Practicing the Kingdom: 2 Kings 4:42-44 and John 6:1-21

For those who donʼt know me, I am a communion junkie. Communion is where it all comes together for
me, where the entire phenomenon of ʻbeing churchʼ is transformed: where a group of people coming
together in a brick building is changed into a community of the holy spirit. Thatʼs not to say that the rest of
it - the hymns, the sermon, the passing of the peace, and so on - isnʼt meaningful. I know some people
get it all in those parts of the service, and I get little glimpses there. But, for me, communion is the lynch
pin that makes it all come together.

When I was young, though, I did not - and I mean emphatically did not - like communion. Like plenty of
kids, I didnʼt want to be in church in the first place. The hymns seemed dowdy, the prayers seemed blase,
the sermons were often just long and rambling... it was a Sunday morning wasted. Communion was just
another bit being tacked onto the end and costing another fifteen or twenty minutes.

In other words: I didnʼt get it. I didnʼt understand it. I didnʼt see how radical it was: how it demanded a
fundamental change in the way I lived - in the way we live.

Iʼm not surprised now that I didnʼt get it then. I wouldnʼt be surprised if I didnʼt get it now. Communion, in a
way, is hidden by its difference. It doesnʼt fit into the way we usually do things. Itʼs the weird kid who
always eats alone: different, and therefore invisible.

The way we normally do things is the way that makes the weird kid always eat alone. Imagine the
cafeteria of your high school: which table were you at? I sat with the band geeks, and I remember that
there were tables for the jocks from the first tier sports and their associates, and tables for the jocks from
the other tiers, and tables for the theater people, and tables for the gangstas, and for the goths, and for
the computer geeks, and so on. We all, Iʼm sure, know the routine: everyone has their clique and, while
there might be some crossing of borders, for the most part those cliques stay separate.

That didnʼt end after high school, either. When I was in college, one of the art classes was assigned the
project of doing an installation piece: a site specific, three dimensional piece that changes the perception
of a space. One of the students went into the cafeteria with a few rolls of masking tape and a marker and
installed the cafeteria borders: here was the jazz table, here were the tekes, here were the international
students, here was the lacrosse team, and so on. The artist had simply made physical all of the
boundaries that were already there. While we might have all been more comfortable in our cliques - and
while our cliques might have been a little more open - than in high school, the basic set up remained the
same.

After college, I had a few jobs. One of these was in a warehouse. When I first took the job, I was told that
it was one big happy family, everyone was treated like equals, and so on. They even, around
Thanksgiving and Christmas, had holiday meals in the cafeteria, where everyone ate together. Of course,
this wasnʼt a nice cafeteria: all plastic benches attached to plastic tables. The executive staff didnʼt
normally eat in there - only the warehouse workers and lower level office workers. Imagine my surprise
when, near Thanksgiving, I walked into the cafeteria to discover that one new banquet table had been set
up and executive chairs arranged around it. All of those people who didnʼt normally eat in the cafeteria
would be joining the rest of us in the cafeteria, with their own private table and comfortable chairs. It was
still high school: just the cliques didnʼt normally see each other. When we all did, though, the lines were
very clear.

Even when I was in a position not to have to eat any meals in cafeterias, normal was still there. In
Chicago, there were borders around neighborhoods, around apartment buildings, around grocery stores,
and around restaurants. There was a huge difference between shopping at Whole Foods (posh) and
shopping at the Save-a-lot (not so posh). There were even areas where there were no groceries, and
where fast food was the only option. There was a real difference between eating at Frontera Grille or
Topolobampo (remarkably posh, genuine Mexican cuisine) and eating at any given taqueria in Humboldt
Park (genuine, incredibly cheap, and the opposite of posh). Neighborhoods were sometimes separated
Practicing the Kingdom: 2 Kings 4:42-44 and John 6:1-21

by physical borders: there were parks and highways that had been built to make sure neighborhoods
stayed separate.

Even here in Medina, borders separate us, just like everywhere else. Thereʼs a real difference between
living in an apartment at Forest Meadows or Mallardʼs Crossing and living in one at Autumn Run. Thereʼs
a difference between those of us who can do at least some of our grocery shopping at Buehlerʼs and
those of us who have to do all of our grocery shopping at Marcʼs or one of the big box stores. Thereʼs a
difference between those of us who can eat out at Longhorn some of the time and those of us for whom
McDonaldʼs is a special occasion. And, of course, there are those who donʼt have kitchens, for whom fast
food is the only real option. Itʼs the same everywhere: there are real borders between communities, real
differences that affect where and how we live, what we eat, what kind of medical care we get, what
educations are available, and on, and on, and on. In a lot of ways, the world is the high school cafeteria
on a much larger scale and with much bigger, life or death, stakes.

The ancient world was no different. At various times and in various places spanned by the Bible, people
were divided by gender, income, caste, profession, ethnicity, religious affiliation, and a thousand other
things. The world of the Bible, like our own, is a world full of divisions and borders. The Bible itself
reminds us of these borders: as when Joseph tells his brothers that shepherds are detested by the
Egyptians (Gen. 46:34), or when John is accused of being possessed by demons or Jesus is accused of
being a drunkard and a glutton for associating with the wrong people (Matthew 11:18-19), or even in
Leviticus, where the Israelites are repeatedly admonished to be set apart from other nations. Separation
and division are part of the reality of the Bible.

And yet thereʼs another strand that runs through the Bible, captured in the two passages from today; a
strand that rejects the separation that is so normal and, importantly, rejects it through food. Where God is,
there is abundant food: God rains down bread from heaven (Exodus 16:4) on the Israelites in the
wilderness while they are on their way to a land of milk and honey; during the sabbath year, we are told
that there will be enough food for people to eat off the land without sowing or reaping (Lev. 25:1-7); Elijah
has food brought to him by ravens, and performs a miracle where a jug of flour and a jug of water - for
making cakes - last for years during a famine; Isaiah promises us that in the future there will be “a feast of
rich food for all peoples” (Isaiah 25:6). God provides food to all people: “defending the cause of the
fatherless and the widow, loving the alien, giving them food and clothing” (Deut. 10:18).

Moreover, we are commanded to do the same: “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the
chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it
not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter - when you see the
naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth
like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the
glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.” (Isaiah 58:6-8) Or the more memorable “I was hungry and you
fed me” (Matthew 25:35).

Neither Isaiahʼs vision of the holy feast nor the commands given to us are about separation. Neither the
feeding performed by Elisha nor the one performed by Jesus are about separation. Neither checks to
make sure that only the right people are present or that people are sitting in the right groups. They have
the food and it is distributed and there is enough for everyone and there is some left over. If the stories
seem awfully similar, I think it is because the point of the stories is that this is what God does and this is
what the kingdom of God looks like. This eating with abundance and without division is what is supposed
to be normal - and thus we see the story again and again, whenever God shows up, as though it is
normal.

And so we have the two ways of eating: the high school cafeteria and the feeding of the five thousand.
One of these is normal, and one of these is supposed to be normal. One of these is the way of the world,
and one of these is the way of God. This is what makes communion so important to me: communion is
not its own thing sitting off in the corner, by itself, something encountered only on a special occasion -
Practicing the Kingdom: 2 Kings 4:42-44 and John 6:1-21

whether that occasion is once a quarter or once a month or once a week or once a day. Communion sits
in relation to the way Jesus eats. Communion sits in a tradition of Godʼs feast. Communion is how weʼre
supposed to eat not just on Sunday morning, but all the time.

Think about what a radical demand that is. Think about what the world would be like if, every day, there
was enough food for everybody. Think about what the world would be like if, every day, there was more
than enough food for everybody. Think about what the world would be like if, every day, no one was
turned away from the table. Think about the what the world would be like if, every day, regardless of your
race or color or creed, regardless of your religion or nationality or ideology, regardless of your age or
gender or sexuality, regardless of your popularity or abilities or education, regardless of your profession or
class or appearance, regardless of anything... there was food and drink and company and celebration.
Imagine that world. That is what the kingdom of God looks like.

Of course, weʼre not always good at living in that world. God knows Iʼm hardly ever good at living in that
world. I get ground down and cynical and selfish just like everyone else. I donʼt always look toward God. I
donʼt always have the eschatological hope of the messianic feast in my mind or in my heart. But I do this:
I come here. I practice.

I show up and eat at this table as a reminder of how I should eat and, when Iʼm good, I try to go out there
and eat the same way.

I show up and drink from this cup as a reminder of how I should drink and, when Iʼm good, I try to go out
there and drink the same way.

I show up and sing these songs as a reminder of how I should sing and, when Iʼm good, I try to go out
there and sing the same way.

I show up and pass the peace as a reminder of how I should pass peace and, when Iʼm good, I try to go
out there and pass that peace to others in the same way.

I show up and pray as a reminder of how I should pray and converse with God and, when Iʼm good, I try
to go out there and pray and converse in the same way.

I show up here and live as a reminder of how I should live and, when Iʼm good, I try to go out there and
live the same way.

“The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it
worked all through the dough.” (Matthew 13:33) I come here to, as it were, get my yeast up. I come here
to, as it were, get yeasty. I come here not to be separate, not to be set apart. I come here to by holy as
God is holy: the God who is willing to empty himself into a human vessel and spread a kingdom not
through conquest and human glory, but through eating and drinking with Pharisees and tax collectors
alike, through healing and serving all who came near, through washing the feet of his disciples, through
being led off to the cross and hung upon it, and through rising again.

And so, today, I want to try something. Weʼve switched things around a little today and put the message a
little earlier in the service than usual. I want us to be mindful today that this is not a time set apart to be
different from other times, but to treat it as a rehearsal for the rest of the time. And, perhaps even more
important, I want us to be mindful for the rest of this week of those things that get in the way of our living
this way: both our own personal obstacles and the institutional and systemic obstacles that get in the way
of living in the kingdom of God.

As a start, let us rise and greet one another with the peace of our Lord, Jesus Christ.