Loch Ness, Locusts, And Bread
Sermon
Sermons On The First Readings
Series I, Cycle A
An atheist was spending a quiet day fishing on Loch Ness when suddenly his boat was attacked by the legendary Loch Ness monster. In one easy flip, the beast tossed him and his boat high into the air. Then it opened its mouth to swallow both.
As the man sailed head over heels, he cried out, "Oh, my God! Help me!"
At once, the ferocious attack scene froze in time, and as the atheist hung in mid--air, a booming voice came down from the clouds, "I thought you didn't believe in me!"
"Come on, God, give me a break!" the man pleaded. "Two minutes ago I didn't believe in the Loch Ness monster, either!"
That's about the way the nation of Judah looks to the prophet Joel. Suspended in mid--air, staring into the jaws of death, and wondering whether to believe in God, or not. Yet, God is there, and even in the disbelief and ingratitude of the people, God is merciful, and that is why we rejoice, Joel says.
The prophet Joel talks about a plague of grasshoppers or locusts around Jerusalem about 400 or 350 years before Christ. The swarm devastated the land. Something like the one that occurred in Utah at the time of the founding of Salt Lake City, only there were no birds to save the crops in Joel's time. The insects wiped out the crops and created a famine, and then a drought came.
The plague is very similar to one of the Ten Plagues God sent to Egypt before the Exodus of Moses. The situation reminds Joel of God's wrath on a sinful people. Joel is inspired to describe the coming Day of Wrath. But he also describes the comfort that comes after the judgment for whoever calls on the name of the Lord.
It's a song, a joyful hymn of celebration of God's salvation. "Fear not, be glad, rejoice," Joel says. And then again, "Fear not, be glad, rejoice." "Blow the trumpet in Zion!" "Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love."
Joel celebrates for two reasons. First, because God will restore the bounty of the agriculture in the land. The drought will be reversed, the ground restored, the animals fed, the fruit trees will bear, the threshing floors and wine vats will be full. And joy will surround the harvest and worship of the nation.
But more than that, in the second place, Judah is called to praise God because God will return to his people and take up his dwelling in the midst of them. He remembers his people, and his people remember him with a rededication, a revival, a fast, a retreat.
Just six months ago our society was in total immersion in the Christmas season - it started even before Halloween - but in all the commercialism and the glitzy decorations and children's movies, and the syrupy songs, somewhere in that mess there is the original idea, the cause for the celebrating, that God sent his Son Jesus to become one of us in the Babe of Bethlehem. That God shares in the plagues of locusts and the hunger and suffering and pain, and even death, but also the growth and strength and joy and life. That's what all the celebrating was about. The same with Easter, six weeks from now.
In the midst of all the hoopla, God gets lost sometimes, and it seems like a plague of locusts has laid the holiday to waste, but, yes, God is in the midst of it. We may lose sight of God, but isn't that the way we are?
A man goes to a diner every day and always orders the soup du jour.
The manager asks him how he liked his meal.
The old man replies, "Wass goot, but you could give a little more bread."
So the next day the manager tells the waitress to give him four slices of bread. "How was your meal, sir?" the manager asks.
"Wass goot, but you could give a little more bread," comes the reply.
So next day the manager tells the waitress to give him eight slices of bread.
"How was your meal today, sir?" the manager asks.
"Wass goot, but you could give a little more bread," comes the reply.
So the next day the manager tells the waitress to give him a whole loaf of bread with his soup.
"How was your meal, sir?" the manager asks.
"Wass goot, but you could give just a little more bread."
The manager is now obsessed with making this customer satisfied with his meal, so he goes to the bakery, and orders a six--foot--long loaf of bread. The next day, the waitress and the manager cut the loaf in half, butter each half, and lay it out right next to his bowl of soup. The old man sits down, and devours the soup, and both halves of the six--foot--long loaf of bread. The manager asks in the usual way: "How was your meal today, sir?"
The old man replies: "It wass goot as usual, but I see you are back to giving only two slices of bread!"
There is an old custom in some places that at Thanksgiving the meal begins with each plate containing only five kernels of corn. It's a reminder of the hardship of the Plymouth Rock Pilgrims. They were in a strange country with almost nothing and the winter was unusually harsh. Many in that first colony died of illness and their food supply was failing. At one point their rations were down to five kernels of corn apiece. But the Native Americans came to their aid, shared their food, and showed the Pilgrims how to grow more. The Pilgrims wanted to remember that God was with them even in the time of hardship. So they began their Thanksgiving celebration with five kernels of corn. Because even when that's all they had, God was with them. And they remembered to give thanks to God.
Lent should be a time when we remember to give thanks to God, with our eyes on the cross of Jesus. For these forty days, if not for every day and all our lives, we try to live just a little like Jesus in the wilderness fasting for forty days. We try to give of ourselves openly, as he gave. We try to take up our cross as he took up his, and we dedicate ourselves because he dedicated himself to giving us grace, forgiveness, and eternal life.
Maybe sometime, maybe this Lent, instead of wanting just a little more bread, we should take a step back and look at the size of the loaves, or take a step back in time and remember the five kernels of corn, or the plague of locusts, or the crown of thorns, the 39 lashes, the nails, and spear. We should celebrate and thank God anyway, because he was with us in the plague and time of famine and the drought, and he is with us now.
It's easy to give up something for Lent. Lots of people do it as a sacrifice. Usually it's something that's bad for them anyway. This Lent, in the power of the cross, why not add something? Add a contemplation of the cross and what it means. Add a renewed effort at reading the Bible, and taking to heart what God gives us there. Add times of prayer and meditation to your daily routine. Add concern for others less fortunate. Add the servant life, the spirit led, faith--filled life that for Jesus ended on the cross and for us ends at his feet.
"Fear not, be glad, rejoice," Joel says. God will restore the bounty, no matter how bad it looks, suspended in mid--air, for he is with us, in our midst, in Christ Jesus.
As the man sailed head over heels, he cried out, "Oh, my God! Help me!"
At once, the ferocious attack scene froze in time, and as the atheist hung in mid--air, a booming voice came down from the clouds, "I thought you didn't believe in me!"
"Come on, God, give me a break!" the man pleaded. "Two minutes ago I didn't believe in the Loch Ness monster, either!"
That's about the way the nation of Judah looks to the prophet Joel. Suspended in mid--air, staring into the jaws of death, and wondering whether to believe in God, or not. Yet, God is there, and even in the disbelief and ingratitude of the people, God is merciful, and that is why we rejoice, Joel says.
The prophet Joel talks about a plague of grasshoppers or locusts around Jerusalem about 400 or 350 years before Christ. The swarm devastated the land. Something like the one that occurred in Utah at the time of the founding of Salt Lake City, only there were no birds to save the crops in Joel's time. The insects wiped out the crops and created a famine, and then a drought came.
The plague is very similar to one of the Ten Plagues God sent to Egypt before the Exodus of Moses. The situation reminds Joel of God's wrath on a sinful people. Joel is inspired to describe the coming Day of Wrath. But he also describes the comfort that comes after the judgment for whoever calls on the name of the Lord.
It's a song, a joyful hymn of celebration of God's salvation. "Fear not, be glad, rejoice," Joel says. And then again, "Fear not, be glad, rejoice." "Blow the trumpet in Zion!" "Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love."
Joel celebrates for two reasons. First, because God will restore the bounty of the agriculture in the land. The drought will be reversed, the ground restored, the animals fed, the fruit trees will bear, the threshing floors and wine vats will be full. And joy will surround the harvest and worship of the nation.
But more than that, in the second place, Judah is called to praise God because God will return to his people and take up his dwelling in the midst of them. He remembers his people, and his people remember him with a rededication, a revival, a fast, a retreat.
Just six months ago our society was in total immersion in the Christmas season - it started even before Halloween - but in all the commercialism and the glitzy decorations and children's movies, and the syrupy songs, somewhere in that mess there is the original idea, the cause for the celebrating, that God sent his Son Jesus to become one of us in the Babe of Bethlehem. That God shares in the plagues of locusts and the hunger and suffering and pain, and even death, but also the growth and strength and joy and life. That's what all the celebrating was about. The same with Easter, six weeks from now.
In the midst of all the hoopla, God gets lost sometimes, and it seems like a plague of locusts has laid the holiday to waste, but, yes, God is in the midst of it. We may lose sight of God, but isn't that the way we are?
A man goes to a diner every day and always orders the soup du jour.
The manager asks him how he liked his meal.
The old man replies, "Wass goot, but you could give a little more bread."
So the next day the manager tells the waitress to give him four slices of bread. "How was your meal, sir?" the manager asks.
"Wass goot, but you could give a little more bread," comes the reply.
So next day the manager tells the waitress to give him eight slices of bread.
"How was your meal today, sir?" the manager asks.
"Wass goot, but you could give a little more bread," comes the reply.
So the next day the manager tells the waitress to give him a whole loaf of bread with his soup.
"How was your meal, sir?" the manager asks.
"Wass goot, but you could give just a little more bread."
The manager is now obsessed with making this customer satisfied with his meal, so he goes to the bakery, and orders a six--foot--long loaf of bread. The next day, the waitress and the manager cut the loaf in half, butter each half, and lay it out right next to his bowl of soup. The old man sits down, and devours the soup, and both halves of the six--foot--long loaf of bread. The manager asks in the usual way: "How was your meal today, sir?"
The old man replies: "It wass goot as usual, but I see you are back to giving only two slices of bread!"
There is an old custom in some places that at Thanksgiving the meal begins with each plate containing only five kernels of corn. It's a reminder of the hardship of the Plymouth Rock Pilgrims. They were in a strange country with almost nothing and the winter was unusually harsh. Many in that first colony died of illness and their food supply was failing. At one point their rations were down to five kernels of corn apiece. But the Native Americans came to their aid, shared their food, and showed the Pilgrims how to grow more. The Pilgrims wanted to remember that God was with them even in the time of hardship. So they began their Thanksgiving celebration with five kernels of corn. Because even when that's all they had, God was with them. And they remembered to give thanks to God.
Lent should be a time when we remember to give thanks to God, with our eyes on the cross of Jesus. For these forty days, if not for every day and all our lives, we try to live just a little like Jesus in the wilderness fasting for forty days. We try to give of ourselves openly, as he gave. We try to take up our cross as he took up his, and we dedicate ourselves because he dedicated himself to giving us grace, forgiveness, and eternal life.
Maybe sometime, maybe this Lent, instead of wanting just a little more bread, we should take a step back and look at the size of the loaves, or take a step back in time and remember the five kernels of corn, or the plague of locusts, or the crown of thorns, the 39 lashes, the nails, and spear. We should celebrate and thank God anyway, because he was with us in the plague and time of famine and the drought, and he is with us now.
It's easy to give up something for Lent. Lots of people do it as a sacrifice. Usually it's something that's bad for them anyway. This Lent, in the power of the cross, why not add something? Add a contemplation of the cross and what it means. Add a renewed effort at reading the Bible, and taking to heart what God gives us there. Add times of prayer and meditation to your daily routine. Add concern for others less fortunate. Add the servant life, the spirit led, faith--filled life that for Jesus ended on the cross and for us ends at his feet.
"Fear not, be glad, rejoice," Joel says. God will restore the bounty, no matter how bad it looks, suspended in mid--air, for he is with us, in our midst, in Christ Jesus.
