A Mountain-Sized Table
John 6:1-21
Gospel Reading for Tenth Sunday after Pentecost (Year B)
I have heard the story of Jesus Feeding the 5,000 if not five thousand times, then maybe five hundred. What can I say? It is a Children’s Sunday School Greatest Hit; a straightforward story with a built-in snack object lesson (goldfish crackers). Yet it is kind of funny how we can hear the most familiar stories in different ways, which is exactly what happened this morning in church.
If you have been on the internet at all the last few days then you probably have read something about a scene during the Olympic Opening Ceremonies in Paris. There was a scene on a bridge with a bunch of folks in drag in a pose that looked somewhat reminiscent of da Vinci’s The Last Supper. It was also fairly reminiscent of a painting featuring a bacchanal thrown by the Greek god Dionysus, which given the origins of the Olympics, makes a lot more sense. Thankfully, people on the internet and cable television took the time to understand what was going on and a productive dialogue took place.
Just kidding. That would have been encouraging in this day and age, wouldn’t it? In reality, people got angry. Some thought the Olympics were making an intentional mockery of the Christian faith. The word satanic was bandied about here and there. It was something that the internet algorithms could seize on and amplify to turn an event that is ostensibly supposed to bring the world together into just another rage war.
And y’all, I am sick and tired of rage wars. They are often pointless and provoke people of faith into behaving in some most un-Christlike ways. Reading the responses from some corners of the religious community made me wonder why anyone would want to share a table with a Christian much less go into a church (there were also many Christians and people of faith who responded thoughtfully, alas angry usually gets more traction than thoughtful).
All of that was on my mind this morning when we read from the Gospel of John. It was the Feeding of the 5,000. People were so taken with what Jesus was doing that they followed him out into the wilderness. Folks came out for lots of reasons. Some were genuinely seeking peace and wholeness for their lives. Others probably heard that Jesus could do some pretty cool stuff and wanted to see some of that first-century razzle dazzle. Some were curious. It was thousands of people. There are multitudes of good and bad within one person. Imagine all that was swirling around in the crowd that day.
When the time came to fulfill that basic human need of hunger, Jesus and his followers fed them. All of them. There was not an entry-level question of whether they were going to follow Jesus or whether they believed he was the Messiah. They didn’t inquire what that person had done; whether they were good or bad. They just fed them. Oh, you’re hungry? Here is some bread and fish.
In fact, here is so much bread and fish. They didn’t just give them a light snack. People feasted. Jesus provided enough bread and fish until they were satisfied and full. I imagine that it was a fairly festive atmosphere. They may not have had a runway showdown where everyone served their fiercest looks (though few things would be funnier than certain people getting to heaven and discovering that was a common practice in the times of scripture). But I bet there was laughter and singing and the sharing of stories.
On that mountainside there was room for everyone. No one got turned away. Needs were met. Joy was experienced. I bet that swayed many people to look at Jesus in a different way, to listen closer to what he said. How great if that mountain-sized table was how people experienced the Christian community in our world today?

I have a new office in our home and one of the things I am enjoying is decorating the space. I have placed books, Lego sets, and Funko Pops on the shelves. My wall has photos of family, places that I have traveled, artwork my siblings have given me, diplomas, etc. Across from my desk on the wall, hangs a cross that we got from a church in Reykjavik and a small colorfully-painted tile depicting Assisi. On the floor beneath them is the one item in here that I haven’t yet put up: my certificate of ordination.
I was ordained as a minister ten years ago today. It was a step with which I struggled for awhile. My Baptist roots fostered in me a firm belief in the priesthood of all believers. If you say that you are a follower of Jesus, then you are a minister. So the hierarchy implied by being called “Reverend” made me feel a little uncomfortable. I did not use the title for myself often unless I was writing my Congressperson. Despite these qualms, I did ultimately pursue ordination. I am glad that I did. I am just not totally sure what to make of it now.
I don’t serve as a vocational minister anymore; not in a church, not as a chaplain, not in some sort of parachurch organization. I am an Administrative Assistant in a hospital Spiritual Care department. In fact, I haven’t even attended a church service in maybe a year and a half save an Ash Wednesday service that I snuck off to at the beginning of Lent. I did officiate a wedding in a church over the summer; an experience that I loved and was very meaningful for me. But I don’t really know what to do about that ordination certificate. Or church.