American Christianity is at a crossroads. Undermined
by the same forces that have eroded trust in nearly all
institutions, we’ve experienced decades of decline and
division. Scandals and controversies have wounded
our witness. A craving for worldly power and political
influence has driven many so-called Christian socalled leaders to embrace agendas increasingly
divorced from gospel grounding, using faith as a
weapon of abuse, a sign of supremacy, a fortress
of isolation, or a license to judge. Some of the most
amplified voices proclaim a Jesus I find nowhere in the
pages of scripture—an idol built only to bless brazen
ambition. As church affiliation has receded, religious
and political identities have merged, with the latter
often taking the lead. As the researcher Ryan Burge
has written, “Politics has become our master identity.
Everything else lines up behind partisanship.” Let me
be clear. This constitutes a kind of heresy. A church,
or disciple, who believes we need a party, a president,
or a nation to preserve the faith has replaced Jesus
as Savior. Indeed, this is a dangerous theology. And
so, the crossroads at which we Christians stand has
everything to do with identity. It’s time for some soul
searching on the question: who are we?
And in the Christian community, responding to this
question must follow deep reflection on an even
more central question. Who is Jesus? Our identity
must be built on Jesus Christ. As disciples, we make
the bold claim that Jesus is Lord, and this confession
must challenge every other loyalty and allegiance
in our lives. This should be our master identity. Now,
more than perhaps any time since the early Christian
movement, we must have a clear, compelling answer
to the question, “Who is Jesus for us? What differences
does he make?”
And so, this Sunday we begin a sermon series on the
statements of Jesus in the Gospel of John, statements
that bring clarity to our witness because they shine
a light on who Jesus is. In John, Jesus tells us who he
is. Seven times he begins foundational claims with
the words I AM. This is not a neutral statement in the
Gospel of John. It harkens back to the Book of Exodus
and the burning bush from which Moses hears the
words of God. I AM who I AM.
At this crossroads moment, in this time of rebuilding,
we will let the words of Jesus Christ inspire and guide
our way forward.
This morning’s passage comes early in Jesus’
ministry. Just before we tuned in, the hunger of
a huge crowd has been miraculously alleviated
with a meager supply of bread and fish. And so, as
you would imagine, word gets around about this
miraculous event and the man behind it. A growing
group of intrigued observers approach Jesus, but
their dialogue is laughably, almost painfully, disjointed
because those in the crowd keep asking Jesus
practical questions. And Jesus keeps responding with
spiritual wisdom. They are interested in the bread that
will keep them alive. He speaks of bread that makes
life worth living. What they need most is what they
already have in the presence of Jesus.
There is a deep hunger in our land. For some among
us, that hunger is physical—unmet needs and
desperate conditions. For others, the scarcity from
which we suffer is more difficult to name. And yet, we
feel it. Not the sharp sting of physical hunger pains
but the persistent ache of anxious hearts and worried
minds. Perhaps we sense that there must be more
to life than what occupies our days. Some source
of more lasting nourishment. Some pathway to a
more meaningful life. Some role for us to play. Some
divine purpose for us to fill. Some call to serve the
common good and relieve the suffering of others. The
persistent ache of anxious hearts and worried minds
leads to a feeling of helplessness. And in my pastoral
experience, helplessness is often a close cousin to
hopelessness. I’m hearing both in the voices of many
within and beyond our community. There is a deep
hunger in our land.
Jesus spoke to the crowds of hunger. Famine in the
land of plenty. And so, we ask, as did they, “What do
we lack? For what do we ache? What must we do?”
I think we are experiencing a famine of meaningful
relationship. Last April, the U.S. Surgeon General, Dr.
Vivek Murthy, diagnosed us as a lonely nation. He
proposed some steps to rebuild our social connections
and communities, but the truth is that there is no quick
fix to this particular hunger. Relationships are about
time and about effort. They involve inevitable conflict
and necessary reconciliation. They are the result of
commitment over the long haul. Jesus spent much of
his ministry gathering with others around meals. And
yes, feeding hungry bellies was part of his purpose.
But feeding the need for human community was at
least as important, and the reason we know it to be
true is because of who was invited to his table. Jesus
gathered unlikely guests. He brought enemies to a
common table. He invited the outcast, the left behind.
He gave them a prized seat. Indeed, often it was his
choice of dinner companions that got Jesus in the
most trouble.
This weekend our nation remembers the life and
renews the legacy of a powerful preacher whose
faith-fueled witness spoke to our deepest hunger.
Martin Luther King, Jr., led a movement shaped by the
teachings of Jesus Christ. They were lessons he first
learned as a child of the church, a son of the pastor.
King rooted his work in the testimony of the earliest
Christians, those first disciples who found the courage
to imagine a different kind of world, a different kind of
kingdom, a deeper sense of nourishment. In one of his
first sermons, after his installation as pastor of Dexter
Avenue Baptist in Montgomery, King spoke these
words, “We need to recapture the glow of the early
Christians, who were nonconformists in the deepest
sense of that word, refusing to shape their witness
according to the mundane patterns of the world.
Willingly they sacrificed fame, fortune, and life itself on
behalf of the cause they knew to be right.”
What would such nonconformity, such sacrifice,
look like in our lives and in the life of our church?
My sense is that it begins in relationships that break
down dividing walls and overcome preconceived
judgements. In a time of painful isolation and
destructive disintegration, the church sets a table.
The church sends an invitation. What if, in the months
ahead, we were intentional about that practice? What
if each of us made the conscious choice to widen
our circle, to stretch beyond our comfort zone? What
if here we intensified our efforts to become a more
inclusive community, and what if we carefully listened
to the voices of those whose experience is not our
own? I believe that we would find a deeper sense of
unity, more commonality than we might imagine, and
a surprising surge of the hope we are desperate to feel.
Those crowds following Jesus begged him for a sign,
a sign that would prove his worthiness, a sign that
would show that he, like Moses, could command God
to rain down bread from Heaven. Perhaps another
miracle, a healing, a feeding, a magic trick. But the only
sign Jesus offered was himself. The greatest miracle
was his own life offered as bread for a famished world.
Blessed, broken, and shared. He is the bread of life. He
is the nourishment that satisfies our deepest hunger.
And so, whenever we build our faith on self-sufficiency
or succumb to the idolatry of human leaders, what
we will find are only empty spiritual calories. When
we begin our work in the presence of Jesus, we will
find sustenance for a courageous and costly witness.
Friends, we must never give in to hopelessness
because we are never helpless. Having been fed, we
must offer ourselves in acts of service and compassion.
The week before Christmas, a handwritten note
appeared on my desk. It was addressed “to all that
manage and help at the food pantry” and signed “a
thankful patron.” The writer describes how she used
to volunteer at the food pantry near her home and
how, as a volunteer, she was always surprised to see
folks who had fulltime jobs coming to receive food.
Afterall, she and her husband both worked. They were
able to save money. They bought a house. Raised two
sons. And then, an accident at work. Her husband had
open heart surgery. Spent a month in the hospital.
Savings depleted. A series of crises. A need she never
could have imagined. She closes her letter this way:
“Your pantry makes a huge difference in our lives, a
difference we never thought we would need. As it is,
we could not afford the items we receive there. So
thank you for making life a little easier. I hope you have
a wonderful Christmas.”
Friends, as followers of the one who is the Bread of
Life, we must be about the work of feeding those
who are hungry. We do that in many different ways.
The work of this congregation has a sustaining
and transformative impact on our city and for our
neighbors in need. But there is so much more to do.
There is a hunger in our land, and we have bread
to share. There is despair among us, and we have
hope to offer. There are children of God who suffer
exclusion, who are wounded by hateful words, and we
have a table set by the one who says, “Come to me,
all who are weary.”
Yes, there is work for us to do. He told us who he
was. The bread of life. Given for you. Meant to be
shared. Amen.