questions of gratitude

[joel]

sermon on John 6:25-25

Remember me? Remember me?
Hey Rabbi, when’d you get here?

All those loaves were mighty tasty and the fish was moist and flaky,
but send me straight to Hades if I lie:
I sliced my prized esophagus on a crooked little herringbone surprise—
I would have thought that you’d have fixed a cleaner dinner, O Miracle Maker,
so I suppose
and heaven knows
I’ve got another set of bones to pick with you;
It was quite a show you did.

You wanna be a teacher, Rabbi? Drop the love act. Teach me something useful.

Multiply a guy a fish,
feed him and four thousand nine hundred ninety-nine of my closest for a day.
Teach a guy to multiply, and Rabbi, I’ll forget the fish;
I’d follow you anywhere for a skill like that.

Remember me? Remember me?
Hey Rabbi, when’d you get here?

I didn’t say I Thank You and you did
n’t seem surprised; and so I guess you, yes,
remember me. Then let’s be honest, Bro:
the burden isn’t easy and the cost
is awful – just to live? You promised more.
You’re just a tease, a two-bit ballyhoo—
good enough for dinner, for a moon-
lit lakeside wonder walk—but gone too soon
to have be consistent. God, we’re through—
and once again I’m in the desert, lost
and hungry. Bread of Life, you had to know
that sounded stupid. If you wanna bless
me, give it to me always, Wonder Kid.

You gotta be kidding me, Wonder Kid—
Wonder Kid: Son of God & Wonderbread of Life from Heaven.

I didn’t say I Thank You and you didn’t seem surprised; and so I guess you, yes, remember me.


Remember me? Remember me?
Hey Rabbi, when’d you get here?

Listen to the words of a mortal,
O Ancient of Days,
Thou Alpha and Omega,
O Great Before Was Abraham I Am:
I’ve been here just as long it seems—
and nothing’s changed it seems—
and it seems to me I can’t commit with certainty:
Have I been all this time oppressed,
or’s time just seem eternal when depressed
and reminiscing on the happiness I’m missing
while I God-knows-why persist to look for you
and wander through the desert,
lost and hungry
once again
another lifetime?

Remember me? Remember me?
Hey Rabbi, when’d you get here?

I could’ve had an easy life
and I don’t care if that’s a selfish dream to relish
and maybe I’m admitting what I shouldn’t
and maybe I’m committing sins I wouldn’t want to do in front of you—
and it may be you’re sitting on the Judgment Seat on Judgment Day
in front of me, but hear me say:
God, you said you’d keep your promises
and I said I’d thank you with my whole heart,
but your promise wasn’t what I thought I’d find
and it wasn’t all tender and mild and sweet and kind.

Let me remind you from where we’ve come
(as far as I can tell),
O Milk-and-Honey Lover of my Soul:

Unappreciated.
Alone.
Abandoned.
Afraid.
Evicted.
Homeless.
Hopeless.
Healthless.
Dead hungry, starving and dead.


I was a slave in the land of Egypt, a land of imperfection, a land of competition—
More was demanded of me than I could offer.
I was taxed for my money and my time.
My family needed more than I could give—I needed more from them than they could share.
I was tired— no, exhausted— no, extinguished in the spirit you had said you’d give me.
But I was fed.
And this could have been my easier life:
to live in the manageable misery of corruption,
to exist under the rigid regime of relentless ambition,
to give my hunger a meager rest on the pods that the pigs were eating,
to subsist on the crumbs that fell to the dogs from even my masters’ tables—
and it would have been easier
to live that way than to follow you around like a liberated fool
eating fish sandwiches at God’s Country Club
while you walked upon the pool.

Bread from Heaven – Bread of Life. I remember the taste of manna. Do you?

Remember me? Remember me?
Hey Rabbi, when’d you get here?

בראשית
In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

Εν αρχη ην ο λογος
In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.

In the beginning
my brother and I brought you two sacrifices:
my bread
and my brother’s lamb.

Lamb of God, you always loved the lamb the best.
The Lord is my Shepherd. Jesús es mi pastor.
But the bread you rejected—
chaff to the wind.

I remember the taste of the manna in the beginning:
it was the taste of you, O Milk-and-Honey Lover.
It was the taste of every last song Solomon ever sang:
I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine
and together we will love among the bounty of creation—
It was the taste of every psalm:
We are God’s people and the sheep of God’s pasture—

But the manna grew old
and it rotted overnight
and it filled with worms
and all for which I ever asked was simply something more divine
more holy
more fulfilling
more in keeping with
your majesty
your mercy
your mystery.

Recall my words – the prayers I offered – to you, O Word Eternal, Wonderful and Wild:

If only I had meat to eat. I remember the fish I used to eat in Egypt for nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions and the garlic; but now my strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at.

Why have you brought me up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and I detest this miserable food.

Remember me? Remember me?
Hey Rabbi, when’d you get here?

I trust your mercy
your grace
your forgiveness
your compassion.

I trust that when you talk to me of faith,
you don’t limit the conversation to what I believe.
I trust that you are my righteousness,
that your name is: The LORD is my righteousness.
I trust that you count the blessings
I’m too tired to count for my own soul
while I’m carried away with the busyness of business life
while I’m performing circus juggler tricks with family and friends
while I’m facing mental fatigue from disinteresting homework and classwork
while I’m two-timing my holidays and trying to prepare for the next month
before tomorrow’s festivals have even begun
while I’m trying to reconcile the Sabbath as a day of rest
when your holy catholic and apostolic church
preaches more and more your needs
for my mission and ministry,
for my stewardship and sacrifice,
for my labor and love
(which you know, O Love Divine, is sometimes questionable
in the lives of even your most pious holy ones).


And so I trust you
to dig out the gratitude
and the heart of holy thanksgiving
from the depths of the pleas I offer you:

Rabbi, when’d you get here?
What must I do to perform the works of God?
What sign are you going to give me, so I may see it and believe you?
What makes you, O Claim of Living Bread from Heaven, different from the
manna I’ve eaten for so long, of which I’ve grown so weary?

Rabbi—
Sir—
Lord—
Bread of Life—give me this bread always.
Give me the bread and the cup of thanksgiving that has no ending.
Give me you—
Forgive me—
Make me new—
Let me thank you. Teach me to thank you.

Friend, you have kept your promises:
strengthen me to keep my vow to you
to thank you with my whole heart.

Remember me? Remember me?
Hey Rabbi, when’d you get here?

I need to say I Thank You and indeed
you teach me how; and so I guess you, yes,
remember me.

My Rabbi, Jesus, Bread of Life
draw me close that I won’t hunger for the selfish tastes my dreams of glory long to savor
be the faith and gratitude that slake my inward thirst for easy favor
be my God when godlessly I waver
and remember me when you come into your kingdom.

And when you keep your promise
espoused anew each day to be with me in paradise—
be the Holy Amen to the prayer of thanks,
the prayer you raise up like incense before you from my whole heart.