “Crucify him” are still ringing in his ears gather in front of him at Solomon’s Porch, Peter just cannot hold it in any more.

He chastises them and scolds them and theologically corrects them, but what he really wants to say, I think, is, “you killed my friend!” 

When it comes to studying the biblical text, I love to spend time on those technical issues.  The study of a particular word in Greek or Hebrew, a turn of phrase that can change the text depending on how it is translated, the ancient writing style that influences any modern reading.  I love to get into my commentaries and get deep in to the text.

From time to time, when I am getting too far down that well of intellectual curiosity and allowed the text to turn from the living word of God to a particularly interesting jigsaw puzzle, I hear in the back of my mind the voice of my friend and former parishioner Lucy who, when I got caught in a cul-de-sac inside my head, would look at me and say, “Robert, put down the book and pick up the baby.”

When left to the devices of the experts and the books, this text is pretty easily explained through technical arguments about style, theological context, and a laundry list of other things that help us do a good reading of the narrative.  But when you put the book down, and pick up the baby- when you get your head out of bible study and encounter the words of the text as the voice of the men and women speaking them, it is hard not to hear a very different voice.  It is hard not to see Peter as more than a theological mouthpiece for the larger text or a formal rhetorician formulating his argument. 

When you put down the book and pick up the baby, you, or at least I, find a man who is still in the midst of the pain that accompanies loss.   

It is difficult to read the apostles that way.  We are so attuned to reading their words as though they were as rigid and precise as the stone their figures are carved in throughout the great cathedrals of the world that it is difficult for us to hear the voices of the stones sound so very human. But if we take scripture at face value, we know that rather than being towering pillars of strength whose real lives rivaled the strength of the stone effigies they would leave behind in the church’s imagination, the people whom Jesus called to be his followers- the people whom the Holy Spirit calls to be the church- are staggeringly unqualified for the job and persistently getting it wrong.  To be sure, they all have their moments of great faith and great influence, but the rest of the time they are deeply flawed, occasionally foolish, frequently afraid, and seem to have to be told the same thing over and over again until it finally sinks in.

So when I read this and many other texts not trying to explain away this emotional outburst from “Petras” Peter who is called “Petros” the Rock, I find that rather than looking at Peter at a distance, I am looking at myself up close. 

Scripture does that a lot.  It uses ancient words to hold a mirror up to us in the here and now so we are able to see, in the common moments we share with men and women so long ago, our own reality staring back at us.

So when I put down the books and pick up the baby and look at this text and allow it to hold up the mirror to my life, it does not take long for me to see that I have the same problem Peter does in that moment; I’ve got some stuff I need to get off my chest and let go of.  We read this text as Peter being this great and towering prophetic voice, but in reality I think it is much more than that.  I think Peter is towering in his vulnerability.  He is towering in his honesty.  He is towering in his willingness to say, “you hurt me and I am still in pain.”

My guess is that I am not the only one who might see something like that in the reflection of this text.  I’m probably not the only one who needs to learn from Peter that letting it out and letting go is important to moving on.

We see what happens for Peter when he lets go.  The rest of the narrative of Acts 3 is Peter calling on the people to turn to the God who is always willing to receive us; to turn to the God who is always ready to forgive; to turn to the very one whose blood they were baying for just weeks before outside Pilate’s palace. 

The story starts with Peter healing in the name of Jesus and ends with him inviting the people into the transformation that comes through belief in the name of Jesus and all the while Peter himself is being moved from hurt to wholeness by what other than the name of Jesus. 

At its core this is a text about the power of Jesus’ name and the hope of the resurrected Christ.  It is the name that can make us whole body and soul.  In all of our wonderfully made sinfulness, God gathers us in and calls us by name. 

That is a hope we are called to share with the world, but also a hope that is shared with us!  Remember the words of the gospel, “God so loved the world.”  Not the rest of the world, or part of the world, but the whole world.  We are in that circle as well; the circle of hearers of the promise as well as bearers of it into the world. 

When I was a seminary intern, the Head of Staff was out of town and the Associate Pastor was dealing with a couple of hospital emergencies, so she called me to go to the home of a member who had died after a long illness and be with the family until she could get things moved around to meet and plan the service.

I was as green as green can get and this was going to be my first visit of this kind so I began to wonder what my strategy should be for the visit.  I may have even asked her using those same words, “what should my strategy be,” and Sallie reminded me as only she could that my job was to go there on behalf of the Church of Jesus Christ and show them and tell them that they are not alone and that Jesus loves them.  No more no less.  And, she said, if you aren’t sure what to say just remember, “to err on the side of pastoral care.”

I went to the house and I am sure that I managed to hit every possible pot hole.  I was sure I was going to get fired for messing up so badly.  Then at the funeral, the daughter of the woman who died took me by the hand and said, “thank you for coming by.  I needed someone to remind me that while Jesus was welcoming mom he still had time for me.”

There is such power in the name of Jesus that even an angry disciple or an inept seminarian can be vehicles for its healing power. 

And when we put down the book and pick up the baby;

when we let ourselves be swept up in the hope and the promise;

when we let out and let go of all the things that weigh us down and we dare to proclaim the power of Jesus’ name the world is not the only thing that will be transformed.  Like Peter standing on Solomon’s Porch who went from lashing out against the people he felt robbed him of his friend to calling those people to repent and know that God is good, we too can and will be transformed when we share the power and the promise of the risen Christ if we share it with open and vulnerable hearts.

He is risen!  He is risen indeed!  Alleluia, alleluia!  Amen!  

Of Shepherds and Nervous Parents

aka The Shepherd Had S#!t on His Hands

Luke 2:1-20

Christmas Eve Year B

First Presbyterian Church Clarksville

Candlelight Service of Word and Sacrament

December 24, 2014

5:30 pm

The Reverend Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

            When you close your eyes and really concentrate, what do you see when you hear the story of the nativity of Christ?  What are the pictures that go with the words in your mind’s eye?

            Perhaps you see visions of the works of the great Renaissance masters with angels, shepherds and the holy family painted with elegant and graceful strokes of the brush.

            Perhaps you see the carved wood nativity that comes out each year to help decorate your home for the holiday; each piece wrapped in paper until the time for it to make its appearance in that special place of honor.

            Perhaps you see church Christmas pageants with angels fidgeting in their homemade gossamer wings, shepherds trying to walk without tripping over the hem of the bathrobe passing as a shepherd’s cloak, and everyone praying that the new born playing Jesus doesn’t get hungry and start to scream in the middle of the show.

            Whatever your picture of the nativity, whatever images come to mind, my guess is that yours is a lot like mine; it is pretty sterile- pretty tame.

            In truth, that starry-starry night so long ago was anything but sterile or tame in that stable in Bethlehem.

            That place was uncomfortable.

            It was inhospitable;

            it was dirty;

            it was smelly;

            it was pretty much the worst possible moment in the worst possible place for the events of that night to unfold.

            There were no elegant strokes of the painter’s brush or cute stumbling cherub faced children to take away the reality of that place that night when a young woman and her fiancé became parents for the very first time.

            When my niece was born, my sister and her husband were that perfect combination of terrified and elated.  Like all first-time parents, they were terrified that there was this little helpless person who was theirs to care for and they had no idea what they were doing.  They, like all other parents, had moments when they became the stuff of hospital legend, panicking at the first sneeze and becoming almost unraveled at the first need of a clean up on aisle 4!

            And, like most parents, they were happy to let the family hold that precious little girl as long as they held her with freshly washed hands.  We used to kid my sister that at first washed hands were not sufficient, she wanted us to have the full Karen Silkwood treatment and be decontaminated from head to toe!  It didn’t take long though until soap and water or a healthy dose of hand sanitizer was enough to earn a little baby time. 

            Mary and Joseph were those first time parents.  Whatever kind of heavenly insight the heavenly host gave to them, there is absolutely no evidence that how to put on a diaper or what to do about that first bout of the sniffles was part of the divine instruction manual.  On some level, Mary and Joseph were like all other new first time parents; they were making it up as they went panicking about the little things, worrying over the mundane, and wrapped up in the anxiety of being responsible for this tiny human.  Of course in their case, that tiny human was also God so my guess is that their anxiety was increased by a factor!

            Like so many maternity waiting rooms today, there were surely some hangers on at the stable that day waiting for Joseph to run out and shout “it’s a boy!” Waiting for a glimpse of the baby in the manger.

            The scriptures are silent on the question, but I bet there were at least a few family or friends who made it in time. 

            One group we know for sure that made it were those shepherds of song and lore.  The ones who were keeping their flock by night and who, at the angel’s invitation, went to Bethlehem to see.

            Despite how they appear in the cute and funny church Christmas pageants on Youtube, the shepherds who showed up that night probably matched their surroundings pretty well.  They were dirty, smelly, pretty much the worst possible candidates to be getting close to a newborn baby.

            At some point, after the baby was wrapped in swaddling cloth, after mother and father began to settle into their new reality, after the chaos of birth gave way to the miracle of new life, the inevitable almost certainly happened.  One of the shepherds asked Mary, “may I hold him?”

            I can only imagine Mary’s face when the dirty shepherd- the one who slept on the ground with the sheep- reached out his arms to hold the newborn baby.   This unwashed, unclean, unsanitary shepherd wanted to hold the Son of God in his unwashed, unclean, unsanitary arms? 

            Nothing in the story itself tells us if this really happened or, if it did, what Mary would have done.  This is one of those places where we read a very human moment between the lines of a holy story.

            My guess is that in the end, Mary did let the shepherd hold the baby.  Dirty as he was, because lets face it there was no soapy water much less any hand sanitizer sitting around, that shepherd got his turn to hold the newborn baby; the newborn king; the newborn prince of peace.  He got his turn because, with this baby, everyone gets a turn. 

            Everyone gets a turn to hold this baby because this baby was born for everyone; for all of us.  This baby was born not only for the cute second grade shepherd walking down the aisle of the church tripping over dad’s bathrobe, but for the unwashed, unclean, unsanitary shepherd straight in from the fields.

            If we really want to follow the advice of the bloviating pundits who fight the phony war on Christmas year after year, let’s really put the Christ back in Christmas and think about what the world would be like if we treated Jesus the way Mary and Joseph did; not as a weapon to be used against the people we don’t like or approve of or care for but as the one who came for us all; the one entrusted to us so that we might share him with the world; the one we all get to hold.

            What, I wonder, would the world look like if we really lived like each and every person we meet deserves the dignity and respect of one who holds the prince of peace in their arms?  What if we lived like we really believed that Jesus came, not for merely the popular, powerful, or even the well-washed, but for all?  What if we lived knowing that each and every pair of hands that reaches out to hold the infant in the manger are hands deserving of that dignity?

            What would it be like to live in a world where…

            Rich hands and poor hands;           

Powerful hands and powerless hands;

            Republican hands and democrat hands;

            Protestant hands and Catholic hands;

            Gay hands and straight hands;

            Joyful hands and sorrowful hands;

            Documented hands and undocumented hands;

            Clean hands and unclean hands all…ALL…get to hold the baby?!

            What kind of world would we create if each and every hand that reached out in wonder, love, hope, or awe got to hold the baby- got to hold the child of God- just for a moment?

            When the angel came to Mary to tell her what was to come to pass, one thing was abundantly clear; her child would not be hers alone.  Mary bore God into the world and God in the world cannot and should not be contained in any one life.  God in the world is God with US- all of US- saint and sinner alike, God came into the world to be known and to know and when we hold the prince of peace in our arms we cradle hope and we know grace.

            This holy night, friends, my we reach out our hands and hold the baby.  May we stand shoulder to shoulder with the holy family and the filthy shepherds and every one of God’s children who reach out to hold the child.  And may we find, in this night and the miracle it ushers in with the dawn of Christ, the courage to see the world like a scared young mother; as a world worthy of sharing the Son of God.

            Thanks be to God that hands even as dirty as ours may hold the baby and know the closeness of God.

            Amen.

Of Butterflies, Eyeglasses, and the Kingdom of God

Matthew 14:13-21

Ordinary 18A

August 3, 2014

First Presbyterian Church, Clarksville

and

Harmony Presbyterian Church

The Rev. Dr. Robert Wm Lowry

            A few years ago, I was up in the mountains in North Carolina camping with some friends.  After setting up camp, we walked to a little field nearby where there is an incredible view to the west into Tennessee.  There are few things in this world as beautiful as the sun setting over the Tennessee River Valley in the summer time. 

            This particular night creation did not disappoint.  I would tell you how many different shades of orange and red that sunset produced, but I am not sure I can count that high.  It was magnificent; something out of a National Geographic photo contest.

            Unbeknownst to me, while I was standing there watching the horizon, a butterfly landed on my eyeglasses; right on the corner of the frame.  A friend who was with me managed to take a picture of it before I disturbed it and it flew away.  In the moment, I didn’t notice my little visitor or the photo being taken either.

            A few weeks later he emailed me the picture; my ear, my eyeglasses, a tiny butterfly, and framing the whole thing, that perfect orange sky.  

            The story we have from Matthew’s gospel is like that perfect sunset.  Jesus, in an act of abundant and unending generosity, miraculously feeds and sates the appetites of a crowd of thousands using just a handful of bread and fish. 

            Just think about the magnitude of that miracle.

            The degree of Jesus’ generosity is on the magnitude of the degree of beauty in a perfect sunset.  It is almost beyond imagination and is entirely beyond sufficient explanation.

            In truth, there is not much new to say about this miracle of abundance.  It stands very well on its own two feet and needs no embellishment from yours truly.

            So rather than talk about the perfect beautiful sunset that this miracle is, let’s spend a few minutes exploring a couple of theological butterflies that alight on us while we are here.  They are subtle and in the face of the splendor of the miracle they are easily left unnoticed.  But even they have insight to offer into this story of the kingdom of God.  And after all, what is a miracle but a peek at the kingdom; a glimpse of the possibilities in store in the kingdom of God.

            To get a sense of what else is happening in this familiar miracle tale, we need to take a step back and see the bigger picture. 

            Our reading today began with the words, “when Jesus heard about John.” 

            This miracle story and the celebration that comes from Jesus’ show of generosity and abundance comes on the heels of a personal tragedy for him.  What Jesus has just heard about John is that Herod, manipulated by Herodias unable to refuse Salome, has had John the Baptist beheaded in prison and his head brought to Salome on a platter. 

            That is what Jesus has just heard about John. 

            Elizabeth’s miracle child, his cousin, the harbinger who proclaimed his coming, the man who baptized him in the River Jordan, has just been murdered and his head presented like a party favor to the spoiled step-daughter of the Roman governor. 

            Jesus hears the news and, Matthew tells us, “he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place.”

            Understandably, Jesus wants some time alone.  He leaves the ever present crowds and even the disciples in order to have some time by himself in this “deserted place.”

            His opportunity for mourning does not last long and his chance for quiet never has a chance to start.  The crowds, learning that he has left by boat, start out by foot from the cities. 

            The scripture is not specific about it but they must have been really hoofing it because two verses later Jesus arrives at the deserted place and finds there a teeming throng of people; the very people from whom he just excused himself for a little time of private mourning after learning about the murder of his friend have run to meet him!

            And when Jesus is rowing his boat and digesting this tragic news; when sees the crowd and discovers his deserted place is no longer deserted…

            …the first butterfly alights on our story.

            When we read this text, we often jump right to the miracle of the feeding, but the first miracle really happens right here. 

            Jesus sees the crowd, has compassion for them, and heals those among them who are sick.

            Before the first hunger pang is felt in this story, we get a glimpse of a miracle:

            He…does…not…row…away.

            Seeing the people he did not want to see, being surrounded by a crowd when all he wanted was to be alone, his deserted spot all of a sudden a muddy pit teeming with needy people, Jesus does not row away.

            In addition to being glimpses into the kingdom of God, miracles are also glimpses into the character of God and in this moment we get a beautiful and vivid reminder that ours is a God who does not row away.

            I missed that little theological butterfly the first few thousand times I read this story.

            Like so many of us, I get so caught up on the promise that God will provide, I missed the whole part of the story that reminds us that first, God will show up!

            Ted Wardlaw, before he became president of Austin Seminary, was pastor of Central Presbyterian Church in downtown Atlanta. 

            A friend who is a member of the church told me a story about Ted’s last Sunday.

            It seems that the church pulled out all the stops to bid farewell to their friend and pastor.  The pews were filled, the folding chairs got more than their usual Easter morning workout, the choir was in full form, and the children’s choir sang a special song during worship.

            Now Central is a big vibrant church so the children’s choir is pretty big.  In order to corral all the kids after their song was over, they had been given instructions to stay put until a parent came down to get them and lead them to children’s church. 

            One by one the parents came and the children scurried off until just one little girl was left.  It was obvious that she had listened to the instructions because she stood there waiting for her parent to come and take her to children’s church.

            And she waited.

            And the church waited.

            And waited some more.

            Unbeknownst to her, her father was in the very back of the sanctuary behind folding chairs and the standing room crowd and it was taking him a little while to get to the chancel.  Finally, her lip quivering a in a pre-cry panic, she saw him, threw open her arms and declared, “I knew you’d come!  I just knew you’d come!”

            Ted is one of the best preachers I have ever heard, but I am betting that more than one person would tell you he preached the second best sermon that Sunday.

            “I knew you’d come!  I just knew you’d come!”

            Something like that must have been going through the minds of the sick people in the crowd on whom Jesus had compassion and healed.  

            Before the bread, before the fish, before the miracle of the abundant feast they knew the miracle of the God who does not row away; the God who shows up.

            We could really stop right there.

            A big beautiful mountaintop sunset of a miracle in the feeding of the 5000 and an alighting butterfly of a miracle that makes the whole thing all the more amazing.

            Good stuff.

            But not all of it.

            Yes God shows up and yes, in showing up, God is compassionate and giving in abundance…

            …and…

            God does all of that in this world. 

            In a world where Jesus’ own cousin is beheaded in prison and his head served like a gag gift at a party, God does this kind of work.

            Just think about that for a minute.   

            This world of sinfulness and brokenness is the canvas on which God chooses to paint with grace and compassion.

            This may be where my butterfly metaphor falls apart because far from landing unnoticed, that should hit us all like a ton of bricks!

              In a world so broken, so sinful, so beyond contempt that a person is made to endure indignity even beyond death the way John did; into that world, God shows up, offers compassion, and gives with miraculous abundance. 

            There are echoes in this familiar miracle story of those often comforting and occasionally disquieting words of Paul to the Christians at Rome,

“for I am convinced that neither death nor life nor angels nor rulers nor things present nor things to come nor height nor depth nor any other thing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

            In addition to a God who shows up and does not row away from us, ours is a God whose compassion and grace are so relentless not even the deepest and most persistent brokenness and sin can keep God away. 

            The God of compassion who always shows up, shows up here- in this world- this messy broken world.

            So what do we do with all of this?  Having peeled back the familiar to seek out a little more of this story what is it we are called to do?

            In the face of a world where children are detained like criminals at our border; where bombs are lobbed back and forth across the increasingly scorched landscape of the Holy Land; where partisanship has replaced humanity as the guiding governing principle of our day; where greed is considered good and charity weakness; in the face of that world we are called to remember that ours is a God of hope and comfort; a savior of grace and compassion. 

            In the face of this world and in the wake of this miracle story we are called to be the body of Christ in the world; the hands and heart of the one who never rows away; who never tires of compassion; who relentlessly declares the promise of God’s tomorrow in the midst of the brokenness of the world’s today. 

            And perhaps the miracle of all miracles in this familiar tale is that when all is said and done; when we reach the end of the scene and every heart is stilled and every mouth is fed, there is plenty left over.  Twelve baskets full in fact.  And that, if my math is correct, is in fact more than the five loaves and two fish they started with. 

            So it is with the love of God and the grace of Christ we are called to share. 

            When all is said and done, there is plenty more where that came from and more than enough to go around.

            In the name of the God who never leaves.  Amen.