Feeding and walking–two perfectly ordinary human activities, right? But when Jesus does them, extraordinary things happen.

Today our Gospel lesson comprises two—not one, as is more usual—but two important stories from Jesus’ ministry here on earth. I’m not sure if that is a blessing or a curse.

So I spent a couple of days last week trying to decide which one I was going to focus on in this sermon. And of course, a million words could be said about each of them. But that wouldn’t do, so which?

Then finally Friday morning I sat down with my computer and began to write this sermon, which hopes to say something meaningful about both—maybe even about the two of them together—as they are presented to us in the 6^th chapter of the Gospel according to John.

So here goes: Walking and feeding—two perfectly ordinary activities, except when Jesus does them. That’s the connection, of course. Jesus does them. And that makes all the difference in the world.

Not an earth-shaking statement, right? But… when Jesus did them, the earth was shaken. Things changed.

Let’s start with feeding: When humans feed, we divide the food we have amongst the people we need to feed. Generally speaking, that is. And if we do it totally evenhandedly, the more people to feed, the less each person would get. And vice versa.

I grew up in a large family and, as mom’s primary helper, became skilled at cutting the pie or the beef roast or whatever into enough pieces to go around.

But, of course, as a society and on a global level, humans do not divide food or anything else at all equally. Some get plenty; others starve. We divide according to our merit system or the biases of economic systems. It’s never a matter of “not enough”; it’s always a matter of maldistribution.

Not so when Jesus feeds. When Jesus feeds, everybody gets what they need, and there’s plenty left over. Same is true when God feeds, as in Second Kings…

You’ll notice that in this case, Jesus does what God has already done. That shouldn’t surprise us: Jesus said, often enough, “I and the Father are one,” or similar words to that effect.

So Jesus blesses a few loaves and a couple of fish and through his compassion and his act of thanksgiving and praise, God became known to the gathered throng in the breaking of the bread.

And when God becomes known to humankind, our hearts are opened and miracles happen, miracles of giving and sharing, of welcoming strangers…, of caring for the least among us. So much so that we have more blessing left over than what we started with.

God’s grace is always offered fully to and for all. When Jesus feeds, the world of division and inequality as we know it, is turned on its head.

What about walking? Jesus walks where we cannot: Upon the turbulent sea. This story puts me in mind of the chaos of pre-creation. Genesis speaks of a formless void, of darkness covering the deep and of a wind. Sounds a lot like what the world must have looked like to the disciples in that storm-tossed boat.

The wind was from God, Genesis says, but it is not until God speaks, “Let there be light,” that light appears. And as Genesis tells the story, God continues to speak the universe into existence. Order out of chaos. God’s words are powerful.

Likewise, Jesus walks upon the stormy waters. The disciples see him but think he is a ghost. But when he speaks—It is I, he says, in our translation—the wind and the water lie down. Calm and order are restored. Language experts tell us that the words Jesus uses to identify himself in this story are the ones God uses for the same purpose when speaking to Moses from the burning bush. 

It sounds like the chaotic, upside down world the disciples were experiencing was restored instantly. They “wanted” to take him into the boat, it says, ` but apparently didn’t have time to do so because there they were—at their destination, back on terra firma.

In Matthew’s account of this event, Peter gets out of the boat and proves what we all know: Mere humans cannot walk on water.

But we do walk into each others’ lives We do walk into and through our shared public spaces—which are often turbulent, even chaotic. We come to church Sunday morning and walk together a ways, then go our separate ways. We go to our jobs and walk with our co-workers for a ways. On our way to or from work, we might walk momentarily into the life of a homeless person, or a long-lost friend, or a person whose very appearance tips us off that we won’t like him or her.

Jesus walked. Into the lives of his disciples, from village to village throughout Galilee, across the turbulent sea. Ultimately, he walked to his crucifixion in Jerusalem. And everywhere Jesus walked he brought love and healing and reconciliation.

When we walk into the lives of others, what do we bring? Peace or conflict? Healing and reconciliation or pain and strife? Do we fan the flames of political division with our rhetoric? Or do we speak calmly and listen respectfully?

I want to address the issue of social media for a moment. Because like it or not, social media are public, political, social, and religious realities in our lives. It is shared space we walk into and through—most of us—on a daily basis.

It has its value! I learn of many things happening in the community, things I appreciate knowing about, through Facebook. I connect with faraway friends and family through Facebook.

But whether you find any good in them or not, the bottom line is, Facebook and other social media are contemporary realities. And it appears to me that a very high percentage of what transpires there contributes significantly to the political and social divisions and hostilities that characterize our common life today. It’s more a spitball fight than a conversation.

I am speaking to myself as much as you. I must remind myself constantly to read and reread before I click “send.” To try to view that “funny” meme through the eyes of other people—especially people not like me—before I reshare it.



I spoke earlier of the power of God’s words, and of course they are! But remember that in chapter 2 of Genesis, God has Adam name the creatures! One thing we must take away from the creation story is that all words are powerful.

Human words are powerful and with them we can bring calm and reconciliation to political conflict, or we can fan the flames with inflammatory rhetoric. We can listen respectfully and disagree calmly, or we can slash and burn and belittle and demean.

The prologue to John’s Gospel tells us two things about Jesus: First, that we was there in the beginning with God, and second, that Jesus himself was God’s Word that became flesh and dwelt among us. And we have seen his glory.

As his followers, we are now his hands and feet, his spokesperson. We must learn to feed as he fed. We must walk, as the Psalmist says, in the land of the living, bringing peace and love and reconciliation as he did. We must use our words as he used his, to calm the turbulent seas of this world that God so loves.

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, AMEN.