Mark 6.45-52 Susan J. Barnes
St. Matthew's, Austin July 27, 2003
You know, friends, it's not always easy being one of Jesus' disciples.
That's what comes through to me from the gospel of Mark, which we've
been reading lately.
Let's just review all that the disciples have gone through in just this one
chapter, chapter 6. Three weeks ago we heard how Jesus had sent the
disciples out two by two. He didn't let them take any money, anything to
eat or even a change of clothes; they needed to learn to trust that God
would provide. Jesus told them to heal the sick and cast out demons in
God's name. To their astonishment, it happened just as Jesus had said. God
gave them everything that they needed. And through them God had transformed
the lives of many people.
When they got back, we heard last week, they had so much to share.
Jesus took them away to be with him, so they could rest and talk
together. But thousands of people followed them. And Jesus was moved
to minister to the crowds. After Jesus had taught the thousands, he
wouldn't just send them away on an empty stomach. So he told the
disciples to feed the people before they went home. My friend Posy
Jackson preached that lesson so powerfully that I suspect none of us
will ever forget it. (All week long, in fact, in my headd I've been hearing
her say: "You feed them!", and thinking about all the ways that you all feed
the people of this community and this world.) In the story, of course,
with God's help, five loaves and two fishes multiplied until all were
satisfied.
Imagine how you would feel, as a disciple, who had been through that.
There's so much to take in, so much to understand. We're talking
miracles, miracles upon miracles: healing the sick, casting out demons,
feeding thousands and thousands of people. Simple fishermen who
suddenly find themselves in this new world, where the rules of nature no
longer hold sway, where new powers have been given to them by God. If
you were one of them, wouldn't you have wanted to spend time with Jesus
just sorting through the wonder of it, trying to understand how God was
transforming you and calling you to a new life and ministry? I think I
would.
But no, Jesus packs them into a boat while he goes away to pray by
himself. That's where we find ourselves in today's gospel. The
disciples are out on the Sea of Galilee, struggling to row against a
strong wind. Then Jesus walks toward them on the water. He's
apparently just walking by, taking a short cut across the lake rather
than walking 10 miles around the shore, not even intending to join them
or to bother them. But they did see him. They were mightily bothered,
of course: what could have prepared them to see Jesus or anyone else
walking on water? No wonder they thought he was a ghost! Of course
they were terrified! Who wouldn't be? But after assuring them that it
is he himself, Jesus climbs into the boat and the wind ceases.
It's a powerful story. And a curious story. If you really put
yourself in the place of the disciples in the event, it's confusing and
comforting at the same time. Confusing because the way that Jesus
appears is so unexpected, so hard to understand. They don't recognize
him. It's comforting because when they do recognize him, when he comes
on board, all is well. It's a great metaphor for us as we try to live
out our discipleship.
So that's what I'd like to talk about today--the confusion and the
comfort of being a present-day disciple of Jesus Christ.
I hope that you will forgive me for talking about the confusion, but it
is a fact of life for me and for many others who walk the path of
faith. It's a consolation that even the first disciples also were
confused--confused about who Jesus was, confused about how to understand
what he was calling them to do, even what and whom they were called to
be. They were with him every day, in the flesh. They could ask direct
questions and get spoken answers. They could, and did, ask follow up
questions--like what did you mean by that parable?
Today we have one great advantage over the disciples. We have the
scriptures, which we can study, read and reread throughout our lives.
But apart from that, we are flying blind. We see, as Paul wrote,
through a glass darkly. Our dear Pat Boon seems to have made peace with
this: she says, cheerfully, "Onward through the fog!"
But for recovering goal-oriented types like me, it can be hard! (That's
probably why I only got ordained in my fifties; I thought I should be in
charge of my life. I didn't have the patience or the trust in God. I
couldn't have stood the surrender and the suspense then; I'm not doing to
well at it even now.) "What's next?" I want to ask. "Not just an hour
from now, not just today, but a couple of months down the road." "What will
you have me be?" "What will you have me do, even in the short term?" But
the answers don't come for the future. The only time I got one of those
it was the call to ordained ministry--and that was all; no further
details.
Why doesn't God let us see with certainty into the future? One reason
is that God's name is "I am," not "I will be." It is God's nature to be
present to us in the current moment, as God was present to the disciples
when they went out to minister without bread or money, present in the
miraculous feeding, present--finally--in the boat at sea. Another
reason the theologian Marjorie Suchocki would say, is that we live out
our free will; the world is always changing and God is constantly
meeting us where we are, working with that change to bring about the
good. Finally, if we see too far out into the future, we run away with
the program. We take over. We confuse our will with God's, and like the
disciples in today's story, we end up struggling against a strong wind.
Instead, like the disciples sent out to heal, we need to rely on God to
guide us minute by minute, and to provide for us. "Wait!," I hear
someone objecting. "Does that mean I'm supposed to quit my job and wait
for God to provide for my family and me?" No, of course not. But
that's part of the confusion. No, we're supposed to carry on. We're
supposed to go out to do ministry. We're supposed to find the loaves
and fishes and to get everybody to sit down. We're supposed to climb
into the boat and paddle. We're supposed to suit up and to show up, to
act in good faith. We're supposed to do our parts so that God can do
God's. God's part is to provide "the things eternal," in the words of
today's collect. God makes the miracles, but only if we do our part.
And here, in the midst of all our life's confusion, all our mundane
responsibilities, all our flying through the fog--here, at last, is the
consolation. God does show up. God is there. Jesus is watching us.
Jesus is walking beside us. Jesus is waiting for us to recognize him.
Jesus is waiting to climb into our storm-tossed lives and to still the
waves. In the midst of our preoccupation with "things temporal," Jesus
is waiting to deliver the things eternal--God's peace, God's blessing,
God's love transcendent.
That consolation is another one of the paradoxes of our lives as
Christians. Everything we can know or experience about eternity is here
in the present moment with God in Christ Jesus. If we lose ourselves in
worry about the future, we lose the blessing of the eternal, right here,
right now. But when we open our lives minute by minute to God, God can
guide us in the work we are called to do. God can empower us to do the
same. And God can banish our worries and fears to give us a foretaste
of the kingdom's joys.
