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Summary
Nothing stresses me out quite like preaching, but I feel called to do it. It’s like Jesus said to Peter (the other one), “Feed my sheep.” I wake up in the middle of the night to this terrifying question: “How are you going to feed the sheep?” At 3a.m., I don’t think it’s Jesus that’s asking the question.
I often think of role models, like my old friend Tim. He was an amazing communicator, husband, and father, but many years ago he asphyxiated himself, leaving a letter behind for his church. In it, he stated, “It is my own wretched weakness of which I am most ashamed.” I think he was haunted by that voice: “Tim, how are you — depressed and lonely — going to feed His sheep?”
My old friend Bruce pastored a beautiful ministry to the homeless of Denver. Then, tragically, one evening, hung himself from the banister in his home. Jim was also a friend and part of our church. He had been a “successful” pastor until his life fell apart. Jim was then surprised by Grace, wrote about Grace, and preached Grace. But like Tim and Bruce and me, he also struggled with that voice: “How are you going to feed the sheep?” And he took his own life…. I did the funeral service for both Bruce and Jim. At the end of Jim’s service, I asked this question, “How do I know that I won’t do the very same thing?”
I would imagine you’ve heard the question at 3 a.m.: “How will you feed the sheep? How will you care for those that God has given to you?”
In John 6, great crowds have come to Jesus in a field by the sea. He turns to Philip and asks, “Where are we to buy bread so that these people may eat?” Philip answers, “Two hundred denarii would not be enough…” Andrew, Peter’s brother, says, “There is a little boy here who has five barley loaves and two little fish, but what are they among so many?” Jesus gives “thanks” [eucharisto in Greek. It’s where we get our word “Eucharist”]. And everyone has more than enough to eat. Jesus has The Twelve pick up the leftover fragments that “nothing would be lost.”
It’s the fourth sign pointing to the seventh sign: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” The seventh sign is a body that is also the substance. It is the New Jerusalem coming down, the Kingdom at hand: Heaven. So how do we get there? “How are we going to feed the Sheep?”
Satan asks, “How are you going to feed the sheep?” Jesus asks, “How are WE going to feed the sheep?” And I think He has a twinkle in His eye as He asks it. If we read the sign, it seems to point to at least four things.
1) Give all that you’ve got. The little boy didn’t just give 10% of his five loaves and two fish; he gave all of it. But what do you give if you’ve got nothing. For at least a moment, I think my friends Tim, Bruce, and Jim felt like they had nothing to give.
2) When you’ve got nothing to give, give your “nothing.” I suspect that this is what Philip was unprepared to give. It’s often easier to share your something than your “nothing,” your strength than your weakness, your poverty than your wealth.
John is pointing out that this was shared poverty. Barley bread was the bread of the poor, and the little fish [opsarion] would’ve basically been sardines. It was a child who gave his lunch, which Jesus turned into the great banquet. Have you been to a party where everyone shares their strength? My guess is that it wasn’t much of a party. Have you been to a party where everyone boasts of their weaknesses?
Years ago, five of us had one toilet in one little bathroom. Just before moving into our new house with three toilets and five sinks, I remember sitting on the throne with one child on one knee and one on the other knee and the third playing at my feet, while Susan put on her makeup at the sink. Suddenly it hit me: “I’m really going to miss this place.” It was an abundance of shared poverty.
An A.A. meeting is an abundance of shared poverty. A real church is an abundance of shared poverty.
Years ago, I was leading a 10th grade boys discipleship group. It was going nowhere. It was dead, until Brian, the quiet kid who I thought was never listening, said, “Sometimes I think about killing myself.” He just gave it; he didn’t manipulate us with it; he just confessed it. And soon, everyone was sharing their poverty. We all came to life, as if the blood were flowing from Brian into those boys and threw them to me and all back to Brian, and we became a body… a living, happy body.
It’s a bit of a shock, but even though Jesus hates sin, He finds confessed sin profoundly attractive. All sin is a lack of Faith, but with Grace He creates Faith in our place of shame. He’s the Bridegroom, and we are His Bride, that is, His Body. Life itself is the abundance of shared poverty.
“I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses that the power of Christ would rest on me,” wrote Paul. And he listed his weaknesses, including, “my daily anxiety for all the churches.” That’s sin; it’s a weakness. But confessed to us, it’s the strength of Christ. Every member in a body is joined at a point of weakness that becomes that body’s strength: the abundance of shared poverty.
3) Give your nothing (your poverty) to Jesus. If the little boy had just given his lunch to the crowd because he felt obligated to do so, I doubt there would have been a banquet. A mere person cannot help you, and, if you think they can, you’ll bleed them dry. But Christ in your neighbor can. In those who boast in their strength, He’s buried deep in fig leaves and fear; but for those who’ve learned to trust grace, He’s close to the surface and may have become a fountain.
I remember Bruce laughing with bag ladies and winos in the park; it was a banquet of Grace. I think he spoke from decades of pain and his own poverty of spirit. But I also remember Bruce speaking to me about time management seminars that he hoped to market to successful business leaders. My impression: Bruce’s own strength could feed no one. With Bruce’s poverty, Jesus fed thousands, and He still is. His Ministry is still running: It’s called “Christ’s Body Ministries.”
4) Jesus is the abundance of shared poverty. Jesus is the 7th sign that is the substance. He is the temple built in three days. At the tree in the garden, the eschatos Adam is torn into billions of pieces, and on the third day He rises in all of us, as the Tree of Knowledge becomes the Tree of Life and we become one as He is one: The abundance of shared poverty.
We will discover that unlike the other Gospels, John does not record the words of institution at the Last Supper. It’s not because he doesn’t believe that the Eucharist happened, but that he believes it’s literally happening all the time. “I am the bread,” Jesus tells us in John 6.
In John 13:26 at the Last Supper, Jesus actually dips a piece of broken bread in the cup and gives it to Judas . . . who takes it. Then, satan enters Judas. And it is night. I suspect that John is saying that even if “the last and least of these, his brothers” is going to “hell,” Jesus is going there with them and in them, even as a piece of broken bread. In John 6, Jesus has all twelve pick up the broken bread that none would be “lost” (also translated “destroyed,” and “perished”). Jesus came to seek and to save the “lost.” He accomplishes that for which He was sent.
When people ask about suicide, I try to say, “It won’t work. You can’t kill your ‘self’ with yourself. And, actually, it sounds like you’re already dead. Only by faith (trust) do we pass from death to life; faith is the death of death. Suicide won’t work. But how much better it would be to find someone else who feels alone and feel alone together, to find another who’s lost and so be found together, or to find another who’s sad and so be sad together? The man of sorrows might just turn it all into a banquet of joy, even here and even now. Suicide won’t work, but that doesn’t mean that Jesus won’t work. In fact, He descends into ‘hell’ and gathers every fragment that none would be lost.”
At Jim’s funeral, I asked, “How do I know that one day I won’t do the same?” I answered, “I don’t. But my hope is not in what I know (knowledge); my hope is the One who knows me and will not leave me nor forsake me. He’s the Resurrection and the Life; He’s the broken fragment in the field that is me; He’s the Promised Seed in me.”
Jesus did say to Peter, “Feed my sheep.” But do you remember when He said it? He said it on the shore of the Sea, after He’d been raised from the dead and Peter had been sifted like wheat by Satan.
He said it when Peter knew that he had just denied his Lord three times. He said it right after Peter had been fishing naked all night long and caught nothing: “Now, Peter, feed my sheep.” He said it when Peter knew that he had nothing to give, and so Jesus gave everything through Peter. On this Rock, this Peter, he builds His church.
He says it to us when we see that we took His life on the tree, which is when and where He gives his life to the world… and gives it even through us. That’s when He says, “Now (when you have “nothing” to give), give everything, give me; let’s feed my sheep.”
Amazing Grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. . . and you.
That’s the infinite abundance of shared poverty.