John 6:1-14

Belonging Creates and Undoes Us Both: Three Stories

I brought three sacred stories with me today. Each holds a moment of communion and belonging, hope and possibility. Maybe these will fill something in you, and in turn, may the stories of your life, nourish my own. Together, with our scripture text, we can encounter the heart anew, perhaps find God there and move toward each other in love. That is the work of theology after all.

Writes the Irish poet and theologian, Padraig O’Tuama, “Belonging creates and undoes us both.”

The first story I’ve brought this morning was told to me several years ago by a retired businessman who was a young activist in the Civil Rights Movement. Over coffee, Dave told me he’d been a Freedom Rider in the Summer of 1964.

A young minister from Boston in those days, he hopped on a bus with friends to join the protests down the South. On this particular day, he found himself in a jail cell with fellow marchers somewhere in Mississippi. “ The doors of the cell clanged behind us and we were scared”, Dave remembered.

“The sheriff separated us by color so the white folks like us were pushed into some cells and then the black folks were put into other cells across the hall…
as it was a Sunday morning, someone asked me to offer communion and handed me some bread from their sandwich.”

Dave took the bread, blessed it, broke it, gave thanks to all around him. Chunks of bread were passed and folks took a piece and passed it back and forth one to the other and across to their cellmates. Then, someone found a cup, folks passed the water (meant to be wine) back and forth through the bars to the folks of color imprisoned across the hall. Someone even passed the cup to the sheriff who suddenly appeared standing there on the other side of the bars. To their amazement, he took a sip and passed it on. No one dared look at him.

The sandwich was shared, the cup was empty, a song was heard:.
We shall overcome,
We shall overcome,
we shall overcome some day….

The next thing Dave remembered was hearing the sheriff’s footsteps as he walked back into his office and picked up the phone:

“I’m letting them all go…these kids are too powerful for my jail.”

Would it be so, that all protests led to this kind of release.
Where a little turned into a lot more and multiplied goodness.

My second Loaves and Fishes story happened just last week. A couple of us accompanied Malik and Zahida to their first ICE appointment in Hartford. You pass through security, press the elevator button for the 5th floor and make your room to the windowless cubicle known as Room 501- the Immigration reporting office.

Last Thursday, this cramped room was filled with folks waiting to report to ICE. It was standing room only. Many had ankle bracelets on, most had a child or two on their lap. There was a fear in the room that was palpable.

I heard Spanish and Haitian, but very little English so I could only mumble, “Buenos Dias”, to the mother with the diaper bag on her lap. Her two daughters were impeccably dressed in matching leopard print dresses and black patent leather shoes. No one behind the counter seemed to notice her efforts. But I did and we shared a smile.

Malik and Zahida waited in the hall having turned in their paper to the clerk behind the window who soon disappeared for an hour. Conversation lulled us into the silence of our private thoughts. Suddenly a two- year old boy let go of his Grandfather’s hand and made his way energetically over to the antsy toddler in the patent leather shoes. We all watched as he threw his pudgy arms around her neck and gave her a big smooch on the cheek ! Giggles erupted around the room as the tension broke and shoulders relaxed in a moment of pure delight.

Said the Prophet, Isaiah,
“A little child shall lead them…” (Is 11.6)

I wished for that kiss of freedom and belonging be extended to all that day.
A few minutes later, the ICE officer came out with a pile of papers in his hand and Malik and Z saw they were all set and need not report again for 6 months. We also learned that the mother from Central America with her two daughters didn’t have to come back to room 501 until next year.

The third story in my heart today we just heard a moment ago. It’s a pretty famous one retold in different ways through all four of the gospel accounts.
Like any good story, it changes with the retelling but it also points to a truth that is timeless.

A crowd has gathered to hear the healing Rabbi named Jesus. And the disciples and Jesus (like any good hosts) were necessarily concerned about the practicalities: FOOD!

People don’t listen to one another let alone the teacher when they’re hungry (or as we say in my family, “HANGRY”). We learn that “When Jesus looked up and saw a large crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” (Jn 6:5)
The costs of a meal for a crowd back then– as now –were staggering.
As the story unfolds, a little boy in the crowd has something to offer- some barley loaves and two fish-and brings them to Jesus. Somehow, this simple act of sharing those few items was enough to get the crowd sharing too.
Beyond any social and physical barriers, everyone was fed.
Here at FCCOL, at a church like ours that excels at potluck dinners, we know how the act of sharing can be miracle enough!. And yet, delving into the gospel text, we can see there was More to this miracle story. As any true symbol or signpost suggests, there’s always more.
Not only did the child’s actions bring them to a new place of abundance.
but there were leftovers. Twelve baskets’ full!
Jesus seems to have been concerned about this overflow, and
told his disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.” (v 6:12)

So that nothing may be lost.
Jesus seems to be paying attention here to what is left
The fragments of the meal. The fragmented hearts around him. Maybe he knows folks will be hungry again soon enough Maybe he knows how long the journey still is ahead of them. Maybe the act of sharing and gathering up again are holy acts of hospitality.

          As a church that is home to the largest food pantry on the shoreline,we see the extraordinary need out there and what it means for folks to have enough groceries to feed their families or themselves for a few more days. We’ve learned recently about the rising costs of running the Food Pantry and how its administrators worry week in and week out about whether they will have enough to fill the baskets of folks that show up every Saturday rain or shine– whether there’s a Polar Vortex on or not.
Here’s the thing: meals like this one made out of nothing
whether exchanged on an ancient grassy hillside
or through the bars of a jail cell,
or offered through a child’s enthusiastic embrace in an ICE office
or over coffee in a church kitchen,

These stories signal to us that moments of communion and relationship are not only miraculous when they happen but they are the best of who we can be together on this journey called faith, fragments and belonging.

Whatever the future may hold,
I know this much is true.

Amen