Sermon

Sound Bites

by The Rev. Bryan England, Deacon

A couple of weeks ago, Dean White e-mailed me and said, “I’m working on the preaching schedule for August.  Are you available August 2?”

I responded, “Yes, but are you up for it?”

“Totally,” he replied, “I’ll be on vacation.”

I asked if he was up for it because my sermons tend to arouse a certain amount of controversy within the cathedral polity.  In fact, last fall, Dean White asked me, “How do you keep doing it?” My response was, “I’m a deacon.”

That particular incident was motivated not by something that I said, but something I did.  Last fall I became involved with a group of Kansas City area clergy who backed the candidacy of a particular candidate for president of the United States.  These clergy sponsored a rally at the J.C. Nichols Fountain, featuring speakers from a number of area congregations, all espousing the aspirations of this particular candidate, plus the obligatory waving of signs along the curb of 47th Street, and receiving the obligatory honks of approbation, or gestures of derision.

It was while engaged in the latter activity that a person with a video camera approached and asked me what I was doing there.  I told him, and then when he asked what church I was with, I responded honestly, as I hope you would do.  Guess who was the only person quoted that night on the 10 o’clock news?

Why was I the only clergy at that rally quoted on the news?  Because I have been an activist for a great deal of my life, and I know what a sound bite is.

Wikipedia, the font of all knowledge, begins its definition of “sound bite” as follows:

Before the actual term “sound bite” had been coined, Mark Twain described the concept as “a minimum of sound to a maximum of sense.” It is characterized by a short phrase or sentence that deftly captures the essence of what the speaker is trying to say. Such key moments in dialogue (or monologue) stand out better in the audience’s memory and thus become the “taste” that best represents the entire “meal” of the larger message or conversation.

I gave the reporter with a video camera a sound bite, because I knew that media are looking, not for reasoned logic, but for quotable quotes; quick little phrases that fit nicely into their narratives without taking up too much air time, and because of that, I was the only one quoted on that night’s news.

Long before Wikipedia, or I, or even Mark Twain, grasped the concept of sound bites, Jesus of Nazareth was a master of them.

In last week’s Gospel lesson, Jesus had fed five thousand people with five loaves and two fish.  He then sent the disciples across the Sea of Galilee to Capernaum, but surprised the heck out of them by catching up about half way across the sea by walking upon the water.

The next morning those of crowd who had not left noticed that Jesus and the disciples had slipped way, and got into boats themselves and crossed the sea to find him..  When they did they asked the question that was foremost in their minds, “Rabbi, when did you come here?” They knew he didn’t leave the night before with the disciples.  How had he gotten to Capernaum?

In his usual fashion, Jesus ignored their question and got to the root of things.  “You’re looking for me because I gave you bread in the wilderness, and now you’re hungry again.  But you’re concentrating on the wrong thing.  That was just bread.  Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which I will give you.”

“Why should we believe you?” They ask.  “What sign are you going to show us?” There was a rabbinical rule that if a prophet who was not yet recognized as a prophet could give some sign or perform some wonder, he must be listened to.  Otherwise, he could be ignored.

This is where the Revised Common Lectionary, which we are currently using, and the Episcopal Lectionary differ in Old Testament readings.  Instead of the continuing soap opera which comprised the life of King David, which we heard this morning, the Episcopal Lectionary features a reading from Exodus which relates how God fed the people of Israel in the wilderness.  This is clearly the parallel that John is trying to make in his account of the feeding of the five thousand.

“What work are you performing?” the crowd asked Jesus.  Moses gave our ancestors manna to eat in the wilderness.  Is that what the trick with the bread and the fish meant?  Was that the sign you’re giving us?  They even quote the scriptures at him.  “He gave them bread from heaven to eat.”

Jesus probably just shook his head.  “It’s not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven; it’s my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven, the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

Well, this is what they’ve been after all along, isn’t it?  This is what they followed him across the sea for.  “Sir, give us this bread always!”

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

There is the sound bite, a short, memorable summation of everything Jesus was trying to say.  It’s also a fairly catchy concept for a contemporary hymn.

Bread was the staple food in their culture, the cornerstone of their diet.  The little meat or other vegetables they could afford was just to provide a little more flavor or nutrition to a meal that was otherwise made up entirely of bread.  Without bread, starvation was inevitable.

What did Jesus mean?  “I am the bread of life.” Jesus meant that he was not sent to feed the world.  He was the food.  He was not the messenger, as Moses was.  He was the message.  Jesus meant that he is the staple of our relationship with God, of our relationship with each other (as Paul said, “we are members of one another.”), of our very human existence.  And without Jesus, we will surely starve.

But with Jesus, we will thrive.  “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Jesus is like a spiritual all you can eat salad bar.  Jesus is like a never ending brunch at the Dock.  Just take a new plate, and pile it high again.  “Sir, give us this food always!”

But what must we do?  There’s a verse that looks out of place in this dialog with Jesus.  The people ask, “What must we do to perform the works of God.” This is referring to Chapter 4, verse 34, where Jesus says, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work.” Jesus responds to them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.”

I have made this analogy before, but I think it is worth making it again.  Did you ever see the movie Hook, with Dustin Hoffman as Captain Hook and Robin Williams as a bizarre Peter Pan?  Peter had grown up and forgotten that he was actually the Pan, but he suddenly finds himself back in Neverland, trying to reclaim his title.  While he’s in this process, trying to reclaim his lost youth and his leadership of the Lost Boys, they call him to dinner.  He sets down at the table with everyone else, but there’s nothing on the table.  No food, anywhere.

“Use your imagination, Peter,” he is told, “Believe, Peter.” And when he does, when Peter uses his imagination and believes, suddenly the table is piled high with every imaginable kind of food.

“This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.” “Believe, Peter.” Belief is not something that happens, it is something that we do.  We chose to believe.  And when we do, suddenly we are no longer hungry, no longer thirsty.  Our table is piled high with everything we could ever need.

Jesus is the bread from heaven, and we are called by Christ, by our baptismal covenant, to share that bread with the world.  Having believed, we must act accordingly and share that belief.  Having eaten, we must share with those who hunger, until we all join in that heavenly banquet, of which this is only a foretaste.

© Grace and Holy Trinity Cathedral