Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15; John
6:24-35
Every
four years, I have a little jealous streak that rears its head. It’s not
because I wish I had put more effort into being an Olympic athlete, though I am
admittedly envious of their skills. The little green monster that peeks out
dates way back to my childhood when, looking at a poster in the hallway of my
house, I realized there were no women presidents. Immediately, I wanted to be
one. The presidency became my goal. In high school, I pursued a lot of avenues
that were open for politically inclined students. I was voted most likely to
succeed and most likely to become President. So every four years, I feel a
little nostalgia that it is not going to happen.
At
some point, I realized this was not the path for me. I do not mean a path that
was not open to me- I mean not the best one for me. In order to move on to
places and things that were better suited for my skills, I had to let the dream
of being president die. Yet, the ghost of that dream occasionally haunts me.
In
today’s readings, people are having a hard time letting their dreams die. The
Israelites likely dreamt of freedom each night they were in Egypt and, to be
sure, it did not look like this wandering in the desert, uncertain, hot, and
wistful, even, for the food of Egypt (tinged with the poison of slavery, though
it was). They are in bondage to their memory, unable to be thankful to the God
who has brought them thus far.
Their
memories will neither allow them to let go of what they thought freedom would
be like nor will their memories recall the truth of what life in Egypt truly
was. Their memories are holding them back from seeing God’s actions right in
front of them- the actions that are bringing them life.
The
people gathered around Jesus in today’s gospel, both Jews and Gentiles, are not
able to see who he really is. Their memories are fixated in two directions as
well. On the one hand, they are clearly remembering the many baskets of
leftover food after an entire crowd ate their fill. On the other hand, they are
remembering what has always been promised about the Messiah of God and what his
advent will bring. Obsessed with the signs they’ve witnessed, they crowd Jesus-
unable or unwilling to hear what he is saying about belief in God and what
truly sustains life.
Their
memories will not allow them to see past the obviousness of the miracles nor
will it allow them to let go of the messiah of their minds. Their memories are
holding them back from seeing God’s actions right in front of them- the actions
that are offering them life.
We
too can be in bondage to our memories. Not just to what we once thought we
might have been personally, but in many directions. We can hold ourselves
captive by society’s standards or the expectations of those we hold dear. We
may be enslaved by the memories of our own beliefs about ourselves, our work,
our families- what they were going to be, what they could be if we just made a
few changes.
As
a church family, we can be in bondage to our memories of what we think we our
best times. We can long for the leeks and cucumbers of days gone by, forgetting
the work that went with those meals. As part of the church universal, we can
hold so tightly to our memories of what we believed would happen when we nailed
the theses to the door, ordained women, become more welcoming… that we are
devastated by events that do not live up to the expectation of our memories.
I’m
not talking about our memories of people we have loved or times that we
appreciated- those are gifts from God that we’re able to recognize. But the
memories of what we thought would be… Our communities, our homes, ourselves…
can be held back by what we once believed would be our future. When this
happens, and it does, we often grieve for what might have been- without taking
stock in what is. Our memorial grief can hold us back from seeing God’s actions
right in front of us- the actions that are offering us life.
When
Jesus says, “I am the bread of life”- it’s not about food for the stomach. When
God provides manna in the wilderness, it’s not about keeping the Israelites
alive for another day. It’s about the present… and the presence. About the
relating… and the relationship. The reality of the spiritual strength that is
offered to us through Jesus, by the work of the Spirit… that reality is so that
we can live, right now. So that we can believe that God is with us, right now.
So that we can grow into our potential as God’s beloved, right now.
Part
of the work to which we are called letting go of the idols of our memories,
breaking the bonds of what we thought would be, and helping our neighbors to do
the same. We have a very real present in which to live, a very Real Presence that
feeds and sustains us. In order to appreciate these gifts and their
accompaniments, forgiveness, reconciliation, hope, we have to be willing to be
open to the immediate work of the Spirit. We have to accept that God is still
speaking. We have to expect that Christ will feed us. We must believe that what
God is doing, right now, in our lives and in the world, is greater than what we
could have expected or dreamed.
And
then we find ourselves released from the bondage of our memories, false as they
were. And we find ourselves in a gracious present, lacking nothing, equipped
and energized to carry the bread of life into the world. Whether we are
Olympian, pastor, lawyer, teacher, accountant, retiree, homebody, or president.
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