Sunday, August 11, 2024: "Sacred Places: Food for the Journey"

 Watch the Sermon here

First United Presbyterian Church

“Sacred Places: Food for the Journey”

Rev. Amy Morgan

August 11, 2024

1 Kings 19:4-8

Elijah went a day’s journey into the wilderness and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die, “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” 5 Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, “Get up and eat.” 6 He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. He ate and drank and lay down again. 7 The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, “Get up and eat, or the journey will be too much for you.” 8 He got up and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God.

John 6:35--51

35 Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. 36 But I said to you that you have seen me and yet do not believe. 37 Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away, 38 for I have come down from heaven not to do my own will but the will of him who sent me. 39 And this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me but raise it up on the last day. 40 This is indeed the will of my Father, that all who see the Son and believe in him may have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day.

41 Then people began to complain about him because he said, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.” 42 They were saying, “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?” 43 Jesus answered them, “Do not complain among yourselves. 44 No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me, and I will raise that person up on the last day. 45 It is written in the prophets, ‘And they shall all be taught by God.’ Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. 46 Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. 47 Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. 48 I am the bread of life. 49 Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50 This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever, and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

He ran 2,189 miles in 46 days, 8 hours, and 7 minutes. In 2015, Scott Jurek set the record for the fastest completion of the Appalation Trail. He was on the cover of magazines, received endorsement offers, and got a publishing deal to write his memoir about the experience. 

But Scott did not complete this impressive journey alone. As his memoir describes, many people along the trail provided hospitality, sustenance, assistance, and support. Appalation Trail hikers call this “trail magic,” and the people who provide unexpected kindness and aid are known as “trail angels.” 

In a remote section of the trail in Virginia, Scott came across a small campsite where a local family had set up a makeshift aid station. This family, having heard about Scott's record attempt, decided to spend their weekend providing support to hikers. They had set up tents, brought coolers full of cold drinks, prepared hot meals, and even had medical supplies on hand.

When Scott arrived, exhausted and hungry, the family welcomed him with open arms. They offered him a chair, a hearty meal, and much-needed encouragement. Scott later recounted how this unexpected kindness lifted his spirits and gave him the strength to keep going. The family's hospitality provided not just physical sustenance but also a profound emotional boost.

Scott ran over 2,000 miles, even though nobody was chasing him. He’s from Boulder, so that isn’t surprising. But the prophet Elijah ran like his life depended on it. Because it did. The armies of Queen Jezebel were in hot pursuit as Elijah fled more than 100 miles on foot through the wilderness. He had made fools out of Jezebel’s pet prophets and then slaughtered them all. So now he was on the run, not for sport or achievement, but for survival.  

By the time he finally reached a small patch of shade under a “solitary” broom tree, he was ready to give up. He was exhausted, hopeless, maybe even remorseful. 

But then, he encountered a literal “trail angel.” The angel gave him water and cake, let him rest some more, and then made him eat again. The angel advised Elijah to “Get up and eat, or the journey will be too much for you.”

I don’t imagine many of us have been pursued by a vengeful, bloodthirsty monarch or set records in trail running. But we do know what it is to have days when the journey feels too long, too hard, too hopeless. We know what it is to be exhausted and running on empty. And, I hope, we have also experienced those “trail angels” who kept us going. 

On my journey through the early days of motherhood, in the weeks after Dean was born, when I was sleep-deprived and hormonal, my mom was my trail angel, bringing me a hazelnut coffee and an orange scone from Panera each morning. I swear it saved my life. On the journey through grief after my mother-in-law died last spring, our church supper squad was my trail angel, delivering a meal moments after we completed the long drive home from Michigan. 

In the past few weeks, folks in our church family and in the Loveland community have journeyed through deep grief, life-changing tragedy, and difficult health conditions. The journey for many of us, and for many of our neighbors, has been long and hard, and even seemingly hopeless. But we have served as “trail angels” for each other. We have kept one another going with meals, visits, calls, and cards. We have checked in on each other and encouraged one another. We have provided bread for the journey, sustaining each other physically, emotionally, and spiritually. 

We’ve done this because, I believe, we are all decent human beings. But we also know that this is who we are as followers of Jesus, the one who called himself the Bread of Life. The Bread of Life is not only cold drinks and hot meals on a long trail, or water and cake in the wilderness, or hazelnut coffee and orange scones after a sleepless night. The Bread of Life is a sustenance that never fails, a nourishment so full of life that death cannot touch it. 

Now, in John’s gospel, Jesus does a lot of monologuing, and it’s all veiled in obtuse metaphors, and even though he repeats himself a lot, it’s all super confusing. Just in this little segment we read today, which is part of a speech about bread that goes on for almost 40 verses, Jesus is bread, but he also satisfies thirst. The bread comes down from heaven, but not like the manna that came down from heaven. Oh, and the bread isn’t really bread, it’s Jesus’s flesh. It’s not surprising that right after this speech many of his disciples take off and decide this is not their thing. 

Jesus’s disciples say to him, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” 

It is difficult to accept that we are only human. We can offer bread, kindness, and encouragement. But we can’t control anyone’s journey, not even our own. Bringing meals doesn’t bring someone back to life or keep someone from dying. Donating food and supplies doesn’t keep someone’s house from burning. Compassionate conversations won’t give someone a job or heal anyone’s diseases. Who can accept that no matter how much we try to help, no matter how much we give of ourselves, no matter how much bread we share, we can’t guarantee those we care for will reach their destination? 

Who can accept that only the Bread of Life, this mysterious, confounding, contradictory Jesus, can make sure no one is lost on their journey, that everyone will reach their destination at last? 

Jesus’s neighbors couldn’t accept it. He was the kid next door, the son of a carpenter whose mother worried he was falling in with the wrong crowd. How could he have “come down from heaven” and “raise people up” and be the “food of eternal life”? He wasn’t making any sense. Everyone knew bread came from grain, yeast made it rise, and food would keep you going for a few days at best. First-century Jews knew that God once made bread rain from heaven when their ancestors were in the wilderness. Some of them believed in a final resurrection when God would raise all the faithful from the dead. Others weren’t so sure about that. And eternal life? That wasn’t a concept any of them could really wrap their heads around. Little Jesus next door, calling himself the Bread of Life come down from heaven? Not acceptable. 

And yet, at the very end of this strange chapter in the Jesus story, a rag-tag group of a dozen disciples is still hanging around. Jesus asks if they’re going to leave, too. And Peter replies: “Where would we go? We know you’re the real deal. You’re the only one who can make a difference in this fragile, broken world.”

Peter understood that he was only human. But he also believed that following Jesus would be the closest thing he’d ever know to changing the world. Peter would never be the Bread of Life. But he could be nourished by it. And he could share it with others. 

And that’s the best we can hope to do, friends. It may not seem like much in times like these. But we have been nourished by the Bread of Life. And we can share it with others. 

We can share that God came down from heaven to share in our suffering, so we would never have to suffer alone, so we would know that God does not cause or desire suffering but is right there in the midst of it with us. 

We can share that Jesus raises people up – on the last day and every day. Death and disaster do not have the final word. Sin and despair cannot keep us down. 

We can share that Jesus is raising us up, and will keep raising us up, again and again. Jesus is our ultimate “trail angel,” giving us rest and restoring us body and soul so we can continue on the journey when we’ve had enough, when we’ve collapsed and think we can’t possibly go on. 

We can share that Jesus is the food of eternal life, enabling us to live fully and abundantly now and always. 

This summer, we have journeyed with folks as they shared what makes a place sacred for them. They’ve shared with us places of connection to other people or to their family identity. They’ve shared with us places where they could be of service to others or where God showed them something they’d been missing for a long time. They’ve shared with us sacred places within themselves and sacred places and times in God’s creation. 

When we began this series, I expected to hear about a particular place in the world that felt sacred to someone – a holy site or a place of love and safety. Instead, what folks have shared with us is the journey itself, the stretches between destinations that give a sense of sacredness to all of life. They have shared with us times they were running from something – grief, mental illness, isolation, or anxiety – or running toward something – connection to others and to God, new insights, or hope. And on these journeys, they have shared with us the Bread of Life, the One who has sustained them, journeyed with them, picked them up when they thought they couldn’t go on, and enabled them to live fully and abundantly.

This is how we share the Bread of Life, my friends. This is how our acts of compassion and kindness become more than a momentary lift. Sharing the stories of our journeys - of how God has provided and guided, nourished and sustained us - feeds hope, supplies strength, and fuels abundant life, now and always. 

We can truly be “trail angels” because we have been given the Bread of Life. And with that Bread, no journey is impossible. 

To God be all glory forever and ever. Amen.