It was 1962; the venue was called the Schubert Theater,
just a short distance from here.
It was my 8th grade graduation trip
from St. Mary’s of the Lake in Gary, Indiana.
With our own battalion of wimpled chaperones at the helm,
we saw, what else, but The Sound of Music
starring the effervescent Florence Henderson of pending Brady Bunch fame:
May 9th, 1962 is when I got hooked on Broadway musicals.
This 60+ year reminiscence was sparked by today’s gospel
featuring Philip and Andrew.
While they did not mirror any characters in the The Sound of Music,
they did trigger a connection with a particular song
from a haunting musical I find quite moving:
the award-winning Dear Evan Hansen.
Dear Evan Hansen was a breakthrough production
that dealt with messy issues of mental health, bullying and grief;
of broken and flawed people who would go to desperate lengths
to feel wanted and loved–
sort of a psychological version of Titanic heading for disaster.
Makes you want to rush out and buy tickets, right?
A pivotal song early in the show is “Waving through a Window”
in which the bullied 17-year-old lead character sings:
I’ve learned to slam on the brake
Before I even turn the key
Before I make the mistake
Before I lead with the worst of me.
Give them no reason to stare
No slipping up if you slip away
So I got nothing to share
No, I got nothing to say
Step out, step out of the sun
If you keep getting burned
Step out, step out of the sun
Because you’ve learned, because you’ve learned
While they are by no means lead characters
in the Palestinian production of Dear Evan Hansen,
it is notable that these understudies in the traveling Jesus show
slam on the brakes pretty quickly, especially Philip,
who launches the “You’ve got to be kidding” response
to crazy Jesus who, of course, wants to feed everybody.
Andrew is more promising at the beginning:
he likes the grass … comfortable for picnicking, and
stumbles upon a boy with a few barley loaves and fish,
so momentarily is feeling optimistic.
But then, he catches the Philip virus of apostolic pessimism,
so slams on the gospel brakes, wondering aloud
what so little could do for so many.
Jesus has no inclination to mimic Evan Hansen’s insecurities.
Instead, he reminds me more of Gimli in episode 3 of Lord of the Rings
when the pipe-smoking dwarf proclaimed:
“Certainty of death. Small chance of Success. What are we waiting for?” Sounds like the Rabbi from Nazareth
who alternately inspires and frightens me.
This Sunday, we take an extended detour from the gospel of Mark.
For the next 5 weeks we are diverted into the 6th chapter of John
notable for, among other things, its 18 references to bread.
But, it starts with a typical Jesus miracle
in the face of an unending dilemma:
there never seems to be enough bread.
In our abundance we seem to be able to find
enough guns, bombs, missiles and tanks – both literal and metaphorical;
but not always the bread.
A youngster was falling asleep
at the back of his 3rd grade classroom.
When his teacher woke him and asked
“did you eat breakfast this morning?”
He rubbed his sad eyes and quietly said,
“today wasn’t my turn to eat.”
A few weeks ago, I had dinner
with a great friend and theologian.
We compared notes on our emotional wellness
and I reported going into one of those
“let’s not turn on the news” phases
because it all seems so depressing.
He commented: if you aren’t just a little depressed
by the state of the church and the world
then your medication is too high.
According to a recent survey by the Gallup organization,
almost 30% of us have been diagnosed one time or another
as clinically depressed;
nearly 10% higher than just 9 years ago.
It was surprising to me that the highest rates for depression
occur among young adults 18 to 29.
Apparently the rest of us are not creating a global or societal environment
in which they can imagine a hopeful future.
I first became aware of the field of futurology in the early 1970’s
after reading Alvin Toffler’s bestseller Future Shock.
It is a growing field, though some question whether it is an actual science,
and there is no single methodology appropriate for future studies.
A common futurological procedure is to employ scenarios
– alternate possible visions of what lies ahead –
as a way not simply to predict the future
but actually to create it.
This is precisely the kind of thinking
That enabled us to put a human on the moon in 1968:
one of the most successful futurological experiments of all time.
Last year, I was presenting at a conference in Green Bay
on the future of ministry and spirituality.
Another major speaker was a professional futurist
whose fascinating presentation
introduced me to the concept of strategic foresight.
This approach developed in response to the rapid changes
facing companies and organizations across the globe.
A recent assessment published through the World Economic Forum
entitled “The future isn’t what it used to be” –
suggested that 75% of organizations are not prepared
for the pace of change in and around their industry.
Furthermore, 40% of industrial CEOs recognize that, in 10 years,
their company will not be economically viable
without significant transformation.
Strategic foresight is not about predicting the future,
but employs deep analysis to help organizations prepare
to weather any future, whether that future is
simply possible,
highly plausible,
or especially preferred.
I don’t know about you, but I am not living in the future I planned on.
That author was right: the future is certainly not what it used to be
or what I hoped it was supposed to be:
Sovereign nations are invading each other;
Polar icecaps are melting the rate of 150 billion tons a year;
Innocent families in Gaza are dying in brutal urban warfare;
AR 15’s legally find their way in the hands of
20-year-old would-be assassins;
and polarization is expanding at a destructive rate
in democracies from the US to India.
Each morning I listen to about a dozen global news podcasts;
A few months ago, CNN changed their Saturday version
from “5 Things” you need to know to “5 Good Things,”
a quintet of positive and uplifting stories
displacing all other news – most of which is bad anyway:
whoever came up with that idea should get a medal.
We regularly refer to the gospel as “good news”
which is actually the literal translation of the Old English word Gōdspel.
So, maybe this first of the five week installments of John’s gospel
is the liturgical equivalent of 5 good things:
week after week of nourishment,
an extended narrative of the strategic foresight of the Son of God,
and the mission bequeathed to us in a future
we can not only expect but create.
One smart blogger drew my attention to today’s five gospel handoffs:
Boy hands off the bread and fish to Andrew,
Andrew laterals to Jesus,
Jesus passes to the disciples,
Disciples toss a “Hail Mary” to the crowd,
Crowd slam dunks into the 12 baskets.
Sorry for the mixed metaphor; I was never very good at sports.
So maybe Jesus’ divine strategic foresight
was not so much about the bread but about the hands needed for
creating, distributing, feeding,
and collecting fragments of nourishment for our starving world so that the next time we find a 3rd grader
fallen asleep at the back of the classroom on an empty stomach,
we can assure him that every day it is his and
everyone else’s turn for breakfast.
Hope therapy is a new evolution in mental health
designed to help those experiencing despair
to envision places of hope in their future,
and then summon the energy to refashion the present
into a realizable and life-giving tomorrow.
One of the ways the protagonist in Dear Evan Hansen achieves that
even in the depth of his despondency
is by raising up someone else … someone who took their own life,
making sure that a so-called loner is not forgotten.
In the process he raises up many others, as he poignantly sings,
“You will be found.”
So maybe this is foundling Sunday-
when the baptized with anointed hands
not only share bread
but extend five-fold hands to those
who feel alone and broken
and, with the assurance of God’s generosity,
raise them up to believe that they, too, will be found.
So, with the poet, we pray:
Cup your hands together,
and you will see the shape
this blessing wants to take.
Basket, bowl, vessel:
it cannot help but
hold itself open
to welcome
what comes.
This blessing
knows the secret
of the fragments
that find their way
into its keeping,
the wholeness
that may hide
in what has been
left behind,
the persistence of plenty
where there seemed
only lack.
Look into the hollows
of your hands
and ask
what wants to be
gathered there,
what abundance waits
among the scraps
that come to you,
what feast will offer itself
from the fragments
that remain.
Thus, from the fragments of our own anxieties,
the remnants of our own brokenness,
the scraps of our own anguish,
God’s strategic foresight predicts not only that we will be found,
but also wagers that we can discover the collective fortitude to show others
that they will be found as well-
through Christ our Lord.