Bread from Heaven (MPLS)

John 6:28-39

Then they said to him, ‘What must we do to perform the works of God?’ Jesus answered them, ‘This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.’ So they said to him, ‘What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, “He gave them bread from heaven to eat.” ’ Then Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.’ They said to him, ‘Sir, give us this bread always.’

Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. But I said to you that you have seen me and yet do not believe. Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away; for I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me. And this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.

My name is Vern Christopherson. Thanks for your gracious welcome. It’s good to be with you, even during these challenging times. I retired from full-time pastoral ministry in October. My last call was to Zumbro Lutheran Church in Rochester. While in Rochester, I stayed in an apartment during the week, and then came back to the Twin Cities on Sunday afternoon. My wife Brenda continued working as a nurse at Fairview Southdale Hospital. After my retirement, I moved back into our family home near Washburn High School, a home we’ve been living in since 1989. And yes, there are lots of projects on my to-do list for our 100-year-old house.

I visited a number of churches over the last few months, including Bethlehem. Little did I know what was happening behind the scenes, even though I’m well-aware of the stresses and strains on pastors and churches these days. When Pastors Ben and Mary got ready to make their announcement in January, it was a surprise to me too. I got a phone call one morning from Bishop Ann Svennungsen of the Minneapolis Area Synod. “Vern, what are you up to these days? I’ve got something I’d like you to consider.” Truth be told, I had considered the possibility of interim ministry, but I wasn’t expecting it here and now. Please hear me: that doesn’t mean I’m not committed to being with you, because I am. But it’s yet another reminder of the incredible challenges we’re facing these days in the church.

I preached at Minnetonka last Sunday. Mary and Ben had already said goodbye to them. I’d like to share a portion of that sermon with you today. Hopefully it will help paint a picture of this transition time in which we find ourselves.  

I started with a story about a dark and stormy night. My family was on a camping trip to Winnipeg. We went with another family named the Haugejordans. I was 7 years old. We lit a campfire and set up a couple of tents. When we went to bed, the sky was calm and clear. But a few hours later, the wind was howling, the lightning crackling, and the rain coming down in torrents. Our tent was rocking back and forth in the wind. It felt like it might blow away. I was terrified.  Are we going to make it?  

The next thing I knew, Mr. Haugejordan — whose first name was Clarence — got up out of his sleeping bag. He grabbed the pole at the center of the tent and hung on for dear life. I don’t know if he hung on for 5 minutes or 5 hours, but it was just long enough for the storm to pass. We were safe again. From that moment on, Clarence Haugejordan looked seven feet tall to me. He had arms thick as tree limbs, legs as strong as an ox. He was my hero because he had saved us from the storm.  

There was another dark and stormy night right before today’s reading in John. It occurred on the Sea of Galilee. Jesus had spent the day on a hillside above the lake. A large crowd had gathered around him because they’d heard whispers of miraculous healings. Word travels fast.  

Pretty soon it was lunchtime and the crowd needed something to eat. They found a boy who was willing to share his food: five barley loaves and a couple of fish. 

You know this story. Jesus takes the loaves and the fish. He gives thanks for them. The disciples are called in to help. Before long everyone has had enough to eat, and there are leftovers too. The crowd is even more excited than before. They rush to make Jesus their “king,” or in Hebrew, their messiah.

When evening comes, darkness descends. “Darkness” in John is never simply about the condition of the sky but more about the condition of people’s hearts, and in this case, the disciples’ hearts. The disciples get into a fishing boat and begin the eight-mile trip to the other side of the lake. It isn’t long before a great windstorm arises. The boat rocks back and forth. The waves come crashing in over the side. Even though many of the disciples are experienced fishermen, they’re scared to death.  Are we going to make it? 

This sudden storm on the Sea of Galilee seems a fitting commentary on life as we know it: calm and inviting one minute, frighteningly stormy the next. When is the doctor going to call and what will she say? Will the Russians invade Ukraine? What’s going to happen to Bethlehem as their co-lead pastors leave at the same time?  Are they — or can I say we — going to make it?

So, what do you do in the middle of life’s storms? Get a second opinion from the doctor? Do research on the internet? Start inquiring about the availability of a few pastors you’ve met?

You may sense what I’m getting at: we want to row a little faster, try a little harder, anything to be more hopeful? These efforts may be well and good, but let’s be honest, they help only so much. Sometimes the waves are too big and too powerful. Oftentimes we need something more.

As the storm rages over the Sea of Galilee, the disciples are in for a big surprise. Jesus comes to meet them walking on the water. Suddenly they’re as frightened of him as they are of the storm.  Who is this man for whom we’ve left everything?  Jesus speaks to them: “Don’t be afraid. It’s me.” If you’re following this story in the original language, Jesus is saying: “I Am,” which is an echo of what Moses heard from God in the burning bush: “I Am who I Am.” You can almost hear the disciples gasp: Who are you? And — please — is there something you can do about this storm?

We’ve been in similar situations, haven’t we? Situations when we find ourselves consumed with worry, when we can’t remember the last time we got a good night’s sleep, when prayer might the furthest thing from our minds. Truth be told, when we find ourselves in such storms, we’re probably not going to get through them by simply rowing a little faster and harder. Above all else, we need to learn to trust the one who says I Am in the midst of whatever situation we’re facing.  

Trust is not an easy lesson to learn. When my daughter Ingrid was at Hale Elementary School, I was charged with a sacred responsibility. I was to type up her first term paper. The topic was elephants. She worked on it for days and days, poring over encyclopedias, checking out books from the library, taking painstaking notes, all to better inform the world about elephants. 

The moment came to type up the report. Ingrid asked me to help. Even as she did, however, she seemed a bit skeptical: “Dad, do you know what you’re doing?” I tried to reassure her, “Yes, Ingrid, I know what I’m doing.” But 10 minutes later, Ingrid was back looking over my shoulder, “Dad, do you know what you’re doing — really?” “Yes, Ingrid, I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this before.” Finally, Ingrid blurted out the real cause for her concern: “Dad, do you know what you’re doing… because I’m putting all my trust in you?”

The disciples have staked their lives on this rabbi from Galilee. They’ve left everything behind — their homes, their families, their jobs — to go on a mission with him. “Jesus, do you know what you’re doing, because we’re putting all our trust in you.” Unlike Matthew, Mark and Luke, Jesus in John doesn’t still the storm. Pastor Mary made that point last Sunday. Rather, Jesus is present with them during the storm, and he guides their boat to safety on the other side of the lake. I can imagine the disciples getting down on their knees, filled with awe and reverence. Jesus, the great I Am is suddenly looking like Clarence Haugejordan. He’s seven feet tall. He’s their hero.  Who is this, they say with astonishment, he helps us find a way when we don’t even know where to look!  

Bethlehem is in the midst of turbulent waters. Depending on your perspective, it might even feel like a storm. When pastors leave, there’s often a feeling of deep sadness and loss.  Now what are we going to do? Who else might leave? Are we going to be able to find our way forward?  These feelings are normal enough, but as I see it, they’re probably compounded by the death of Pastor Chris in June of 2017.  How much more can this congregation take?  And here’s the underlying problem: these questions don’t come with ready-made answers.

At times like this, interim pastors are often brought in by the synod and the church council to help navigate the transition. No two interim periods are alike. Some might last a few months; others might last several months. Pastor Ben shared last week that there’s probably going to be a strong desire to hang on to the way things used to be. What do you think: is he right?

There are some of the main things that an interim pastor needs to tend to: 1) to keep the day-to-day operations of the church going as well as possible, including the well-being of the staff; 2) along with the church council, to form a transition team to take a deeper look at how ministry has been going here; 3) to encourage the ministry of the laity; 4) to listen to the concerns of the people; 5) to clarify the mission of the congregation; 6) again with the council to eventually form a call committee and start interviewing candidates; and last but not least, 7) to prepare the congregation for whoever is coming next. It’s a tall order! I can’t do it alone. Let me go out on a limb: in a complicated place like Bethlehem Twin Cities, the interim is probably going to take longer than a few short months. Two pastors have left; one has died; and we’re still in the midst of a pandemic.  Are we going to make it?  I say yes, but it’s going to take some time!

The story of Jesus walking on the water makes me wonder about the condition of our hearts, and the size of our God. C.S. Lewis has a book entitled, “Prince Caspian,” that explores these questions.  One of the children in the book meets up with Aslan, the lion. Aslan is the Christ-figure in the Narnia Chronicles. He’s been away for a long time and finally he’s returned. The wide-eyed child says to him, “Aslan, you’re bigger.” Aslan answers, “That’s because you’re older, little one.” The child responds, “Not because you are?” “I am not,” says Aslan, “but every time you grow, you will find me bigger.”

So it is with God and us, I think. Spend any amount of time growing in your faith and your God will get bigger. Spend time in prayer and your God will get bigger. Spend time in worship and your God will get bigger. And I sincerely hope that as you spend time in an intentional interim — exercising patience, talking through tough issues, listening to each other respectfully, helping out as needed, trusting the guidance of the Holy Spirit — and your God will get bigger.  

Oh, it might feel like a storm at times; but remember, Jesus comes with bread in abundance, bread from heaven. It’s meant to satisfy our hunger and give us the strength we need. The storm might not end as quickly for us as it did for the disciples, but hopefully, as time passes, we will be a little less afraid.  

Friends, let me speak plainly: I’m not here to go walking on water. No, I’m in the boat with all the rest of you. But I am committed to pointing us in the direction of the great I Am.  On your dark and stormy nights, pay attention to the condition of your heart. Whatever it is you need, go looking for Jesus. Put your trust in him! He’s waiting to help! And in the process, he might just get bigger! Amen.