Once upon a time back in Old
England a tramper came through the forest into a
clearing and a village (A tramper is what we call a
hiker.) For a number of years that village had been
known throughout the land as a place where the best soap
was made. But hard times had come, and there was no more
soap, and few came to that village any more.
The suspicious
people who lived there slammed the door
in the tramper’s face.
He met up with
another villager and got similar
results.
Finally, he found
someone who would talk with him. The
villager said that indeed there was very
little food in their village. No one
would share with anyone else for fear
that they might go hungry themselves,
not even so much as a carrot, a turnip,
or a walnut.
So the stranger
sat in the village square where the
great kettles that once boiled the soap
sat empty and unused over the cold
hearth. Then he started shouting for all
the villagers to gather around. He
indeed could feed the whole village and
there would be more than enough to store
for the days ahead, if only they would
trust him and one another.
A few curious folk
came out of their huts and stood around.
Fill this great cauldron with water,
said the tramper. When that was done, he
had them gather sticks and build a great
fire in the hearth. Then he instructed
each person to go back to their home and
bring just one vegetable, or a measure
of seasoning, and to place it in the
cauldron. By this time most of the
villagers had come out to see what was
going on. Soon everyone had caught on,
and it became an excited contest to see
who might bring the best offering to
place in the now-boiling kettle. Even a
bone or two with a bit of meat was
tossed in.
By evening a
savory stew had been prepared in that
large cauldron. Every family dipped out
what they wanted. They came back for
more and more.
Some said they had
seen a miracle, others said it was
magic. No, said the stranger, it is only
a sign of what you can do together with
what you have when you trust you work
together.
I recall a meditation given by a
Baptist layperson, a bank president, many years ago when
I lived in Liberal, Kansas. His meditation came from
this text in Matthew, and I will never forget how he put
his meditation together.
He told us this was a story of how Jesus can
take what little we have and turn it into a
miracle that will feed thousands when we give it
all to him and work together according to his
will for our lives.
The big crowd of
people also in their haste and
impulsiveness had not thought beyond the
immediate moment, but now they were
hungry and they wanted Jesus and his
gang to feed them after they interrupted
his private retreat! How like a typical
congregation, or a greedy clientelle!
Jesus’
first requirement is, "You give them
something to eat."
1.
When you turn to Jesus and say, "Lord, I
am praying for you to do something for
the hungry and the poor and the sick,"
then Jesus turns it
back on us: "You
do something for them; take an inventory
among yourselves and see what you have?"
a. I
remember an old retired pastor
emeritus in the First
Presbyterian Church of Lake
Charles, LA. Dr. Copeland said
to me one day when I took him
out to lunch, "Jesus excluded no
one; whom am I then to exclude
someone?" And he was talking
about gays in the church and
admitting them to the Lord’s
Supper.
Change your point of view, you will never
be the same
See what God can do.
It’s the miracles in the everyday
Kind words you take time to say
It’s an open hand to a broken heart
It’s hanging on when you don’t know where
to start..."
D.
Finally, from
his book "Every Day Deserves a Chance: Wake up
to the Gift of 24 Hours," Max Lucado, a favorite
author, says this about God’s feeding of his
children in the wilderness...
1.
"When my daughters were single digit
ages-2, 5 and 7- I wowed them with a
miracle. I told them the story of Moses
and the manna and invited them to follow
me on a wilderness trek through the
house.
‘Who know,’ I suggested, ‘manna may fall
from the sky again.’
We dressed
in sheets and sandals and did
our best Bedouin hike
through the bedrooms. The girls, on my
instruction, complained to me,
Moses, of hunger, and demanded I take them
back to Egypt, or at least to
the kitchen. When we entered the den, I
urged them to play up their parts
groan, moan and beg for food.
‘Look up,’ I urged. ‘Manna might fall at
any minute.’
Two-year-old Sara obliged with no
questions, but Jenna and Andrea
had their doubts. How could manna fall
from a ceiling.
Just like you? Your future looks as barren
as the Sinai Desert. How
can I face my future? God tells you what I
told my daughters: ‘Look up.’
When my daughters did, manna fell. Well,
not manna, but vanilla
wafers dropped from the ceiling and landed
on the carpet. Sara squealed
with delight and started munching. Jenna
and Andrea were old enough to
request an explanation.
My answer was simple. I knew the
itinerary. I knew we would enter
this room. Vanilla wafers fit safely on
the topside of the ceiling-fan blades.