Chaplain Mel
Baars
August 5, 2012
Exodus 16:2-4,
9-15; John 6:24-35
“Bread of Life”
About fifteen
years ago, a man by the name of Spencer Johnson wrote a small, modern parable
about two mice and two “little people;” it was called Who Moved My Cheese: An Amazing Way to Deal with Change in your Work
and in your Life. This book stayed on the New York Times Business
Bestseller list for five years. Businesses would buy the book in bulk and hand
it out to employees for professional development and company retreats. It was
the topic of many a self-help or motivational seminar. Over the years, the book
permeated every stratosphere of our culture. It was even used in churches to
address declining membership and a subsequent need to reevaluate the way the
business of faith and worship was conducted.
The story was
simple. There were four characters who all lived in a maze. Their main life
goal was eating cheese—not a bad life if you ask me! Early in the book, they
find a “cheese” station where they eat their fill of dairy day after day. One morning,
however, they discover that the cheese is gone. It has been eaten up. The two
mice saw this coming, so they have already left this first cheese station in
search of a new source of sustenance. The other two “little people,” Hem and
Haw, who are representative of humans, go back to the empty cheese station the
next day hoping that the situation may have changed overnight. When they arrive
to find that there is still no cheese, they are gravely disappointed. They
become angry. They shake their little fists at the injustice, and they play the
blame game. Somebody must be responsible for their suffering. After a while,
Haw decides to go and look for a different cheese. His hunger pushes him beyond
his fears. But not Hem. He is comforted by his old ways and routine and afraid
of the unknown. He would rather go back to the empty cheese station, even
though there is no cheese left, than venture out into new territory. Hem clings
to what he knows, and just gets hungrier with each passing moment. Eventually
he asks himself this question: What would I do if I weren’t afraid? It is
certainly a fair question. If there was no fear, what would life be like? How
different would it be from life as we know it?
Our Old
Testament story today begins with disgruntled malcontent. Someone has moved
their cheese and the whole congregation of the Israelites are complaining about
it. They are angry and playing the blame game, too, saying that they would have
been better off dying by the Lord’s hand in Egypt, because at least there they
had food, instead of starving to death in the desert. The picture that they
paint is bleak even though, just one chapter earlier, they were dancing and
singing praises to God as they gladly followed Moses through the parted Red
Sea, narrowly escaping Pharaoh’s Army. How quickly they forgot all that God had
done for them?
If we are
honest, though, we may admit that we have found ourselves in this dark place,
too, in the midst of transition and change, and being driven by our fear and
doubt instead of strengthened by our trust and faith. Like Hem, like the
Israelites, most of us are creatures of habit. We like to feel comfortable and
safe. We like to know what to expect, even if it means that we aren’t truly
satisfied, even if it means we are slaves to our fears. A false sense of
control seems better than nothing, at least until our illusions come crashing
down around our feet.
From the
sidelines, it is easy to be critical. If anyone should have faith, it’s God’s
chosen people. God had made a way for them to be freed. They had experienced,
firsthand, God’s power and might. They knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that God
was there for them, shepherding them away from their captivity. But, all of
that happened yesterday. Today is a different story. Today they are hungry.
Today they are afraid. Today they can’t help but wonder if this new “freedom”
they have been given is a good thing. I can’t help feeling compassion for them.
Away from the only home that they have ever known, floundering around in the
desert, they feel lost and alone. All they have to hold on to is God’s promise
of a better place, a land flowing with milk and honey. And, even though God had
come through for them again and again, memory can be incredibly fleeting. They
may have known what God had said and even what God had done in the past, but
the bottom line is this: they are hungry now and their hunger feeds their
deepest fear, that God may not be so good
after all.
In moments of
doubt, when there are more questions than answers, we would almost always
choose to cling to what we know, even if it’s unfulfilling or toxic, even if
it’s abusive or harmful. Rather the devil you know than the devil you don’t.
The thought of facing uncertainty, of moving into uncharted territory,
purposefully going through a season of unknown, this is too much to bear. One
of my high school teachers used to always say that until the pain of change is
less than the pain of staying the same, we mostly stay the same.
But, God is
calling us to something more, something better. God is beckoning us to walk
away from the slavery that we know, whether that is our anger or
disappointment, our hurt from failed relationships, our addictions and our
fears, our bitterness and resentment, all the different kinds of chains that
bind us and keep us from living life fully. God is making a way for us to leave
all of that behind and enter more deeply into a mutual relationship of love and
gratitude, the kind of relationship where we trust in God more than we trust in
ourselves and our own devices. Most importantly, we are reminded in this story
that God is always with us, guiding us with a rod and staff, giving us all that
we need to live life well.
I know most of
you have either received or seen a greeting card sometime in the last fifteen
years with the “Footprints” inscription on it. It is definitely overused and
arguably trite. I actually can’t believe that I am even talking about it in a
sermon. In fact, when I was in divinity school, my preaching professor
threatened our class that if we ever, under any circumstance, used “Footprints”
as an example in a sermon, we would be automatically failed. But, whenever I
see this inscription, I can’t help but recall the first time I read the story
when I was young and much much less
cynical. I remember tears springing to my eyes and chill bumps covering my
arms, because I realized in reading it, how easy it is to lose sight of God’s
presence in our midst. When illness strikes a loved one, when our relationships
begin to falter, when we get the breath knocked out of us in one way or another
and we only see one set of footprints in the sand, our first thought is that we
have been left alone. Our fear, hurt, anger and doubt blinds us from seeing
that God is still with us, carrying us through the wilderness, bringing us safely
to green pastures and still waters.
This is the
difference between the parable about mice and little people and our story about
the Israelites. Instead of having to go on a massive search to find cheese,
having to negotiate the maze all alone, God gives them their daily bread. It
may not be the bread that they are used to. It may not even be recognizable to
them. When they see it on the ground, they even say to one another, “What is
it?” It must look like some of the food we find in the DFAC. But, Moses tells
them, “It is the bread that the Lord has given them to eat.” It’s not what they
expect or even hope for, but it is the bread that they need. It is enough for
them to live.
When Jesus
quotes this story in John’s gospel, he reminds his mostly Jewish audience that God’s provision has not wavered from
that day in the wilderness when manna rained down from the sky. Just as God
gave the Israelites bread from heaven to satisfy their hunger, God continues to
provide the bread needed for life. Now, though, the hunger that is satiated is
not of the belly, but it is of the heart. Jesus is a kind of bread that ends
hunger for good. He is the bread of eternal life.
Just because we
know this is true, doesn’t mean we won’t struggle with our hunger or our doubts
or our fears. We are human after all. But, we can ask ourselves the same
question that Hem asked when he found himself facing the unknown. What would we
do if we were not afraid? How would we live differently? How would we love? How
would we serve in Jesus’ name? How would we share Good News with the whole world?
When we come to this table, when we eat of this bread and drink of this cup, we
are reminded again and again of God’s steadfast provision, of God’s saving love
in Jesus Christ. In the end, despite all our hunger and fear and doubt, this is
the bread that changes our lives forever. It is the bread that matters most. It
is the true bread of life. It is all that we need, and it is more than enough.
Amen.
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