This week, we get another perspective on part of what I read and preached on last Sunday.  Then, we heard from St. Mark, a later companion of Peter.  Scholars are pretty sure we hear about Mark in the Acts of the Apostles.  Mark’s account of the Gospel largely relies on what he remembered, heard, from Peter.  Today, we hear from St. John, one of the original twelve, a fisherman.  John was on the hilltop with Jesus when he asked Philip where they could buy bread to feed that multitude.  John was there, astounded, as five barley loaves and two fish, through Jesus, became enough to feed them all, with food to spare.

John was there in the boat being thrashed on the dark, heaving sea; there, terrified with the rest of them, seeing what seemed to be a human shape, walking toward them on the seesawing waters: a ghost from the underworld, come to call them all down to death!  John was relieved, joyful, with all of them, to hear the familiar voice, calling out to them, “Don’t be afraid, it is I!”  John, relieved and joyful like the rest, was also feeling a holy dread, a deep wonder, as the question once more formed in his mind, in his heart, “Who is this?  Who is this man?”

John is clearer than Mark that this crowd of about five thousand (men) hurries to where Jesus and his disciples will come ashore, “because they had seen his miracles of healing the sick” (6:2).  Not first of all because they wanted to hear what Jesus had to say; not first of all because they felt, somewhere, somehow deep inside that they needed to be following this man, but because they wanted to see more.  This was better than TV, better even than YouTube.

I’m not sure I can visualize five thousand men.  How many can be seated at Texas Memorial Stadium?—oops! I mean Kyle Field.  As you well know, a lot more than five thousand men.  Five thousand, plus women and children (let’s say ten to twelve thousand), is a large crowd.  Each is there for slightly different reasons; some don’t quite know why they are there.  Some were just dragged along and would really have preferred to be doing something else, anything else.  It’s kind of like church, or the way it used to be: why am I here?  Do we have to?  I don’t want to!

In this sixth chapter of John’s account, Jesus teaches at length about himself.  Part of what he is teaching is that all these acts of power, marvels that have attracted the attention of so many, are signs pointing to something bigger, more important: the saving power of God.  Foes of Christianity and Christians, and even some Christians, focus on the condemning power of God.  Now, there are those whom God will condemn: Scripture is quite plain about that.  Only we do not know whom God will condemn; hence, that very memorable saying of Jesus about not condemning others.  This does not mean that we cannot recognize sin; this does not mean that we should not compassionately, empathetically counsel with one who has sinned or with one who has made a habit of some sin, or with one who has gotten it into his or her head that the sin is no sin but rather a blessing from God.  I touched indirectly on these things last week.  Let’s not get hooked on a feeling.

Those who want nothing to do with Christ or Christians are quick to call us judgmental, quick to point to the condemning power of God, yet they fail to recognize the saving power of God.  Beloved, God is far more interested in saving than in condemning.  Jesus should be proof of that!  If I can phrase divine things in such a human way, God will condemn only those who bring condemnation upon themselves.

Today, Jesus is addressing God’s power to save; indeed, Jesus is God’s power to save.  Salvation power is not just in Jesus Christ: Jesus Christ is God’s power of salvation.  To be in the presence of Jesus is to be in the presence of salvation.

It is this power that is on display in what I read this morning.  Jesus and his disciples are sitting on a hilltop, with all this crowd gathered and waiting for something, wondering if something is going to happen.  Jesus turns to Philip, asks him where they can buy bread enough to feed everyone.  Philip, taking Jesus literally, does some quick calculations, and reports back that $18,000 wouldn’t be enough for all of them even to have a little.  Besides, they don’t have $18,000.  Hey, have any of you got that much on you?  Or, if we all emptied our wallets and purses right now—there are more than twelve of us, after all—how much do you think we could scrape together?  Probably not enough to feed upwards of twelve thousand people.  Hopeless.  Academic.  Moot.  We are so few.  We have so little.  What can we do?

Andrew (helpfully?) volunteers that there is a boy who has some bread and some fish, but this is not enough for all.  So, there is a little food . . . but what’s the use?  What would be enough for all?  Who has enough for all?  No one.  Forget it.  Why talk about such things?

Beloved, Jesus came precisely to talk about such things.  Where can food be had, true food, food for life, enough for all?  Suddenly, we’re talking about more than bread and fish, or tacos or pizza or brisket and sausage—good as all those things are!  Where is true food for true life?  Who has it?  What is it?

          Jesus tells the twelve to have everyone sit down; he takes the bread and the fish the boy had, that microscopic fraction of what would be needed for all even to have just a little; then, having taken bread, Jesus thanks God, and gives.  I’m hoping this is sounding like something to you, now.  The order is not exactly the same as at the Last Supper, Communion, but the acts are nearly the same.  Jesus isn’t simply feeding: he is teaching, he is revealing, he is demonstrating, he is inviting.  He does the same with the fish.  John tells us that “all had as much as they wanted” (6:11).  Note that.  He does not record that all had as much as they needed, but as much as they wanted.  Now, when it comes to pizza, what I need and what I want are, well, different.  When it comes to donuts, what I need and what I want . . . well, you get the idea.  Jesus does not give us only as much as we need and no more, as though he rationed it out, like some food pyramid or Daily Plate: here is your daily allotment, 6 ounces of lean protein.  Gee.  Thanks.

Who has what we need?  Where can we get it?  What is it?  That’s what Jesus is inviting all these people to think about.  How can we get it?  Jesus invites us to feel our way toward the answer.  There, from the hilltop, Jesus gives everyone not only what they need, but as much as they want.

Ah, but we don’t always take what we need, or get what we need, and there are things that many people simply do not want.  God, for example.  I’ll take the money and you can keep your God.  I’ll take the food and you can keep your God.  I wonder how many of that twelve thousand or so there that day, seeing what was happening, receiving as much bread and as much fish as they wanted, I wonder how many of them began to understand what was happening, there, what was happening to them, what had come upon them, who had come to them.

Some seem to have decided that something was happening, because a loud group is determined right then and there to seize Jesus, hustle him off to Jerusalem, and declare him king (6:14-15).  A man running for mayor of Chicago recently went to a church and gave away $300,000 to about two thousand people.  It was advertised as a “property tax relief assistance” event.[1]  Now, when it comes time for the election, I wonder how many of those two thousand will remember who it was that gave them cash?  Why do voters vote for candidates?  At least one reason may be that they vote for the one who seems most likely to give them stuff.  If this one gives us all the bread and fish we want now, just imagine what he will give us when we shove him onto the throne!  They will make Jesus king, by force, on their terms, to suit their expectations and to fulfill their plans, as though Jesus were like a magic key, a magic wand, a tool with which to do their works.

But Jesus is not ours.  We are his.  God is not ours.  We are His.  Jesus asked Philip where they could go to buy enough to feed all the people.  Philip and Andrew replied, in essence, “nowhere,” and they were right.  Where they would need to go they could not go.  What they needed in order to purchase bread, life, they did not have and could not get.  They are right; they answer rightly.  Jesus teaches them there on the hilltop.  They don’t quite understand, right then and there, but later, on another hilltop, they begin to.

None of the twelve have any food with them.  Jesus would know if they did.  This unnamed child, this boy, has a little; it seems he has offered it to the apostles, to Jesus.  But what can be done with so little?  Beloved, with Jesus, what cannot be done?  When we bring our little to Jesus, when we bring it in faith, hope, and love, be prepared for astounding results.

Where will Jesus go to get it?  How will he purchase it?  What will he pay for it?  That’s what his followers still need to learn, to see, to feel.  When they do, once they have, they will know beyond all doubt that they have been changed.  Everything changes, on that hill, far away and so close.

Jesus afterward tells his followers not to let that food go to waste—so our translation puts it.  But the Greek John wrote says so that none might be lost.  Don’t let what Jesus has done in your heart be lost; don’t let it go to waste.

And to Jesus Christ, who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests of his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever.

                [1] http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2018/07/23/chicago-mayoral-candidate-gives-out-hundreds-thousands-dollars-to-potential-voters-at-church.html