St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church

Rev. Gary Paterson

October 5, 2008

I love to travel – well yes, say those of you who know me… quelle surprise… and where are you planning to go for your next trip? Now, I could go on at great length about my latest journey, and haul out enough pictures to put you to sleep… just kidding. But I would like to share with you my delight in the opportunity to worship with folk around the globe… in Guatemala; South Africa; the Cook Islands; in Europe. For example….

Several years ago, Tim and I were staying in Paris, just a short walk from L’Isle de la Cite, and so Sunday morning found us in Notre Dame Cathedral. Which sounds wonderful… except that Tim’s French is almost non-existent, and mine is a stumbling university French that hasn’t been used much in the last thirty years. It was hard to understand what was being said – and as the priest continued on, and on, I found myself having a new sympathy for folk stuck in pews when a minister gets wound up. Fortunately there’s a lot to look at in Notre Dame; well, here too… just don’t be too obvious about it. However, when we came to the celebration of the Eucharist, Communion, the Lord’s Supper – well, something different happened. Although the language was still strange, the rhythms were familiar; we knew this pattern, and understood what was being said even if the sound of the words was different:

Le Seigneur soit avec vous

[and we muttered quietly to ourselves…

And also with you.]

Elevons nos coeurs,

… we lift them up to God….

Saint, saint, saint le Seigneur

Holy, holy, holy…

Hosanna au plus haut les cieux Hosanna in the highest.

And then, even more powerfully, as the priest took hold of the bread and gestured,
Prenez et mangez!

Take and eat!

Ceci est mon corps qui vous est offert.

Chaque fois que vous ferez cela, souvenez-vous de moi.

This is my body…
Each time you do this, remember me.

I looked all around, and something was happening to this motley group of tourists, Parisians, strangers, old ladies in their furs, beggars who worked the neighbourhood; the ancient words and actions of communion were lifting us up out of our differences, proclaiming a more fundamental truth that connected us at our deepest level to something or someone far beyond us. Le corps de Christ; the body; this bread – the bread of life for all who are hungry. For almost a thousand years the Lord’s Supper has been re-enacted in this cathedral, and human beings have found sustenance for their souls.

Well, after receiving my bread, I drifted, as the priest went on into somewhat lengthy prayers. And I found myself doing what I had been asked to do… each time you do this, remember! I thought about that last supper that Jesus shared with his friends; I recalled his feeding of the five thousand, when a little boy shared his five loaves and two fish… and suddenly there was enough food for everyone; and I went way back in time, some thirty-five hundred years back, to one of the great bread stories of the Bible… manna in the wilderness – the story we just heard Michael read so powerfully just a few minutes ago. (Michael Baybutt was the Scripture Reader for this Sunday.)

Remember that story? The Israelites had escaped from their slavery in Egypt; liberated… Oh Lord, free at last. What they hadn’t counted on was the wilderness, those long years of struggle as they attempted to forge a new life. And so they began to grumble and murmur… that’s how the text describes their complaint; me, I think they moved into full out kvetching and whinging…. “Oh why did we leave the fleshpots of Egypt”…. Sure, they had to put up with a little oppression, but at least they had the security of routine and food. How absolutely human, no?, when we find ourselves moving into the “new,” having left an unhealthy relationship, job, situation, whatever, struggling to figure out what comes next, what steps to take now, when we aren’t sure of the path ahead, and fear we might never arrive at something better. Isn’t it human nature to complain, and pine for lost security, no matter how bad it was back then. Indeed, the Israelites didn’t just whine, they moved into full scale accusation, first, against Moses and Aaron; and, when they were feeling particularly bitter and brave, they shook their fist at God. You think the Holy One might have lost patience with them all, but no, the divine response was gracious. “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you….” I love that image… raining bread; what an image of abundance and care! And I don’t care if I am revealing my age, I can’t help remembering The Weather Girls singing, “It’s raining men, hallelujah….” I want to grab that tune, that energy, that full out hallelujah, and shout, “It’s raining bread, hallelujah!” This is a time for rejoicing.

Only, that’s not quite how the Israelites responded. Because what arrived didn’t look like any bread they had ever seen… not flat bread, round bread, or long French baguettes; not rice cakes, black bread, naam, or corn tortillas. No, what they found was “a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground,” like “coriander seed”. I can just picture the people wandering around in the morning, looking at this stuff, saying “Man hu? Man hu?” Which is Hebrew for “What is it? What is it?” And you were wondering how manna got its name? “Man hu – What is it?” There they were, licking their fingers and touching this stuff, tasting it, wrinkling their nose, but then deciding that it wasn’t going to poison them. And I suspect that Moses stared at them with some irritation at their lack of gratitude, and said with an acid tone, “You’d better get used to it; you’re going to be eating this stuff for the next forty years!”

Let me share with you an interesting aside. If you were to find yourself in the Sinai desert nowadays, you’d still be able to find some manna. Really -- just talk to the local Bedouin. You see, there is a species of plant lice that feeds on the tamarisk tree that grows in the Sinai. Those lice, they need to eat a lot because the soil is low in nitrogen; so they spend the day chomping away… and also excreting at the other end. And what they leave behind is rich in sugar and carbohydrate, and as it dries, it turns into… well, you guessed it, a “fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground.” Now, I’m not trying to explain away a miracle, but I am struck by the fact that it looks as if God saved the Israelites by inviting them to dine on bug excretions -- a real tasty treat. Which just proves that God has a great sense of humour!

But at a deeper level this feast of bug droppings suggests that what God provides to nourish us is very ordinary and earthy stuff. Oh, perhaps there was a stunning miracle, and golden loaves were just dropping everywhere… but I don’t think that’s what happened. Instead, the real miracle is that the Israelites looked around them in a new way, and re cognized that there was manna all around them. Who knew how it was going to arrive, what it would look like? -- that always changes from time to context to need. What was important was that God was present in the ordinary world – all around them. Reminds me a poem by Anne Sexton, “Welcome Morning”:

There is joy in all

in the hair I brush each morning,

in the cannon towel, newly washed

that I rub my body with each morning,

in the chapel of eggs I cook each morning,

in the outcry from the kettle

that heats my coffee each morning,

in the spoon and the chair

that cry, “Hello, there, Anne!” each morning, in the godhead of the table that I set my silver, plate, cup upon

each morning.

All this is God

right here in my pea-green house

each morning,

and I mean, though often forget,

to give thanks

to faint down by the kitchen table

in a prayer of rejoicing….
I invite you, when you get home after worship, sometime today, to take a look around, a long look… and notice all the manna surrounding you. Say to yourself, “all this is from God.” Put on some fine music, and listen to manna; open your fridge and kitchen cupboards and be amazed at how much manna you have. Take a close look at the pictures of friends and family on your wall, the shelves… or better yet, if some of them are around, then wrap your arms around them and feel the goodness of the manna that you hadn’t really noticed before.

A story… yesterday I was on the phone with Gordon Harding, the two of us putting our heads together to finalize the last night’s programme for [our music minister’s] Darryl’s 25th anniversary celebration. Sure, we probably should have organized this earlier in the week, but hey, nothing like doing it the day of to add a little energy. So there we were, trying to figure out who would do the opening welcome, when suddenly the line went silent, and then I heard a loud, “Whoooooo….!” -- “Gordon, Gordon… are you OK? Are you there? Gordon, what’s happening???” More silence… and then, finally, “A hummingbird; a hummingbird on the balcony. Whizzing around the fuchsia, with it’s bright red blossoms. I’ve never seen one in October before; oh, look at the ruby throat. No… there she goes….” It was hard to get back to the business at hand, the agenda and all. Because that little hummingbird dropped in a couple more times during our conversation; I got used to the abrupt silence; I could feel Gordon’s attentiveness, his focus… not on the evening plans… that would come later… no, his energy for the miracle on his balcony. Manna – that’s what it was; manna with wings.

The gifts that will feed your spirit are all around; you know that; prenez et mangez; that’s all you have to do. Just pay attention; be alert; focus; savour. Listen to these excerpts from a poem by William Carlos Williams … all about rain… pretty appropriate manna image for Vancouver:

As the rain falls

so does your love

bathe every open object of the world….

…the spring wash of your love, the falling rain…

The rain falls upon the earth

and grass and flowers

come perfectly into form

from its liquid clearness.

[As the rain falls

so does your love bathe every open object of the world.]

But love is unworldly

and nothing comes of it but love

following

and falling endlessly.
Who would have thought that manna is as common as rain? Man hu… what is it? I invite you to spend this coming week on a “manna alert” – and discover gifts for your spirit in places you never expected. As common as plant lice, the whistle of your morning kettle that heats your coffee, in every wing that flutters around you. Manna alert – you won’t go hungry; God will provide.

Now I want to shift focus and move from universal rain to a particular manna center -- to Jesus. Jesus was a manna kind of guy, inviting people to experience the Kingdom of God, the pearl of great price, the treasure hidden in the field next door; five loaves offered by a little boy became the bread that fed five thousand people. But when the crowds surrounded Jesus, waiting for him to rain down bread, he decided that it was a teachable moment:
[Jesus said,] “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….” “ (John 6:32-35)
Man hu? What is it? Well, it sounds like an invitation into relationship; to be connected to Jesus is to be connected to God. He is the revelation of Holiness, the face of the Spirit in our midst. I wonder if we might think of Jesus as offering us a manna map, a guide book. Or better, Jesus is the actual guide who not only “shows” us where the manna is, but who enable us to find it, to eat it, the one who help us find the bread that our souls are hungry for.

What is being offered, I think, is a spirituality of relationship, so that we become deeply connected to God through Jesus Christ. I’m not always sure exactly what might look like – I think it comes in many different ways. For example… the other evening a friends was telling me about her adventures paragliding off Grouse Mountain. Now, that’s something I have always dreamed of doing, but put it into the category of the impossible – a sensible streak of self-preservation. However, Jo-Ann told me that you don’t have to do it alone; they have two-seaters, and you travel with a pilot, someone who knows what he’s doing. And I found myself thinking… and I know, preachers are strange…. But it struck me that this was a fine image of relationship with Jesus. Let’s paraglide; me in the back seat, Jesus in the front; the guide, the pilot, the one who will give me the courage to let go of solid ground, and jump off the edge; the one who offers reassurance that this is not a jump into death. No, together we can go soaring, let the wind rise and catch our wings, and sail up and over, turning and drifting… and suddenly there’s all this manna spread upon the earth below -- green, blue, forest, city, ocean, a veritable feast now that I see it from a new perspective. And then the descent, slowly slip-sliding down, down… full of vision, and returning to earth, to solid ground, with my soul feeling oh so full, ready to keep moving on.

Relationship with Christ will change us; this manna which feeds us begins a strange work of transformation, so that Christ grows in us, so that we, both individually, and as a body, we become more Christ-shaped. Take a look around you; no look carefully; it’s raining bread It really is… right here at St. Andrew’s-Wesley. A church full of ordinary people -- a church full of manna. Not perfect; probably not the bread you expected; but manna nevertheless. And that includes you; each one of us, another loaf, manna for each other. Now isn’t that a marvel; when we finally understand that we are are manna for each other, when we are willing to be broken open, shared, then we nourish those around us; we are, in fact, the body of Christ, bread for a hungry world.

I can’t resist one final poem, “Bakerwoman God” by Alla Bozarth-Campbell. Because as she points out, becoming bread, becoming Christ for each other isn’t always easy… but oh, it’s what we were created to be:

Bakerwoman God,

I am your living bread.

Strong, brown, Bakerwoman God

I am your low, soft and being-shaped loaf.

I am your rising bread, well-kneaded

by some divine and knotty pair of

knuckles, by your warm earth-hands.

I am bread well-kneaded.

Put me in your fire, Bakerwoman God,

Put me in your own bright fire.

I am warm, warm as you from fire.

I am white and gold, soft and hard, Brown and round. I am so warm from fire.

Break me, Bakerwoman God.

I am broken under your caring Word.

… in a gold world

your warm sunskin hand is there

[to] catch and hold me.

Bakerwoman God, remake me.
May it be so, friends. It’s raining bread… hallelujah! And thanks be to God.