Bread 2: Who is Jesus?- Rev. Wendy McCormick- Aug 11, 2024
Who is Jesus? Part 2
Rev Wendy McCormick
August 11, 2024
Preachers and Bible students tend to refer to chapter 6 of John’s gospel as the bread chapter, and lectionary followers call this series that comes up every 3 years the bread summer. But the sign with the bread, feeding the 5000, which we read last week, is over by week one -- verse 13 of a 71-verse chapter. And what follows today has nothing to do with bread. But it does have a lot to do with our framing question for this series and a very important question to John: Who is Jesus? Who is this word made flesh who offers this sign of abundance, positioning himself in line with the great prophets of the Hebrew Bible, aligning himself with the Exodus, when God’s people were freed from bondage and then fed in the wilderness. He is host and servant, modeling hospitality and stewardship and abundance, showing us how it’s done.
And where we left off last week, the amazed people proclaim him as the prophet they’ve been waiting for. And then when he realizes they mean to take him by force and make him king, he withdraws by himself. It’s an anti-climactic ending to this amazing sign, in which 5000 people have been fed with no more than one boy’s lunch.
Today we continue the story in the evening of the same day, when John tells us the disciples went down to the sea, got into a boat and started out across the sea. They seem oblivious to Jesus, what he has just said and done. Oblivious to the danger he must have been in as the crowd meant to take him by force to make him king. Are they unaffected by what just happened? Or clueless? It’s so anti-climactic. And, says John, it’s dark.
Dark? What’s up with that? These are seafaring fishers. They went to sea after dark. This is where we have to read John like an English major – they are in the dark. Like Nicodemus in chapter 3. In the dark. In fact, John uses darkness this way eight times in the gospel. It doesn’t say they are fleeing, but it sure feels like that, almost like Jonah. They are rowing across the sea after dark, almost like they are in a fog, not thinking. In the dark. As disciples then and now so often are. Perhaps all this talk of abundance and feeding and providing as what it means to follow Jesus left them pretty clueless – it would me. The feeding was amazing, but how are we supposed to do that? If we’re to follow Jesus, but Jesus isn’t going to be king, and if somehow we’re supposed to do what he did --- take care of the hungry from a place of abundance and hospitality – well color me overwhelmed, confused, in the dark. They don’t sit down to talk over what happened, to wonder about – let alone commit themselves to -- being people of abundance and sharing and hospitality. No, off they go, rowing toward Capernaum in the dark, and soon finding themselves on rough seas with a strong wind blowing. Professor Alicia Myers says, “they are on the waters of chaos in the dark.”
On the waters of chaos in the dark. Consider the times when that has been the metaphor for your life, for your faith. Sometimes “the waters of chaos in the dark” is the best way to describe our lives, what it is to be human, what it is to be a Christian, what it is to be church. Lots of chaos, lots of storms, lots of danger, and it’s dark --- pretty hard to see where you’re going or to know the way. They just keep rowing. And perhaps we know what that’s like too. Just keep rowing. And rowing. And rowing. It’s like that adage, if you don’t know where you’re going, any road will get you there. You can almost feel the choppy waves, the swirling sea – and all of it in the dark. Rowing.
Sometimes the storms are of our own making, I suppose. But often they are not. Life is just, well, stormy. Sometimes storms are what we run into when we are running away or avoiding Jesus’ claim on our lives. It doesn’t exactly say the disciples were running away but it is an odd reaction to what just happened when 5000 people were fed by their friend who gave thanks and distributed to people as much as they wanted. They leave behind the one they promised to follow. Or perhaps the seas were just rough – not because of anything they or we did or didn’t do. However it happened that night, it isn’t going well. The sea churns because of the wind, and they keep rowing out into the depths.
Disciples in the dark and in danger, and here comes that familiar Bible story from several of the gospels, Jesus walking on the water, coming near the boat. And the disciples are terrified. It’s interesting that John doesn’t say they’re terrified while they are in the storm. They are terrified when they see Jesus approaching them. But Jesus doesn’t criticize their fear. Instead, he literally offers himself.
“It’s me,” he says. “It’s me, don’t be afraid.” Almost like someone entering your dark house and announcing themselves so you won’t worry. “Yoo-hoo- it’s me” For Greek speakers, John is playing with words and tipping his hand for what is to come. Because ego eimi in Greek can be translated “It’s me,” or it can also be translated, “I am.” I am. The words God spoke to Moses when he asked, “suppose people ask the name of the God who sent me.” The creator of the universe, the God who delivers the people from bondage in the exodus, the great I AM. Translating the phrase “it’s me” makes the most sense here, but the double entendre is not lost. In the midst of this storm, at the heart of the chaos, they are offered – or faced with, you decide – the divine presence. It’s me. I am. The same phrase shows up five times in this chapter. Later, “I am” will be the translation but the words are the same: It’s me. I am. Don’t be afraid.
John’s Jewish hearers would have heard that double meaning loud and clear, and they also would have recognized the echoes of Isaiah in this story:
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. I give Egypt as your ransom, Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you. Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.”
Who is Jesus? Literally God with us. I am. I promised to be with you through the deep waters, and here I am. Do not be afraid. Who is Jesus? That steady, reassuring presence that can calm our fears and steady our boats and get us where we’re going in spite of ourselves. Who is Jesus? The one who gives us peace right when we need it most. Who is Jesus? The one who gets us safely to the other side of whatever storm it is we have to go through, whether it is of our own making or the circumstances life has thrown our way. It’s me. Don’t be afraid. And now we see how these two stories are linked. Each of them is a sign – a sign of who Jesus is, a sign of Jesus’ presence with us. First a sign for the crowd in the feeding, and then a sign for the disciples when they are amid the storm, the chaos, the danger, and in the dark.
Oddly enough, even though we think of this as the calming of the sea, in this version of the story, the storm isn’t calmed, but Jesus is revealed. And this is John’s point: revealing Jesus. He doesn’t take away the storm, he doesn’t magically make their lives smooth sailing. But he reminds them – and us --- that he is present, right there, right here. Here I am. It’s me. I am. And isn’t that truer to the experience of faith than what so many superficial presentations of Christianity would have us believe. Jesus doesn’t take away the storms but Jesus promises to go through them with us.
But just like the disciples, we tend to be so focused on the storms, on the darkness, on the chaos, on our fear, or maybe just our rowing, rowing, rowing, that we miss what God is doing among us, miss that Jesus is right here – Here I am. It’s me. I am. Jesus comes into the fearful, lonely, empty and threatening times to say it’s me. I am. “I AM” is with us to bring us to the destination that God intends.
Maybe we are so used to the chaos and just keeping our heads down rowing and rowing and rowing that we have trouble seeing it. Maybe you have to look up.
And maybe what’s scary is that Jesus may lead us a different direction than we thought we were rowing --- when we have all our plans and all our resources and all our church programs going one way. Except the next thing they know they arrive where they need to be. We are invited to open our eyes and our hearts to the one who is with us in the center of every storm, who is as near as our every breath, to pause and look up from our rowing long enough to notice “Emmanuel,” God with us, with the calm reminder, “it’s me.”
There is a world of people who will tell you that God decides what trials and tribulations you will face, that everything has a purpose, that God being in charge means that God decides when your spouse will get sick or your brother will become addicted or your job will go away. And that if you pray hard enough, God will take it all away, take away the storms, sort out the chaos and blast you from darkness into light. That that’s what miracles are.
But the witness of the scriptures is not that God causes or sends these trials but that God goes THROUGH them with us. The strength of the miracles – or as John calls them “signs” – is that they point to Jesus, to God with us, they reveal who Jesus is -- the one who’s there when you need it most. It’s me. I am. Don’t be afraid.
Who is Jesus? Last week, the beginning of the chapter, we saw Jesus is host, servant, abundant provider, standing in a long line of the tradition of the exodus and the prophets, but not a king who will take away our agency and solve all our problems. And now, layered on that, we see in the midst of the storm that Jesus is the presence to carry us through whatever life brings, whatever seas we sail.
The great I AM is as near and as familiar as the one who lets themselves in and says yoo-hoo, “it’s me.” It’s me, don’t be afraid. The one who feeds us and accompanies us through the storms, calming our fears, and inviting us to a lifetime journey to pursue what all that means. Which is next week. Amen.
