Proper 12B

Denise Giardina

2 Kings 4:42-44; Psalm 145:10-19; Ephesians 3:14-21; John 6:1-21’

We might call today Miracle Sunday. Our appointed Gospel includes not just one miracle, but two, one on top of the other. It’s kind of like, buy one pizza and get a second free. First Jesus feeds thousands of people with a few loaves and fishes. Then, if that’s not enough, later that evening Jesus decides to take a stroll, on top of a lake.

If I am tempted to joke about Jesus walking on water, I’m not the only one. When it comes to clerical jokes, walking on water is right at the top of the list. I did an Internet search, and I decided to spare you the results, because the jokes I found were pretty bad. Most of them start with some combination of a Catholic priest, a Protestant pastor, and a Jewish rabbi out in a boat fishing, or end with a risen Jesus with holes in his feet that allow for leaks. The jokes go downhill, or underwater, from there. But the existence of these jokes indicates how popular, and widely known, this story is. As for the loaves and fishes, it is pertinent that, of all the stories in the gospels, this is the only one that makes an appearance in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Such a widely remembered story must capture an event that made a great impact upon its original hearers, and its original participants.

These stories also raise questions about how we approach the miracles of the New Testament in general. We might identify two broad approaches. The first is the simplest. If we accept a literal reading of scripture, as many people do, then the explanation is clear. Those few loaves and fishes expanded, by magical means, into many. Jesus is a sort of Harry Potter, without the magic wands and incantations. And the multitude is fed. And then Jesus, defying the laws of nature and physics, sets out to skim the top of the Sea of Galilee, while the wind and water churn around him. No doubt an unearthly light illuminates him as his blond hair whips in the wind. Somewhere, a heavenly soundtrack is playing.

Or we can reject the literal approach and search for explanations. We can imagine the scene as the crowd gathers to listen to Jesus. It is a desperate crowd; many people are in search of healing of one sort or the other. Time passes, and people grow hungry, and the disciples wonder how to relieve their distress. Then a boy in the crowd offers his bread and fish. A meager meal. But the boy had the foresight to pack a dinner before he went out to follow after Jesus, realizing the journey might be long before he made it back home again. And surely others would have planned in the same manner, for some of us are better than others at looking ahead. And when those others saw the boy share his meal, they opened their own pouches, and brought out their own food to share, and soon all were being fed in that atmosphere of camaraderie created by the presence of the Son of God. And all were filled. A moving, and plausible, explanation of what happened that day.

What then might be the logical explanation for the sight of Jesus walking on water? Well, we might wonder what the disciples were smoking on the boat that evening.

Indeed, walking on water is more difficult to come up with a rational explanation for, at first glance. But let’s hold onto it, and come back to it at the end of the sermon. For both of these stories deserve to be unpacked further. And one way to do that is to consider that miracles do not necessarily need to happen in instant time. By instant time, I mean, something that happens at once, with the snap of a finger. People can be fed, not just all at once, but over time. And Jesus might walk on water in a myriad of ways, and by doing so, point us in a myriad of directions.

Consider this. The miracle of the loaves and fishes happens every day, twice a day, in this building. Manna Meal started not with loaves and fishes, but with jars of peanut butter and jelly and a loaf of bread, in January of 1976. And now, 33 years later, more and more people are being fed. Is that not a miracle?

We might consider that miracle when we wonder about other miracles that still have not happened. I am referring, for example, to health care for all of us. Decent health care is a necessity and a human right. The crowds that drew close to Jesus, the crowds he fed with loaves and fishes, came to him in the first place because they wanted healing. They wanted health care. Throughout the gospels, Jesus heals those who are sick, who are lame, who are blind. How can we make sure today that healing is available to all of us? How can I, with several pre-existing conditions, be sure I will be taken care of? How can you, if you lose your job, be covered if you or your family members become ill? How can you, if you are young and not yet settled in your vocation, be covered? Or if you have a job but your employer does not provide health care? Or if you are self-employed? We need to share. We need the miracle of the loaves and fishes, to provide health care in this country. Bringing about that miracle is a messy, political process. It has not come to fruition yet, but I pray that someday it will.

I also think, when I consider the miracle of the loaves and fishes, of General Convention, which just ended last week in Anaheim. What happened in Anaheim is another miracle that did not happen overnight, or with the wave of a magic wand. I recall when I entered Virginia Theological Seminary, in the fall of 1976, the same year Manna Meal started. That fall, General Convention met and considered whether or not women could be ordained in the Episcopal Church. Of the several hundred students at Virginia, there were only around 20 of us women. On the night when General Convention was scheduled to vote, we few were invited to the home of the only woman faculty member at our seminary. In those days without Internet, we waited for a phone call.

It felt as though we were part of some underground, subversive movement. As we waited, I recalled some of the history I knew of the Episcopal Church, that women had only recently been denied membership on vestries, that girls had not been allowed to serve as acolytes. I wondered if this was really a church I wished to be part of. Would this church offer me loaves and fishes to eat, or only a stone? Then the phone call came, and we learned that women would be ordained in the Episcopal Church. Now, 33 years later, our presiding bishop is a woman. And the miracle continues, as the Episcopal Church has affirmed the ordination of gays and lesbians, and has moved toward blessing same-sex relationships. We are not all the way there yet, but remember, most miracles are not all-at-once phenomena. Miracles unfold over time.

Now let’s reconsider the story of Jesus walking on water, as I promised. I think it’s important to consider the entire context. Jesus seems to have been worn out by the demand of the crowd that followed him, and he wanted to get away. That is understandable. Jesus gave and gave to people; but he was also a tired human being who needed to protect himself. In addition, people had begun to speak of making Jesus king, and he wanted no part of that. Earthly power was not Jesus’ plan.

Perhaps the disciples were tired as well. Perhaps they were trying to sort out who this Jesus really was – a healer, a king, a madman -- and it was easier to talk about that without Jesus around. So they set sail on the lake without Jesus – they went as far as four miles. I can’t but wonder – did they mean to leave Jesus behind for good, or would they go back for him? Had the crowds become too demanding, too intense? It would be understandable if the disciples, as well as Jesus, felt this way. But Matthew tells a version of the same story, and he makes clear that the disciples tried to return for Jesus, but the wind was against them.

And in both versions, here comes Jesus after the disciples. Over the waves, on top of the water. Nothing, it seems, could part the Son of God from his followers. And that is the message of comfort for us as well.

The Episcopal Church, right now, is in a boat cast out to sea. We have been battered, tossed back and forth by the wind, for the stands we have taken. We have not yet put into shore. How will the Anglican Communion, how will the world, respond to what we have done? We don’t yet know. It is an unsettling feeling. And yet, we are not abandoned. Jesus Christ is with us. He can cross any gulf, even walk upon waves, to reach us, and so he has done. He is with us every time we break bread, unlimited supplies of bread. We continue to be led across the lake with Jesus as companion, and we continue to be fed, week after week, at this table. Those are the greatest miracles of all.