SERMONS

By The Rev. Alston Johnson

“There is within every soul a thirst for happiness and meaning,” Thomas Aquinas.

Aquinas is referring to that spiritual itch that we all have that begs to be scratched. We pant for answers, for meaning, for happiness. It reminds me of bears waking in Spring, turning over logs, looking under rocks, not for food, but for something none the less that will feed us.
Over the past few Sundays we have been lost in the crowds of John’s Gospel; the sheep without a shepherd. They follow Jesus because they are hungry for something. Something that will end the hunger pangs deep in their hearts.

After feeding the 5000, this crowd wakes the next day to find that Jesus had gone. Vanished. So they set sail across the water looking for the bread maker, the fish monger, the wonder worker - “Rabbi when did you come here?” As if to say, we are coming to depend on you, we have pinned some mighty big hopes on you, don’t leave us lest we become lost again.

Something that helps me know that Jesus was a real person - is that he is sometimes quick on the uptake. He comes back fast. “Don’t you Rabbi me . . . you are not looking for me for what I want to give you, but for what you want to get from me; fill your bellies.”

The crowd knows the terminology: Rabbi, teacher, spiritual master; but what Jesus knows is that they are still using that term for what it can get for them. Jesus is chiding them a bit. Jesus is waiting for them to turn a corner in their hearts and minds. The crowd is chasing the wrong kind of food.

“Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.”

Jesus wants them to see food in a new way; there is a corner that must be turned.

It seems to me that there is always this problem - either we don’t understand what Jesus is offering, or we simply do not want what is offered. The crowd really does not yet understand; it seems that they want Jesus to work as they have known God to work in the past.

“Jesus - you are talking about bread; we know about bread. You are talking about God - we know about God. God sent the bread, the manna, in the Wilderness . . . and no one starved to death. So what sign, what trick, are you going to do for us, are you going to put on the table, so that we may know you are real? We already know about bread from heaven, by association, by tradition.”

Jesus is faced with that problem that every teacher faces - trying to explain something to folks who believe, honestly believe, that they have nothing to learn. The people in the crowd want something to hang their hat on - a sign - something like their ancestors had - some confirmation.

Its as though they are trying to connect the dots, to reconstruct what they already know about - bread, heaven - perhaps Jesus is another Moses, perhaps his bread is like the manna; perhaps this is one great repetition of some prior God event - like the manna in the Wilderness.

But Jesus is not going to perform according to their expectations.

“Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life . . .” Do not be active for, do not pursue, do not long for things that perish . . . give yourselves to something that lasts forever.

Turn a corner in your live, and your attention, turn a corner in how you understand yourselves and God - change the way you see things.

“Daaa, Daaa, Daaa, Daaa.” This is what Benjamin said one morning as he pointed into the air. We were at the swings at Fireman’s Park in Cleveland Mississippi. Beautiful morning. And when the children were young I would face them, push on the swings, talk to them, sing a little song.
“Daa, Daa, Daa,” Benjamin reached up, pointing again. Trying to say something. And so I filled in what I thought Benjamin was trying to say to me - “Yes, daddy loves you too. Yes, daddy is pushing you in the swing.”

Certainly what he was saying had to be about me.

“Daa, daa, daaa . . .” Benjamin did it again. He smiled. His eyes seemed to be looking around at something. Pointing his finger.

So I glanced over my shoulder to see what he could see.

And for a moment everything stopped.

Hundreds of dragonflys were hovering over the field in the morning sunlight, bluesky. Like a fleet of airships - they filled the space. Had that feeling - light breathing, clutch in the heart - realizing to myself, “this is one of God’s visions, little bookmarks.” Compass needle pointing to True North.

God was giving me some living bread.

You see, the reason I had the kids at the park that morning was because my wife was at home finishing some packing. We were leaving a place and a life that we dearly loved, so that one of our children might have a better chance.

Standing in that park that morning I was frightened.
I feared the unknown; that my years as a priest might be over. I was frightened of not knowing what lay ahead for this special child. Frightened for my family - what next? Frightened for myself . . . Where is the “bread” coming from? What next? I cannot see far enough down this road.

For weeks, for months, I worked the desperate calculus of faith, - “if this happens here, and this happens here, then this happens, and this happens, and then we will all be O.K.” Hedging bets. Hoping for the best. Forcing an outcome.

Mostly I felt like a man moving furniture around on a sinking ship.

Deep down, deep down, there were pieces of the equation missing; having to do with faith, trust. I was “working for the food that perishes.” And perhaps the worst part, was that I knew it, deep down, I knew I needed another kind of bread but was not ready to see it.
Standing at those swings that morning - I had my backed turned on something that Jesus was trying to show me in my life.

With my own eyes, with my back turned, I could not see it.

Benjamin was there to point it out to me.

And so I turned around and pushed the kids from the other side, and we sang our little dragon fly song, drinking in this vision that I feel was prepared for us. One of those beautiful, blessed moments, one of those thin places in our lives.

In my soul, in that moment, in that totally unexpected vision of dragon flies, I got the last piece of an equation that I had been trying to solve on my own. I got a piece of bread with which to end a certain kind of fearful hunger.

That moment has taken its place in a series of bookmarks; places in the story where I put down the pen, and another hand begins to write.

He is in the world, even when we are living as though He were not.

He feeds us when we cannot feed ourselves.

And He sends us guides, sometimes who simply say, “Daa, Daa, Daa,” to show us the bread from heaven that will help us make the journey we are on.

“I am the bread of life: Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

Put down your life and follow me . . . follow me.