Why Did Jesus Head for the Mountains?

Text:  John 6:1-21

Theme:  “Why Did Jesus Head for the Mountains?”

9^th Sunday after Pentecost

July 26, 2015

FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH

Denton, Texas

Rev Paul R. Dunklau

+In the Name of Jesus+

Some time after this, Jesus crossed to the far shore of the Sea of Galilee (that is, the Sea of Tiberias), 2 and a great crowd of people followed him because they saw the signs he had performed by healing the sick. 3 Then Jesus went up on a mountainside and sat down with his disciples. 4 The Jewish Passover Festival was near.

5 When Jesus looked up and saw a great crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, “Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?” 6 He asked this only to test him, for he already had in mind what he was going to do.

7 Philip answered him, “It would take more than half a year’s wages[a] to buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!”

8 Another of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, spoke up, 9 “Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?”

10 Jesus said, “Have the people sit down.” There was plenty of grass in that place, and they sat down (about five thousand men were there). 11 Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish.

12 When they had all had enough to eat, he said to his disciples, “Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted.” 13 So they gathered them and filled twelve baskets with the pieces of the five barley loaves left over by those who had eaten.

14 After the people saw the sign Jesus performed, they began to say, “Surely this is the Prophet who is to come into the world.” 15 Jesus, knowing that they intended to come and make him king by force, withdrew again to a mountain by himself.

16 When evening came, his disciples went down to the lake, 17 where they got into a boat and set off across the lake for Capernaum. By now it was dark, and Jesus had not yet joined them. 18 A strong wind was blowing and the waters grew rough. 19 When they had rowed about three or four miles,[b] they saw Jesus approaching the boat, walking on the water; and they were frightened. 20 But he said to them, “It is I; don’t be afraid.” 21 Then they were willing to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the shore where they were heading.

Today, many churches – including this one -- will hear what you just heard:  the first twenty-one verses of the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel.  In fact, for the next five Sundays in a row the Gospel texts will come from this chapter:  John 6.  Yes, I know; that sounds a bit excessive.  But obviously, someone somewhere – on the lectionary committee -- thought that this particular chapter was pretty important.  Let’s give the lectionary committee the benefit of the doubt and cozy up to it then!

I love the lectionary and thank God for it.  The so-called “Three Year Series “ (or cycle) for Lord’s Day and festival worship gives me a reading from the Old Testament, the book of Psalms, the New Testament, and from one of the four Gospels.  The same goes for the so-called “Two Year Series” that offers the same routine for each day of the week – Monday through Saturday.  When I was going through some of the most difficult times in my life (some of which were foisted upon me and others of which I foisted upon myself), the lectionary – with its appointed readings – was my spiritual refuge.  The good Lord used it to keep what little flickering ember of faith I had alive.

Yesterday, my wife Diana and I came back home after a visit to see my ailing father and stepmother in Nebraska.  Stepmother Ruth has a very serious staph infection called M.R.S.A.  My dad, Rupert, at 88 years of age, has a variety of health issues that include mobility problems and increasing dementia.  Each “good-bye” is more difficult.  Yesterday, I got my marching orders:  “Proclaim the Gospel tomorrow,” he said.  He didn’t say “Proclaim John chapter six”! He said “Proclaim the Gospel.”  Shame on me if I don’t proclaim the text, but woe is me if I don’t proclaim the Gospel.

John 6 is a big chapter, a sprawling piece of Biblical literature.  If you had some sort of literary drone to fly over the John 6 landscape taking pictures, you’d see five thousand plus people sitting on a hillside being fed by Jesus with very few rations:  five loaves of bread and a couple of fish.  When the drone arrived at the end of the chapter, there would be an entirely different view.  The five thousand plus folks are long gone, and there are only twelve followers of Jesus left – and one of them would betray Jesus.  He’d referred to Himself as the “Bread of Life”, and His followers just weren’t getting it; the message wasn’t resonating with them.  John 6:66 says:  “From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him.”  John 6:66 is my candidate for the saddest verse in the Bible.    Where is the good news?  Where is the “Gospel” (which literally means “good news”) in this?

It’s there, my friends.  But sometimes you have to dig.  You have to stick with the text, wrestle with the text, hang on to the text until it blesses you. 

This is a time in the history of this congregation where we have to dig. 

In May of 1987, I graduated from Concordia Seminary in St. Louis with a Master of Divinity degree.  At the time, I also received my first call to pastoral ministry in a congregation.  In the call documents from a church in central Indiana, there was a cryptic line in small print at the bottom of the page.  It read as follows:  “Previous pastor resigned under pressure from voter’s assembly.” That line should have NOT been in small print.  It should have been blown up, highlighted, emboldened and underscored. Fresh out of grad school, I inherited a congregation that was beaten down from, essentially, an internal civil war.  At the center of the storm was the pastor.  Some thought he was totally incompetent, was negligent, and, therefore, he had to go.  Others thought that, while he may not have been the most gifted or talented pastor, he still had the call – and that ought to be respected.  The pastor called a congregational meeting and asked for a vote of confidence.  (In my opinion, that was a huge mistake.)  The pastor lost that vote, but by then the damage was done.  Many of the folks had long since grown tired of the bickering and backing biting and personality conflicts and so on.  Before the pastor called for a vote, they voted with their feet and walked out the door. 

Folks, the seminary – I have to say – really did not prepare me for this scenario.  What was I, the new guy, supposed to do?  What could I do to get this church out of the ecclesiastical “Intensive Care Unit” (if you will) and into a “regular room”?  I called Dr. Hempelmann, a pastoral theology prof at seminary and a kind of mentor.  He told me to listen to the people; listen to the people until your ears fall off and you have to grow another set of ears; listen to the people and gently bring the conversation out of the past and the pain and into the present and the possibilities.  I called Rev. Erv Kostizen, my supervisor from my Michigan vicarage, for advice.  He said, “Paul, 90% of your ideas are not going to work; 8% are going to work five years from now; 2% of your ideas will start to work immediately, but you can’t get so far ahead of the people that they can’t catch up.”  He continued, “Don’t bounce back and forth too long between the people who supported your predecessor and those who wanted him out. In your mind, don’t divide the congregation that way.  Instead, consider the three kinds of people in every congregation:  first, you have the VIPs – the very important people.  These are the one who support the overall mission, your ministry, and the church in general.  These are the members a pastor dreams of.  Secondly, you have the VTPs – the very teachable people.  These are the relatively new members, the younger ones, the folks that want to get involved in mission and ministry but need to be briefed and taught.  Third and finally, you have the VDPs – the very draining people; they extract an emotional toll.   These are the folks who, whether they know it or not, blow any enthusiasm right out the window if not the Holy Spirit right out the door.  They can be very dedicated members, but there’s a price you pay for that.  VIPs, VTPs, VDPs.  We spend most of our time with the VIPs and VDPs.  But the ones we really need to devote more energy on are the VTPs.”  And this last advice came from a beloved minister who served the same congregation for thirty-plus years. 
 

In 1987, that congregation – embroiled in controversy – had dwindled down to less than one hundred people in the single Sunday service.  When I stepped down from that pastorate ten years later, the average attendance was between 250-300.  We’d added a second Sunday service and one on Wednesday night.  In addition, we had three successful capital campaigns.  One added a new educational wing.  The second remodeled the narthex/office area.  The third, and most ambitious, was the expansion of our sanctuary. 

Later this week, I will mark a quiet anniversary in my life.  I will have served First Presbyterian for five years; I started in August, 2010.  I knew some things coming in, and I’ve learned a few things since.  There were, for instance, similarities between this congregation and the one I served in Indiana.  There was turmoil surrounding the pastor, my predecessor.  Prior to that, as I was reminded again recently, there were strong differences of opinion surrounding the last building project here in the 1990s – which included the new Sybil Hopper fellowship hall.   Before that, there was a great deal of hurt surrounding how a youth director’s work here came to an end and how that was handled.  There was a time 20-25 years ago, if I read the history correctly, when there were four to five times as many folks in these pews as there are today.

Aware of this, five years ago I tried to keep things simple:  preach the Gospel and administer the sacraments as best you can; try to offer solid, consistent pastoral care for people as they navigate the joys and sorrows of their lives; follow that same advice you did in your first church. 

My truth today – which is mine and may or may not be yours – is this:  I’m not sure that the efforts have worked; I honestly no longer know if I and my ministry are helping or hindering this congregation.  This has nothing to do with the pay and benefits you provide through your offerings.  They have been wonderful.  It has to do with knowing something of the history of this congregation and, as one member put it, “reading the spiritual tea leaves.” 

In the last few days, I listened to an acquaintance of First Presbyterian compliment this church.  He said, “The people there are the kindest, sweetest Christians I’ve ever met.”  I told him that First church, while the smallest church I’ve ever served, also had the most committed folks that I’ve had the pleasure of working with; we’re small but mighty”

Yet, there have been moments here that have not been so kind and sweet.  (I know. You can hear a pin drop, and that’s okay. I’m just publically acknowledging some things.)  Spirits have been damaged; feelings have been hurt.  The call of Jesus to love one another has been replaced with a calculated indifference or even a quiet if not open hostility.  People commiserate and calculate, but they don’t commune.  Where God builds a church, the devil builds a chapel – and, if the Biblical doctrine of human sin is any indication, we’ve all worshipped at both places.

I’ve shared some painful truth today.  I hope I’ve done so with love.  The Scriptures do call us to “speak the truth in love.” 

John 6 begins with 5,000 people – and that’s just men.  There had to be many more than that when you count the women and children.  But at the end of the chapter, there are only the twelve disciples – and one of them would betray Jesus. 

Right now, First Presbyterian Church is much closer, in reality, to the end of that chapter than the beginning.  And I wish, with all my heart, that this were different.  I wish with all my heart that I knew what to do.  Handling this is hard, and it’s compounded when I know that there are some, truth be told, that would much rather my wife and I leave.  We face so many challenges – from air-conditioning repairs that will run from between $6000 to $40000 to the $180,000 some odd dollars we still owe on our mortgage.  We have an entire generation that is essentially missing from this congregation; we just have not been able draw them in.   Bob Storrie has died, and, as we stand with the family in their time of loss, we remember – in the back of our minds – that his generation is dwindling   They were the movers and the shakers and the committed ones the Lord used to bequeath this church to us, to the community of Denton and beyond.  Yet the generation that would step into their shoes and take their mantle is simply not present.  What the good Lord is up to in this church, I really am not sure about at this time at all. 

But my dad told me, even though his mind grows cloudier every day, “Proclaim the Gospel.”

That Gospel, today, comes in the form of a question – and that question is this:  what was the Lord Jesus Christ able to do with five loaves of bread and two fish?  How many basketfuls of LEFT OVER food were picked up after five thousand plus people had had their fill of food?

Why did Jesus head for the mountain after he fed all those people?  Because, the text says, they wanted to make him a king by force.  That’s the kind of Jesus they wanted:  the food stamp program and social security department all rolled into one.

Jesus withdrew from that; He would be the Jesus that He would be.  He would be the Jesus of the cross, of the empty tomb.  He would be the Jesus who takes meager rations, blesses them, and then turns around and feeds five thousand plus people.  This is the Jesus who will take our meager rations and cause a miracle in our own time to happen among us:  a church revitalized!

If we hold on to our loaves and fishes, then we should close those doors for good.  Only when they are in the hands of Jesus will the miracle occur.

God bless you all.

Amen.