Mark 6:30-44 "As Often" Scott Hoezee

"As often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes." Many of us are very familiar with that line from the standard communion celebration. But it's the word "often" I want to highlight. Because for many of us, we have celebrated this sacrament very often over the years. That's true despite the fact that the CRC comes out of a tradition that severely limited the frequency of the Lord's Supper. Some of you can remember a time when this sacrament was held, at most, four times per year.

Other churches celebrate this meal every Sunday, including more and more CRCs. Some years ago we doubled the frequency here at Calvin Church from six times a year to now about 12-14 times. But whenever this subject comes up, inevitably someone expresses the concern that if you celebrate the sacrament too often, it won't be "special" anymore. We don't think that way about sermons, for some reason, nor about singing our favorite hymns. But we hesitate a bit on making the Lord's Supper too routine by having it too often.

And there may be something to that. Even without a weekly celebration, we have perhaps come to the Lord's table just often enough that, as a matter of fact, we do at times come without a sufficient appreciation for what is going on in this sacrament. After all, you can become overly accustomed to most anything.

When I was growing up, my father always kept a half-dozen or so cows on our farm. The result was that at any given time, we had a deep freezer that was well stocked with beef. But I was a kid who had no appreciation for how expensive good meat can be nor what a treat such food is. Although it strikes me as scandalous now, I recall complaining to my mother at dinner, "Porterhouse steaks again!"

In the final analysis, that kind of ingratitude is only partly the result of having had something too often. The real cause runs deeper. If you found that you were growing ungrateful for the food you eat, you would want to find a way to address that problem but probably your solution would not be to say, "I guess I just won't have dinner anymore." No, you'd look for a way to nurture thoughtful gratitude when you have dinner. So here: the solution to not appreciating the Lord's Supper enough is not to cut it back (much less cut it out!) but to find ways to come to the table more thoughtfully. Whether we come to the table once a week, once a month, or once a quarter, we have the same need: the need for thoughtfulness. This morning I hope our examination of Mark 6 can help to foster a re-appreciation for the Lord's Supper that we will once again celebrate in a few minutes.

The story begins in verse 30 when the disciples return from their first-ever solo work on Jesus' behalf. The work went well but it left them very, very tired. So Jesus kindly suggests they get away from it all and find a quiet place to rest. But it doesn't work. The crowds hound them. So Jesus teaches these lost and lonely sheep without a shepherd. But notice something about the setting. In verse 31 Jesus suggests they withdraw to what the NIV translates as "a quiet place." Verse 32 then says they did take off for a "solitary place." A little later in this story, in verse 35, the disciples will suggest that Jesus send the crowds away since they were in a "remote place." Three different English words, but they all translate the exact same Greek word: erëmos.

That's significant because this is the Greek word for "desert" or "wilderness." In the Bible the wilderness is not just a lonely or remote place. The wilderness stands for a place of uncreation--a place of chaos where life does not flourish. It's a place of temptation and testing, as Jesus experienced in the wilderness earlier in Mark. It's a dead place of death where the devil prowls. Mark tells us no less than three times that the disciples, and then the crowds, are in such a place. It's remote only because no one lives there, and no one lives there because probably no one can live there. It doesn't have food or water available.

But in this place of death Jesus becomes a decanter of life. He begins by dispensing what is truly important: his words. He teaches them about God, about the kingdom, about the good gospel news that salvation is available now to all. But teaching takes time, and so the next thing anyone knows the sun sets.

No one has eaten in hours, and so the disciples, sensibly enough, urge Jesus to dismiss the crowds so they can fend for themselves. Jesus turns to the disciples and says, "No, let's not do that. You give them something to eat." The disciples are incredulous. Instead of trying to figure out what Jesus may really be getting at, they instead haul out their calculators. "Well, let's see here. We estimate that it would take eight-months' worth of a pretty good salary even to have a chance to buy one breadstick per person! Master, you're not serious about our trying to raise that kind of money, are you?"

No, he's not. So Jesus tells them to begin not with what they don't have but with what they do have. It turns out that it isn't much: five loaves of wheat bread and two pieces of salt cod. "Well," Jesus replies, "that's a start. Have them sit down in groups." And you know the rest. In a set of gestures that in the rest of the New Testament will come to signify the Lord's Supper, Jesus takes, gives thanks, breaks, and distributes the food.

What follows is a scene as poignant as it is hilarious. Person after person tears off a hunk of bread only to have the loaf stay the same! In fact, as the food went around, I imagine a wave of laughter accompanied it, washing over the crowds as the realization of what was happening spread. Long about the time the fish got to the twentieth person in the group, I imagine his shouting, "Hey, Sherman! Isn't this the same fish you ate!" And everyone got a good laugh out of the hilarity that is grace.

But as with all of Jesus' miracles, if you regard this as no more than a parlor trick, then you miss it. The truth is in the details. Look again at verse 39: Jesus directs the people to sit in groups on the green grass. Green grass!? Those of you familiar with the style of the New Testament know that this is an odd detail for Mark to throw in.

If you check out a biblical concordance, you will find that the gospels are all-but devoid of colorful descriptions. With the exception of the purple robe Jesus wore at his trial, you simply don't find words like red, orange, blue, or green. You don't turn to the gospels for passages like this: "And Jesus approached Jerusalem wearing an off-white robe, riding on a slate gray donkey under an azure sky as the people waved their green palm fronds and threw their indigo cloaks into the brown dust of the city streets."

No, that's not the Bible. So why would Mark mention green grass. And anyway, Mark has already told us we are in a kind of desert. So where did this green grass come from? Well, it's here because it's the key to this miracle! Listen: "The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want. He leadeth me beside the still waters and maketh me to lie down . . . in green pastures." Or as Isaiah once put it, "The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will blossom; like the crocus it will burst into bloom!" Or from Ezekiel, "As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock, so I will look after my sheep. I will make a covenant with them . . . so that they might dwell in the desert in safety . . . and I will send them showers of blessing."

In the Old Testament there is a cluster of images about God's Christ that predict the blooming of the dry places and the giving of good food and drink in places of death. And so in Mark 6, with its green grass suddenly appearing in the middle of the desert, all those Old Testament texts are drawn toward Jesus the way a magnet attracts paper clips. Jesus is the Great Shepherd of the Sheep and where this Messiah goes, there is not only an abundance of good things to eat, there's also joy!

That's why that other detail from verse 39 is so important, though in the English translation it is totally lost. Jesus has the people sit down "in groups." But the Greek word there is as rare as it is significant. It's what scholars refer to as a hapax legomenon, meaning this is the only place in the entire Bible where this word appears. It's the Greek word sumposia from which we derive the English word "symposium." But in Greek this does not refer to a random gathering. Instead a sumposium was a party, a festival of life and of happiness and of good things to eat and drink. So the little groups into which Jesus divided the people were not somber clusters of folks munching their fish and chips in silence. No! These were little parties of joy, of conversation, of laughter, and above all of shalom!

And why not? The Great Shepherd of God's sheep was right there. How could there not be happiness? Indeed, as verse 42 tells us, at the end of the day "everyone was satisfied." Not only had their souls been fed the richest of fare through Jesus' teachings, they also perceived a foretaste of the great abundance that will one day fill God's kingdom.

Jesus came to this earth to make the dead places come alive. He came to lift the dark and depressed soul of humanity back into the joy of God's light. He came to rescue God's lovely creation from the powers of evil that now sully and pollute it. And when that happens, joy happens. All of that is depicted at this holy table this morning, too. We don't call it a "celebration" of the sacrament for nothing.

In Q&A 75 from the Catechism as we heard it read this morning, we are told that the Lord's Supper nourishes and refreshes our souls. When was the last time you walked away from celebrating this holy meal and said to someone, "That was refreshing!" Can you feel the joy, the spiritual invigoration this brings? I am not suggesting anyone be glib about this meal. We are, after all, remembering the depths of Jesus' pain and passion, of all that he suffered to save us. These are not things to ponder or encounter lightly or tritely.

But Jesus himself meets us at this table with a smile on his face. He meets us here not weeping over what once happened to him but joyfully sharing with us the gifts of life that made all that suffering worthwhile. Jesus meets us here to make us come alive, to make hearts that look like a dry and cracked desert bloom and flower and become a place of vibrant life and hope once again. Jesus is here this morning to refresh our souls.

So as I now once again invite you to the Lord's table, I do so with joy and with the expectation that refreshment is awaiting us. Yes, we have come to this table very often in the past. But there are some things you never tire of. Most certainly it must be true here that we never grow weary of the gifts of God for the people of God. We never tire of being refreshed by the smiling Savior who is so eager to once more let us feast on his grace. So come, my friends. Come gladly, come ready, come eagerly. Come and be refreshed. Amen.