The Most Important Meal of the Day 2 Samuel 11:1-5, John 6:1-15, Ephesians 3:14-21
My mother was legendary for her concern for her family’s nutrition.
If I heard it once I heard it a thousand times,
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
Each morning she would ask hopefully if I wanted her to scramble eggs for me.
Ungrateful, know-nothing scoundrel that I was, I would mumble, “No thanks”
and reach for the blueberry Pop-tarts instead.
It was a soul-killing concession for my mother to even have such rubbish in the house,
but it was all I would eat.
As I pushed the processed rectangles filled with the blue gooey substance
down into the toaster
her only consolation was to shake her head and speak through clenched teeth,
“There’s more nutrition in the cardboard box.”
I wish I could say my insanity ended with the Pop-tarts.
Truth is, I still have blind spots when it comes to what’s good for me.
I still have, in some areas of my life, an amazing capacity to reach for the wrong thing,
to go for what’s quick or easy or flashy or seductive
instead of what’s most nourishing.
I would sink into abject despair over this self-confessed idiocy except for one thing.
I’m clearly not alone. It’s not just me.
It’s part of our fallen state as sinful human beings
to be stupid about what’s good for us,
to be clueless about what is or is not going to provide the nourishment we need.
It’s funny, even though we often fail to see and then do what’s good for us,
We seem able to know exactly what other people should do.
Take King David, for example.
We can see that train wreck coming a mile away.
The big flashing warning sign that David is on a slippery slope
comes in the second sentence of chapter eleven in 2 Samuel.
It’s the Spring of the year, we’re told, a time Kings go to battle,
a time for finishing off the pesky Ammonites who have caused David such headaches.
But, we’re told…BUT…David remained at Jerusalem.
The story of David up until this point has been a story of ascendancy.
His combination of courage, faith, and political savvy, not to mention his good looks,
have kept him on a steady upward track.
He seems to have God on retainer and can do no wrong.
But here he is in Jerusalem pacing the palace rooftop
while his troops are off in battle.
Success has made him complacent.
He’s not fulfilling his job description.
From this point in David’s story
it’s hard to remember that before David the prophet Samuel
had originally told the people of Israel that having a king was a bad idea.
From the Exodus onward, the Israelites had been a loose confederation of tribes
trusting in God alone to lead them.
When the need arose, God had lifted up charismatic judges like Deborah and Gideon
to lead the people onward. All that was required was that the people have faith.
“You don’t want a king,” Samuel told them, “Kings are nothing but takers.
“We don’t care,” they responded. “Everybody else has a king!
Besides, if we had a king he could go out before us and fight our battles!”
Now, here David is, some years later, moping around on the rooftop.
He’s the king, but he’s not doing the king thing.
He’s ridden the gravy train to the top
and now he wants to change his contract, rest on his laurels.
He’s lost his focus, he feels a gnawing inside.
The late lunch didn’t do it for him. He’s still hungry for something.
In his little book of theological definitions called, Wishful Thinking,
Frederick Buechner defines “Lust” this way.
“Lust” he writes “is the hunger for salt in a man dying of thirst.”1
David is hungry, but he misreads terribly what it is that will satisfy that hunger.
He is hungry for a renewed sense of purpose in his life,
hungry for affirmation that what he has accomplished has meaning,
hungry for the deep friendship he had once with Jonathan
and hasn’t had since Jonathan’s tragic death.
Surrounded by Yes Men and flatterers,
David is lonely, and he’s hungry for sincerity most of all.
What he should choose is a good hearty breakfast of eggs and toast.
What he reaches for instead is Pop-tarts.
There’s more nutrition in the cardboard box.
I don’t have enough paper to list all the powerful people who have followed David’s lead:
politicians, preachers, sports heroes, movie stars.
Each a King in his own way, each chafing under the responsibility of power,
isolated in a bubble of their own making,
each one proving the Prophet Samuel right.
King’s are takers. They lust for what is not theirs.
and, yet, their extraordinary power gives them no special insight
into what is most nourishing for their body, mind and spirit.
Despite the consistent tendency for kings to let us down,
we the people are hungry for kings because we think that’s what WE need –
someone who will bear the responsibility for us,
someone who “will go out before us and fight our battles.”
The feeding of the multitude is one of the few stories of Jesus
that occurs in each of the four gospels.
It’s a bona fide miracle of the highest order,
a tangible expression of the spiritual truth
that Jesus cares about our nutrition,
that he will give us what we need to be nourished.
John is the only one of the gospel writers who mentions the boy with the bread and fish.
Of all those gathered there, he was the only one who thought about his nutrition.
Or, maybe he had a mother like mine!
Regardless, when the time came for Jesus to go to work
the little boy offered what he had. It wasn’t much, but in Jesus’ hands it was enough.
Jesus wanted his disciples to learn the lesson well
so he delegated to them the food distribution
and after all the people had eaten he made sure the leftovers weren’t wasted.
In case anybody misses the implication,
John adds the detail the there were TWELVE baskets of leftover bread.
Twelve - the symbolic number – the sign of God’s handiwork.
The people are hungry. They come to Jesus looking to be fed.
The disciples feel helpless in the face of such a seemingly insurmountable problem.
Jesus, in partnership with a child, uses the resources at hand
to give them the nourishment they need.
And it’s not just barely enough. It’s far more than enough.
What happens next would be funny if it wasn’t so poignant,
if we didn’t recognize ourselves in the story with such devastating clarity.
Jesus has just demonstrated with gentle power and quiet authority
that God cares about God’s people, both body and soul.
The people have eaten until they can’t eat any more.
They have seen God’s grace close up,
looked divine providence in the eye,
and what is their next move?
What response do they have to this miracle.
They skip the eggs and go straight for the Pop-tarts.
They grab for what’s flashy and familiar instead of what they really need.
They clamor to make Jesus their king.
We all know they didn’t want him to be their spiritual king
in the best sense of the word
As their ancestors had chosen a thousand years earlier,
they wanted somebody who would go out and fight their battles.
They wanted a convenient, free source of bread and fish
so that they didn’t have to harvest the wheat or mend the nets themselves.
Jesus offered them the real thing.
They went for the cardboard instead.
When the author of the letter to the Ephesians considers the nourishment
of the young Christians to whom he writes
his prayer for them is that they will be “filled with the fullness of God.”
He wants them to be well nourished by the things that truly satisfy:
the inner strength that comes from the Holy Spirit,
the love of Christ that surpasses all knowledge.
We’re all looking for a sense of purpose.
We all long for meaning.
We all want most of all to feel that our lives count for something.
And we want to feel close to someone. To feel loved.
It’s not just kings who get it wrong.
We all have the capacity to make poor choices,
to lose our direction, to kid ourselves,
to convince ourselves that it will be OK just this once.
AND, we still succumb to the temptation from time to time
to put our trust in those who promise to go out and fight our battles for us.
It’s no sin to be hungry.
The problem comes when we choose how to fill that hunger.
If we listen only to commercials or pay attention only to our most persistent urges
well, chances are the choices we make will only leave us more hungry.
But, like John’s gospel says, if we go to where Jesus is
offer to him what we little we have to him with no strings attached
and sit down in groups with other hungry people
Jesus will feed us. Feed us and fill us. And it will be more than enough.
It’s the most important meal of the day.
______
1 Buechner, Frederick. Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC. HarperOne, 1993, p. 65
If I heard it once I heard it a thousand times,
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
Each morning she would ask hopefully if I wanted her to scramble eggs for me.
Ungrateful, know-nothing scoundrel that I was, I would mumble, “No thanks”
and reach for the blueberry Pop-tarts instead.
It was a soul-killing concession for my mother to even have such rubbish in the house,
but it was all I would eat.
As I pushed the processed rectangles filled with the blue gooey substance
down into the toaster
her only consolation was to shake her head and speak through clenched teeth,
“There’s more nutrition in the cardboard box.”
I wish I could say my insanity ended with the Pop-tarts.
Truth is, I still have blind spots when it comes to what’s good for me.
I still have, in some areas of my life, an amazing capacity to reach for the wrong thing,
to go for what’s quick or easy or flashy or seductive
instead of what’s most nourishing.
I would sink into abject despair over this self-confessed idiocy except for one thing.
I’m clearly not alone. It’s not just me.
It’s part of our fallen state as sinful human beings
to be stupid about what’s good for us,
to be clueless about what is or is not going to provide the nourishment we need.
It’s funny, even though we often fail to see and then do what’s good for us,
We seem able to know exactly what other people should do.
Take King David, for example.
We can see that train wreck coming a mile away.
The big flashing warning sign that David is on a slippery slope
comes in the second sentence of chapter eleven in 2 Samuel.
It’s the Spring of the year, we’re told, a time Kings go to battle,
a time for finishing off the pesky Ammonites who have caused David such headaches.
But, we’re told…BUT…David remained at Jerusalem.
The story of David up until this point has been a story of ascendancy.
His combination of courage, faith, and political savvy, not to mention his good looks,
have kept him on a steady upward track.
He seems to have God on retainer and can do no wrong.
But here he is in Jerusalem pacing the palace rooftop
while his troops are off in battle.
Success has made him complacent.
He’s not fulfilling his job description.
From this point in David’s story
it’s hard to remember that before David the prophet Samuel
had originally told the people of Israel that having a king was a bad idea.
From the Exodus onward, the Israelites had been a loose confederation of tribes
trusting in God alone to lead them.
When the need arose, God had lifted up charismatic judges like Deborah and Gideon
to lead the people onward. All that was required was that the people have faith.
“You don’t want a king,” Samuel told them, “Kings are nothing but takers.
“We don’t care,” they responded. “Everybody else has a king!
Besides, if we had a king he could go out before us and fight our battles!”
Now, here David is, some years later, moping around on the rooftop.
He’s the king, but he’s not doing the king thing.
He’s ridden the gravy train to the top
and now he wants to change his contract, rest on his laurels.
He’s lost his focus, he feels a gnawing inside.
The late lunch didn’t do it for him. He’s still hungry for something.
In his little book of theological definitions called, Wishful Thinking,
Frederick Buechner defines “Lust” this way.
“Lust” he writes “is the hunger for salt in a man dying of thirst.”1
David is hungry, but he misreads terribly what it is that will satisfy that hunger.
He is hungry for a renewed sense of purpose in his life,
hungry for affirmation that what he has accomplished has meaning,
hungry for the deep friendship he had once with Jonathan
and hasn’t had since Jonathan’s tragic death.
Surrounded by Yes Men and flatterers,
David is lonely, and he’s hungry for sincerity most of all.
What he should choose is a good hearty breakfast of eggs and toast.
What he reaches for instead is Pop-tarts.
There’s more nutrition in the cardboard box.
I don’t have enough paper to list all the powerful people who have followed David’s lead:
politicians, preachers, sports heroes, movie stars.
Each a King in his own way, each chafing under the responsibility of power,
isolated in a bubble of their own making,
each one proving the Prophet Samuel right.
King’s are takers. They lust for what is not theirs.
and, yet, their extraordinary power gives them no special insight
into what is most nourishing for their body, mind and spirit.
Despite the consistent tendency for kings to let us down,
we the people are hungry for kings because we think that’s what WE need –
someone who will bear the responsibility for us,
someone who “will go out before us and fight our battles.”
The feeding of the multitude is one of the few stories of Jesus
that occurs in each of the four gospels.
It’s a bona fide miracle of the highest order,
a tangible expression of the spiritual truth
that Jesus cares about our nutrition,
that he will give us what we need to be nourished.
John is the only one of the gospel writers who mentions the boy with the bread and fish.
Of all those gathered there, he was the only one who thought about his nutrition.
Or, maybe he had a mother like mine!
Regardless, when the time came for Jesus to go to work
the little boy offered what he had. It wasn’t much, but in Jesus’ hands it was enough.
Jesus wanted his disciples to learn the lesson well
so he delegated to them the food distribution
and after all the people had eaten he made sure the leftovers weren’t wasted.
In case anybody misses the implication,
John adds the detail the there were TWELVE baskets of leftover bread.
Twelve - the symbolic number – the sign of God’s handiwork.
The people are hungry. They come to Jesus looking to be fed.
The disciples feel helpless in the face of such a seemingly insurmountable problem.
Jesus, in partnership with a child, uses the resources at hand
to give them the nourishment they need.
And it’s not just barely enough. It’s far more than enough.
What happens next would be funny if it wasn’t so poignant,
if we didn’t recognize ourselves in the story with such devastating clarity.
Jesus has just demonstrated with gentle power and quiet authority
that God cares about God’s people, both body and soul.
The people have eaten until they can’t eat any more.
They have seen God’s grace close up,
looked divine providence in the eye,
and what is their next move?
What response do they have to this miracle.
They skip the eggs and go straight for the Pop-tarts.
They grab for what’s flashy and familiar instead of what they really need.
They clamor to make Jesus their king.
We all know they didn’t want him to be their spiritual king
in the best sense of the word
As their ancestors had chosen a thousand years earlier,
they wanted somebody who would go out and fight their battles.
They wanted a convenient, free source of bread and fish
so that they didn’t have to harvest the wheat or mend the nets themselves.
Jesus offered them the real thing.
They went for the cardboard instead.
When the author of the letter to the Ephesians considers the nourishment
of the young Christians to whom he writes
his prayer for them is that they will be “filled with the fullness of God.”
He wants them to be well nourished by the things that truly satisfy:
the inner strength that comes from the Holy Spirit,
the love of Christ that surpasses all knowledge.
We’re all looking for a sense of purpose.
We all long for meaning.
We all want most of all to feel that our lives count for something.
And we want to feel close to someone. To feel loved.
It’s not just kings who get it wrong.
We all have the capacity to make poor choices,
to lose our direction, to kid ourselves,
to convince ourselves that it will be OK just this once.
AND, we still succumb to the temptation from time to time
to put our trust in those who promise to go out and fight our battles for us.
It’s no sin to be hungry.
The problem comes when we choose how to fill that hunger.
If we listen only to commercials or pay attention only to our most persistent urges
well, chances are the choices we make will only leave us more hungry.
But, like John’s gospel says, if we go to where Jesus is
offer to him what we little we have to him with no strings attached
and sit down in groups with other hungry people
Jesus will feed us. Feed us and fill us. And it will be more than enough.
It’s the most important meal of the day.
______
1 Buechner, Frederick. Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC. HarperOne, 1993, p. 65
posted by David Cameron | 3:18 AM
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