13-14When Jesus got the news, he slipped away by boat to an out-of-the-way place by himself. But unsuccessfully—someone saw him and the word got around. Soon a lot of people from the nearby villages walked around the lake to where he was. When he saw them coming, he was overcome with pity and healed their sick.
15Toward evening the disciples approached him. "We're out in the country and it's getting late. Dismiss the people so they can go to the villages and get some supper."
16But Jesus said, "There is no need to dismiss them. You give them supper."
17"All we have are five loaves of bread and two fish," they said.
18-21Jesus said, "Bring them here." Then he had the people sit on the grass. He took the five loaves and two fish, lifted his face to heaven in prayer, blessed, broke, and gave the bread to the disciples. The disciples then gave the food to the congregation. They all ate their fill. They gathered twelve baskets of leftovers. About five thousand were fed.
It is an awesome thing to step into a pulpit, any pulpit; to step up, spread your papers out, look out over the waiting congregation, glance down once again at the first word or two of the first sentence on the white page and then hear that silence just before the sermon begins. Silence…out of which the Word just might actually show up every now and then, despite the preacher—the Gospel funneled into words & images, yet setting life free.Silence…when nearly everybody is listening.There is that wonderful anticipation.Who knows what will happen?(Now that I have started speaking you already know that it is all down-hill from this point on.)
It is an awesome thing to step into a pulpit.And this pulpit here is intimidating for the caliber of those who have mounted these steps before me.It is an honor to follow Toby in this role, to step into the same pulpit and offer something of hope, vision, grace, and empowerment to live in this creation faithfully.
The story of the feeding of the five thousand (Toby’s favorite) is one of those stories that presents the Gospel story in microcosm; the compassion of Christ for the masses who are hungry, homeless, sick, pushed off to the side by society find themselves welcomed, respected, healed, fed at an impromptu Woodstock event in the wilderness.This tableau of the welcome table of Jesus prescribes the Kingdom vision for all of society, where all are welcomed, healed, comforted, fed, housed—beyond expectation…in wondrous ways we don’t understand and can’t manipulate.Grace.Toby’s deep heart, preaching and acting were in the service of that Kingdom welcome table.
Thus it is fitting that we have Communion today.This small ritual meal points to and participates in the larger banquet that God is seeking to provide for all in creation.This small ritual meal, where all are welcomed & fed, is a joyful foretaste of the heavenly banquet.This meal is our opportunity to feast with the risen Christ, and those who have passed within the veil…which is as thin as gossamer here at the table.
In one of Toby’s newsletter articles he wrote about the power of the Easter message.He described how the larger world, with the mentality of a 13 year-old, continually pulls humanity downward into narrow-minded, selfish, and foolish ventures.“Easter,” he wrote, “defines us upward.”It resets our sights on the kingdom agenda of radical hospitality & God’s distributive justice.Then he wrote:
“…Easter hope looks to the future.Everything to be said about life isn’t contained in our descriptions of this life—but of eternal life, of which life with God now is but a harbinger.”
Perhaps life itself here is partly a foretaste, a small sign-act, pointing to a fulfillment beyond our imagining.So Easter calls us to the future in courageous, selfless acts that are in-tune with God’s reign, God’s kingdom, God’s vision for completeness, wholeness, salvation for creation.And Easter calls us onward to a fulfillment to be found beyond this realm.
The sign of this fulfillment, life, and hope is “life with God now.” Toby suggested.Life with God now.I think about and give thanks for the deep joys that Toby felt in his life with God in the here and now.He listed them on one of his notes as:health, hospital calls, friends, the Youth Peace Seminar, deep loving relationships, especially with Locky, and preaching.Life with God now, in the life of Christian faith is a wondrous privilege we take for granted (and that many in our communities need desperately); to have an identity as God’s beloved…to know and experience forgiveness…to be imbedded in a real community…to be charged with a purpose…to be shaped by the Spirit…to experience these foretastes of what is to come.
Yet, as we all know, life with God now doesn’t immunize us from pain, struggle or conflict.The cross tells us that much, and more; it tells us that as we suffer, as we surrender, hand over, let be, die to ourselves—we find our true selves and true lives given back to us once again, only more so, resurrected.Life with God now is a harbinger of a future-fuller life we cannot imagine.As I saw Toby suffer with his diminishment, yet inwardly remain true to his true self, I can’t help but think of John Wesley’s final words before his death: “The best of all is—God is with us.”That’s life with God now.
“…Easter hope looks to the future.Everything to be said about life isn’t contained in our descriptions of this life—but of eternal life, of which life with God now is but a harbinger.”
Our life with God now is only a sign, a foretaste of what is to come.Our descriptions of that life are incomplete, seen through a glass darkly.I’d like to close with an image from Frederick Buechner about what it is like to die.No one knows of course, but he uses an image, a metaphor which he says, is very real to him, and resonated with Toby.
“The airport is crowded noise, frenetic.There are yowling babies, people being paged, the usual ruckus.Outside, a mixture of snow and sleet is coming down.The runways show signs of icing. Flight delays and cancellations are called out over the PA system together with the repeated warning that in view of recent events any luggage left unattended will be immediately impounded.There are more people than usual smoking at the various gates.The air is blue with it.Once aboard you peer through the windows for traces of ice on the wings and search the pancaked faces of the stewardesses for anything like the knot of anxiety you feel in your own stomach as they run through the customary emergency procedures.The great craft lumbers its way to the take-off position, the jets shrill.Picking up speed, you count the seconds till you feel lift-off.More than so many, you've heard, means trouble.Once airborne, you can hardly see the wings at all through the grey turbulence scudding by.The steep climb is rough as a Ford pickup.Gradually it starts to even out.The clouds thin a little.Here and there you see tatters of clear air among them.The pilot levels off slightly.Nobody is talking.The calm and quiet of it are almost palpable.Suddenly, in a rush of light, you break out of the weather.Beneath you the clouds are a furrowed pasture.Above, no sky in creation was ever bluer.
“Possibly the last take-off of all is something like that.When the time finally comes, you’re scared stiff to be sure, but maybe by then you’re just as glad to leave the whole show behind and get going.In a matter of moments, everything that seemed to matter stops mattering.The slow climb is all there is.The stillness.The clouds.Then the miracle of flight as from fathom upon fathom down you surface suddenly into open sky.The dazzling sun.”[1]
Toby Horst was a remarkable pastor and a deep human being. It was
my privilege to attend St. Cloud UMC during his time there, and to
enjoy a long friendship with he and Locky and their son, Mark.Toby
possessed a rare combination of prophetic social conscience and a
profound compassion for ordinary folk.We shared a great admiration
for the Benedictine tradition, especially at St. John's over the
years, and a keen sense of the strengths and vulnerabilities of the
United Methodist Church.He was a gift to us all.May perpetual
Light shine upon him. Don Saliers
[1]Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark, pp. 41-42
