23 July 2018

In today's Gospel reading (January 24/Matt 14:13-36), a giant detail jumped out at me that I have never noticed before.  

Of course, it's worth pointing out that Jesus had withdrawn to 'a desolate place' to mourn the recent execution of His cousin, John the Baptist.  But the crowds had figured out where he was going, and they were waiting for them when He got there.  Putting off His own need to grieve, He had compassion on the people and healed all of the sick.  

Because the place was desolate, and, presumably, it took Jesus some time to pray for each person, the practically-minded disciples urge Jesus to dismiss the crowd before it gets so dark that it's unsafe for them to travel to the nearest towns to get food on their way home.  Jesus' view of His circumstances, however, is not dictated by practical considerations.  He tells His disciples: you feed them.

For those of us familiar with the story, it's so easy to stop right here, shift to the edge of our seat, and adopt the position of a spectator.  This is our go-to, whether at home in front of the TV, at the movie theater, at a concert or athletic competition; we watch while other people do the exciting, the heroic, the impressive.  Or we read the story through our proof-obsessed lenses, as though the whole point of this story is to demonstrate to us that Jesus really is God.  

But the point of greatest anticipation and excitement in this story is the words: you feed them.  Jesus didn't intend to feed the crowd.  He intended for His disciples to trust that He wouldn't give them an instruction to do what was impossible if He didn't intend to make it possible.  He had just demonstrated to them, in His own life, that God's resources are sufficient to meet even the greatest of needs (i.e., healing every sick person in a huge crowd), at precisely the moment where you have the least to offer (i.e., when you are devastated by the death of your cousin, and over what that death likely forecasts about your own fate, since your mission is essentially a continuation of his.)  

YOU feed them.

Here's the part I never noticed before.  It would seem that Matthew is using the story of Peter walking on the water to interpret the story of Jesus' feeding of the 5,000.  Jesus, again, invites a disciple to do something impossible.  This time, (maybe because the disciples' faith is still sky-high from having witnessed the multiplication of the loaves and fish), Peter accepts Jesus' invitation into the impossible.  He steps out of the boat and onto the water.

We all know what happens next.  Peter allows the 'facts' of his circumstances to eclipse the Truth of Jesus' love for Peter and His authority over Peter's circumstances.  The fearful logic of the natural world overpowers His faith in the one who has power over all the world.  And so he sinks.

But today, for the first time in my life, I don't think this is the point of the story.  It's a very important point of the story, to be sure – and I do not want in any way to undermine its significance for us.  If we keep our eyes fixed on the author and the finisher of our faith, He will absolutely hold us firmly in His hand as our discipleship to Him calls us to tread upon even the most treacherous of terrains.  

Today, it strikes me that the point is that when Jesus calls us to attempt the impossible, we do not have to fear the possibility of failure, because He will be there to catch us if, in mid-flight during our leap of faith, we end up falling.  Do we really think that Jesus will let us drown when we're stepping out in obedience to His command to do the impossible?  As a lead pastor, I get the privilege of inviting people to do things that are beyond their expertise, beyond their capacity and training.  If they happen to fall short, far more than I am disappointed in them, I rejoice with them over their willingness to attempt what can only succeed by way of the working of faith in cooperation with the Spirit's power.  I celebrate their attempt.  I do not scold them for their apparent lack of success.

Admittedly, Jesus does say to Peter, "You don't have much faith.  Why did you doubt?"  I'm not setting myself up as a more gentle teacher than Jesus.  Peter was in some very different circumstances.  He had, after all, just had the experience of distributing a never-ending supply of bread with his own hands.  He had, after all, just walked on the water (a point that we often overlook).  Further, in my mind, when I imagine Jesus speaking to Peter, what I hear is a compassionate teacher speaking to a disciple at the level appropriate to his stage in apprenticeship.  "I am surprised at how little faith you have in light of everything you have just experienced.  Why would you doubt me?"

But for me it comes back to the idea that Jesus is not going to abandon us to failure in those moments when we are stepping out in faith, in obedience to Him, in imitation of Him.  He WANTS us to succeed in the things that He has called us to do.  If not, why else would He have left such things to us in the first place?  (You know – little things like revealing Him and His plan of salvation to the whole world.)  YOU CAN TRUST HIM.  If He is calling you to walk on water today, my advice to you is to be confident that the water will hold you.  A God who IS love is not calling you into circumstances that will result in your death by drowning in the very same waters He calls you to walk upon.

Today's readings from Chronicles and Romans interrelate with this theme in ways so elegant that  are only be possible on account of being God's word.  In Chronicles, a word of warning.  Solomon's kingship coincides with and implements the height of God's plan for the nation of Israel.  The Bible tells us that he rules over the entire area that God had promised to Abraham 1,000 years earlier.  At the center of that Kingdom there are two thrones.  One is the Ark of the Covenant (a footstool rather than a throne, really) in the Temple where God dwells.  The other is the throne that Solomon has installed in his palace.  Solomon's throne has six steps leading up to it.  I cannot help but hear an echo of Genesis 1-2 here.  God enacts a six-step creation plan.  He builds Himself a Temple to dwell in and fills it with His glory.  On the seventh day, the seventh 'step' of His plan, He rests–He sits down to rule over the Kingdom He has just built for Himself... a Kingdom over which He has placed a human being as His representative ruler.

This is a reminder that from the beginning, God's plan has always been that our work would overlap with – be coextensive with – His own work.  That humans would be the means by which He implemented His good and perfect will in the world.  It is a warning because, in light of all of the dignity and authority and power He has given us as human beings, there is a very real danger that we will forget that it is HIS work that we are supposed to be doing.  We might decide to use all of the resources He's given us for our own purposes.  Or we might forget where the resources came from in the first place, and make the mistake of thinking that the power and authority we have our OURS.  That we have dignity apart from the One who gave it to us by making us in His image, and entrusting to us the privilege of exercising authority on His behalf.  

Every time Solomon walks up those six steps, he can either remember that God created the world in six days and sat down to rule over it, and see that throne as ultimately belonging to God... to see it as a place where he can only sit insofar as he uses the authority it grants to him in accordance with the purposes and will of the One whose authority it represents.  OR–Solomon can become so accustomed to the thought of ruling, he can make the mistake of thinking that it is his own work he is doing from that throne, and by virtue of his own authority.  In essence, along the way on his journey up the six steps to the throne, he can begin to think that he is God.

If Chronicles gives us the warning, Romans gives us the promise of hope.  When we reach the height of God's plan for humanity – God's Spirit taking up residence not in a Temple, but in within our hearts – it is now within our reach to succeed where every other human being before us (other than Jesus) failed.  The Holy Spirit gives us the power to resist the distractions and temptations and desires that lead us off course, the complacency that results in us failing to use the resources God gives us in a way that fulfills His purposes in giving them to us, the confusion that so easily makes us live as though we are God and forget that we will not one day stand before Him, accountable for how we used the things of His that were given to us.

His presence within us creates an ever-deepening longing for intimacy – to know Him more and more.  The awareness of His absolute authority, His unchallengeable rule (this awareness is known as the Fear of the Lord) will keep us living in the position of servants.  His power reminds us that we dare not confuse His throne with a place where we have any right to sit.  Along with that power, His love reminds us that He would in no way ever call us to an obedience that results in anything but our highest good.  Even if we fail in our attempt – there is still nothing in all creation that will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus.

It is for freedom that He set us free.  It is for good works that He has made you a new creation in Christ Jesus.  There is nothing that He has called you to do, no water He has called you to walk on, that He will not also bring the power and provision to accomplish as you walk out in trusting obedience that which He has given you to accomplish.