More than Enough [Proper 12B - John 6:1-21]

 The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

John 6:1-21

 

More than Enough

 

There are no bad ideas: this is something people actually say – often desperate people who find themselves leading all-too-quiet brainstorming sessions.  And everybody knows, it’s not true.  St. Andrew knows.  He realizes it just as his bad idea escapes his mouth.  Once it’s out there, you can’t put it back.  And so he tries to cover.  “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish.”  You can practically hear Andrew’s thoughts fill the space between the sentences: “why did I say that?  That was so stupid…”  And so he smoothly adds, “But what are they among so many people?”

 

Well, the answer is, and Andrew knows it: not much.  Perhaps a decent meal for the boy who packed it.  But in a crowd of 5000 people – 5000 hungry people – it was so little, it was insignificant.  The truth was: they did not have enough.

 

The latest round of articles forecasting the decline, and eventual extinction, of the Episcopal Church was recently posted on the internet.  These articles are presently being shared and debated on social media; one of the newest additions to the collection of gloomy literature was actually written by one of my college classmates.  Folks are reading charts and wringing hands.  This is nothing new; these dour projections are released even more frequently then offerings from the Marvel Universe.   And, of course, it’s not just us; every mainline denomination, the Church of England, even evangelical groups bear some metrics of decline.  The world, and its social scientists, have little hope for the future of the Church.

 

This cycle of despair and panic has been a prevalent in the Church for my entire ordained life – and, of course, long before I ever made my vows.   A decade ago I accompanied one of my members to a diocesan conference for interested aspirants, people considering ordained ministry.  I was, at the time, a rector in my early thirties; the man with whom I attended this event was about 15 years my senior.  The speaker impressed on those gathered, all older than myself, that by the time they were ordained, most churches would be in the throes of such severe decline they would no longer be able to support full-time ordained vocations; the presenter suggested that those in the audience consider another vocation or at least be prepared to establish a lucrative side hustle.  This was not great news for me, since I was five years in and 30 years short of retirement eligibility – also I had a new baby at home.  Ten years after that prediction though, I am glad to report that there are still plenty of healthy parishes and plenty of full-time clergy in the Episcopal Church.

 

The history of the Church is littered with premature predictions of its demise.  In the 19^th century, about 200 years ago, the writer of the great hymn The Church’s One Foundation was apparently intimately familiar with this train of thought.  He wrote, “Though with a scornful wonder men see her sore oppressed, by schisms rent asunder, by heresies distressed.”  In every century the Church has been tossed and battered, from within and without; it has shown its cracks; it has been mourned and, by many, abandoned. 

 

The Church, the one holy catholic and apostolic Church, has been left for dead countless times.  The scent of death is in our very DNA.  I would venture to say that most citizens of the first century Roman Empire, in which the Jesus movement was started, would have considered it highly unlikely that the Church could survive beyond its first generation – especially after the early leaders of the movement, people like Peter, James, and Paul were slaughtered.

 

But the Church, the body of Christ in this world, survived then and continues to weather each and every storm.  It’s not always easy; the Church, it seems, is always and forever afloat on a rough sea.  But God seems to think it is important that we are around – in this world, transporting the Gospel in a leaky boat.  In some cases the storms we suffer are of our own making.  At other times we set off courageously into the choppy waters because God needs the Church to be present in the midst of chaos, to be lifeboat amidst the shipwrecks of this world.  And then there are times the storms move in swiftly and unexpectedly – and all we can do is hold on tight and hope Jesus finds us amidst the waves.   

 

We have spent the past year and a half navigating a tumultuous sea.  Certainly the entire world has experienced more than enough grief and upheaval during these disorienting pandemic days.  The Church has not been immune.  Early in the pandemic, research groups predicted that as many as a third of our nation’s churches would not survive the pandemic.  Certainly some haven’t; many others though have proven more resilient than anticipated. 

 

If I am honest, there have been days, during these past 18 months, when I have worried about our future, when I have lamented the losses of this time, when I have felt frustrated and helpless, feeling I have little to offer in the midst of this crisis.  Sometimes I look back longingly on the days before COVID interrupted our lives and I remember that we were riding a wave of momentum into 2020; the Bishop was with us, celebrating our trajectory, just weeks before the world started spiraling.  Now we are headed toward uncertain shores, needing to do some rebuilding and some regathering – a congregation of people forever altered by the changes and chances of this life. 

But we do so, we face the storms of life and the uncertainty of the future, knowing that our ship is strong and our crew is faithful.  Grace and St. Stephen’s has weathered storms before; this parish has stared down thrashing waves; we have navigated chaotic seas.  And we have found Jesus in those waters with us.  And so we approach the shores of our future confident in the one who promises never to leave.  We face the future buoyed by a faith that has been tried and found true, possessed by a stubborn hope that defies every dour forecast and every doomed prediction.

 

One of those discouraging reports claimed that the Episcopal Church will be extinct by the year 2040.  That better not be the case because we are just about to put that ventilation system in.  But I don’t buy it.  In part because I’ve heard it all before.  But also because those reports are flawed – in one very significant way: they never account for Jesus.

 

St. Andrew’s suggestion in today’s Gospel was ridiculous.  Two fish and five loaves could never feed five thousand people.  The math doesn’t work. 

 

But that is because they forgot to factor in Jesus.  Jesus makes the math work.  He is the reason I am confident about our future – as a parish, as Episcopalians, as members of the Christian Church.  You see, the rough seas don’t scare Jesus.  And when I look out over this lawn I see the body of Christ, I see the face of Jesus.  I see him working in your lives.  I see Jesus transforming this big world through little you.  I see Jesus making a big, holy difference, even out of something as tiny as a circle of bread or a single act of love or a faithful, fragile human family. 

 

And the thing that I know about Jesus, what the Gospel tells us about Jesus, what the history of the Church tells us about Jesus: is that even a little something is more than enough when we place it in his hands.