We’ve started a new series today called “Changemakers,” the premise of which is a two-fold theological truth. The world, its communities, and its people are broken, hurting, and fallen, but God is a gracious and loving God who wills, inspires, and makes possible healing, restoration, and positive, even salvific, change.
Between now and Thanksgiving, in our worship services, we will build upon this truth by opening ourselves to discern and discover the changes we can make in our lives and in our community.
Ironically, an act of repetition will help us pursue these changes.
We’ve accustomed to hearing different scripture passages each time we worship. Usually our Sunday lessons follow one of the Bible’s big story arcs, like our readings from the Book of Exodus this fall, but the specific verses change from week to week.
During this series, however, we’re going to read the same passage over and over again. It’s Mark 6:30-44, commonly called the Feeding of the Multitude or the Loaves and the Fish.
Now, I’ll admit that when I first saw this feature of the series, I was a bit dubious. Actually, I was a little annoyed. You see, I’ve never tried to preach on the same passage four weeks in a row and I was concerned how doing so would force me to change my preaching process and preparation, and I didn’t want to change.
And then I realized that that’s the point.
If I’m going to lead a series about making changes, then I better buy into it, or better yet, I better open myself to experiencing change.
It’s true, isn’t it, that changing how we approach a task is often a vital step in helping us change the outcome of that task.
When my oldest son was little, he attended preschool on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. At that time, our family lived downtown by the Brooklyn Bridge, so every morning Oliver and I had to make a rush hour commute on the Lexington Avenue subway.
It was challenging. The express trains were packed to the point that it was physically impossible for another person to get on, a part of the New York experience that I didn’t enjoy very much when I was on my own, but one that I became particularly sensitive to when I had my child with me.
At least I’m tall enough to see over most people on the train and big enough to hold my space. Oliver was just trapped down there in a sea of winter coats, laptop bags, and Starbuck orders.
It was always stressful. Most days it was miserable. And we needed to make a change.
So we started taking the uptown local, the six train.
It was amazing–or at least as amazing as a New York City rush hour commute to preschool could be.
Everyday we got a seat. Oliver would read a book or I’d quiz him on Star Wars characters, and even though it added a few minutes to our commute, it was so worth it.
Changing trains turned a major source of stress into something positive. Honestly, those 6 train commutes are some of the best memories from that time in my life.
Changing how we approach a task is often a vital step in helping us change the outcome of that task.
When the task is reading scripture, we pray those changes lead to revelation.
By repeatedly reading about the Loaves and Fishes this month, we’re opening ourselves to seeing things about that story for the first time, or at least seeing them again after being blind to them for so long.
There are the people, the players in the scene–the disciples, the crowd, and Jesus.
There’s the setting—the deserted place beside the Sea of Galilee.
There’s the way this story fits into the timeline of Jesus’ life—a time when the disciples were just starting to go out and minister on their own, a time when Jesus’ reputation was spreading, even into the halls of political power.
And there’s the way all these elements of the story play off of and interact with one another.
What was the experience like for the people in the crowd? What about the disciples? Was it a different experience for them? How?What were they aware of that the others weren’t?
And what about Jesus? What was he thinking? Did he orchestrate this whole thing or did he call an audible and pivot to Plan B when a massive group of people interrupted his plans for some quiet time with his disciples?
The beauty of taking our time with this story is that we can explore different answers to these questions, to stretch ourselves, and to enter into the space beyond where our first impressions bring us.
But, in this case, that first impression is vitally important.
However it came to pass that this huge group of people crossed paths with Jesus and his disciples, whatever was going on in their lives, and whatever could or would happen next, the driver of this story, the catalyst for all the action, the feature that should leap off the page at us, is Jesus’ compassion.
Mark says it like this,
The apostles gathered around Jesus and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd, and he began to teach them many things. (Mark 6:30-34)Seeing the people’s need, Jesus taught them, invested in them, and in the end, he fed them.
These were the results of the compassion he felt for them.
It seems so simple, but we would do well not to rush past this basic part of the story.
In the era in which we find ourselves, we are bombarded by countless voices and myriad forces that tell us compassion, sympathy, and empathy are for fools and suckers.
We’re told and conditioned to size up everyone we meet—every group we encounter—by what they have to offer us and what they can do for us.
Can we make money off of them?
Can we use or manipulate them to get what we want?
Can we get their vote?
Can we get them to join the church?
And if we can’t, if they can’t do anything for us, who cares what happens to them, their rights, their home, their family?
Jesus could’ve asked himself any of these questions as he looked out over the crowd that gathered around him.
He could’ve used those people in any number of ways, but he chose compassion.
He chose just to love them and to offer what he had to help meet their needs.
We should follow his example.
In this series and in our ongoing work of dreaming about the future of Asbury Church, it’s tempting to make ourselves the center of all our deliberations.
What’s in this for me?
How can this serve me and my goals?
But Jesus points us outward, into our community, and the needs of broken and hurting people everywhere.
It’s as if he’s telling us, “Look! My grace is sufficient for you. I’ve got your back and will hold you up, so go out there and love people in my name, serve them, listen to them, and don’t worry about what they can do for you. Just trust in what I have already done for you.”
As we open ourselves to be Changemakers, may Christ’s example and invitation be our guiding light, and may this series bring us closer to him and his Good News for all people.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Image: Changemakers series logo, Worship Design Studio
