{"id":57101,"date":"2021-07-21T06:34:44","date_gmt":"2021-07-21T11:34:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/praytellblog.com\/?p=57101"},"modified":"2021-07-29T10:53:20","modified_gmt":"2021-07-29T15:53:20","slug":"57101","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/praytellblog.com\/index.php\/2021\/07\/21\/57101\/","title":{"rendered":"Ars Praedicandi:<\/i> 17th Sunday in O.T. (B), Ed Foley"},"content":{"rendered":"

by Fr. Edward Foley, Capuchin<\/em><\/p>\n

Many traditions have their own version
\nof the stone soup parable.
\nThe one I know is about a homeless family
\nthat had only one possession, a cooking pot.
\nWhen they arrived in a new village
\nthey were unsuccessful in attempts to beg food from the locals.<\/p>\n

So they took their pot to the river, filled it with water,
\ndropped a large stone in it
\nand placed it over a fire.<\/p>\n

When a villager asked what they were doing
\nthe father explained they were making a family delicacy:
\nstone soup.
\nAll it needed was a bit of garnish.<\/p>\n

One villager added a few vegetables to the soup and
\nanother added some strips of dried meat.
\nAs more villagers were engaged and more ingredients contributed,
\nthe stone soup actually became a tantalizing meal.<\/p>\n

The story illustrates that out of lack and deprivation
\nthere can arise great nourishment,
\neven the very lavishness of God.<\/p>\n

This is a message we get today
\nnot only in the gospel, but in the lectionary design
\nin which the Gospel of John
\nhelps the Gospel of Mark make stone soup.<\/p>\n

Mark is the shortest gospel,
\nnot able to stretch out over an entire liturgical year
\nlike Matthew and Luke.<\/p>\n

Out of this deficit of brevity
\nwe are served up quite a feast thanks to John
\nnot just this week, but for five weeks in a row.<\/p>\n

The liturgical year treats John\u2019s gospel in a special way:
\nit does not have his own year as do the other gospels,
\nbut is read in each year on central feasts
\nlike Christmas and Holy Thursday.<\/p>\n

John is evoked on these festal days
\nbecause of its symbolic richness
\nand theological insight.
\nThis is nowhere as true as in John 6.<\/p>\n

There are many reasons why John 6 is so important.
\nIts sacramental value is revealed when realizing that
\nwhile all of the other gospels have a last supper story
\nwith Jesus saying some version of
\n\u201cthis is my body – cup my blood,\u201d
\nJohn\u2019s last supper story – the longest in the gospels –
\nnowhere has Jesus speaking those sacred words.<\/p>\n

Instead, Jesus acts out what it means to be his body
\nthrough that memorable foot-washing ritual only found in John.<\/p>\n

If we want an explicit Johannine expose on bread, flesh and life,
\nwe have to exit the Last supper context
\nand journey back into this 6th chapter.<\/p>\n

Like his last supper account,
\nJohn\u2019s theologizing does not start with a sermon but with action.
\nHere it is not foot washing, but feeding.
\nNot with words about the significance of Eucharist,
\nbut actions that exemplify what it means to be Eucharist<\/p>\n

It is particularly the details – the beginning and ending of this story
\nthe gift of a child and the promise of leftovers –
\nthat are notably rich.<\/p>\n

First is the child:
\nrevealed as an unexpected source of nourishment
\nrather than some prophet, disciple, or even Jesus himself.<\/p>\n

As the unexpected messenger,
\nthe boy\u2019s own version of stone soup
\nnourishes the bodies of thousands
\nand the souls of untold millions over the centuries.<\/p>\n

This unexpected revelation confirms
\nthat God\u2019s spirit operates beyond our imaginations;
\nthat care and nourishment can arrive
\neven through the most unlikely of people.<\/p>\n

A young married woman from Seattle, caring for her two children
\nwhile husband was away on a business trip
\nreceived a phone call from the police in Chicago
\nthat her husband had died of a heart attack. [1]<\/p>\n

She wrote down the address of the hospital
\nwhere his body was being held, on a slip of paper and
\ndrowning in grief, packed her overnight bag
\nand traveled to Chicago.<\/p>\n

At the airport, she handed the slip of paper to a cabbie
\nwho drove her to the hospital.<\/p>\n

The hospital staff was waiting for her
\ntook her to the morgue
\nwhere she identified her husband.<\/p>\n

As she was about to dissolve in grief
\nshe felt a gentle hand on her shoulder
\nand a handful of Kleenex from behind.<\/p>\n

When she turned to learn the source of this care
\nshe was touched to see that it was the cabbie
\nwho had parked his car
\nand followed her into the hospital:
\nan unforeseen angel of care.<\/p>\n

Humanity, care, even ministry from the unexpected
\nis a gospel invitation to stay alert
\nand be on the lookout for God\u2019s spirit
\ndisguised as the other, the child, the cabbie.<\/p>\n

But it is also a gospel invitation to be
\nthe unexpected source of ministry, of care, of Eucharist.<\/p>\n

Now you might be saying to yourself
\n‘I would love to help out … but I\u2019m not the cabbie type
\nwho will park the car and follow you into the hospital.
\nLife is too complicated, resources are low
\nI can’t even always afford the bread and fish.’<\/p>\n

But here is where we might get a little inspiration
\nfrom another detail in John\u2019s gospel:
\nthat after everyone had eaten their fill
\nand they gathered up the fragments that filled
\ntwelve baskets of leftovers.<\/p>\n

Leftovers usually don\u2019t inspire much,
\nexcept for gastronomic disappointment
\nand sometimes the snide remark …<\/p>\n

I have a great friend, a Presbyterian minister,
\nwhose wife is a wonder at conserving food
\nand rarely throws anything away.<\/p>\n

At the beginning of one meal of reimagined leftovers,
\nshe said to her husband \u201cDear, you forgot the blessing.\u201d
\nHe looked at her and said, \u201cSweetheart, if you can show me
\none item on this plate
\nthat hasn\u2019t been blessed at least twice, I\u2019ll try.
\nBut not sure prayer will help.”
\nWonder where he slept that night!<\/p>\n

Yet, the evangelist is telling us to
\nminister out of our leftovers.
\nour fragmented time, money, clothes, and life.<\/p>\n

Artist and poet Jan Richardson understands
\nand offers this blessing over fragments:<\/a><\/p>\n

Cup your hands together,
\nand you will see the shape
\nthis blessing wants to take.
\nBasket, bowl, vessel:
\nit cannot help but
\nhold itself open
\nto welcome
\nwhat comes.<\/p>\n

This blessing
\nknows the secret
\nof the fragments
\nthat find their way
\ninto its keeping,
\nthe wholeness
\nthat may hide
\nin what has been
\nleft behind,
\nthe persistence of plenty
\nwhere there seemed
\nonly lack.<\/p>\n

Look into the hollows
\nof your hands
\nand ask
\nwhat wants to be
\ngathered there,
\nwhat abundance waits
\namong the scraps
\nthat come to you,
\nwhat feast
\nwill offer itself
\nfrom the fragments
\nthat remain.<\/p>\n

It is not news to anyone with a social conscience
\nthat our urban centers are punctuated with food deserts,
\nlarge segments of our population living over a mile away
\nfrom large grocery stores or supermarkets,
\nand are instead served by smaller businesses that sell largely
\ndried, processed, and packaged products
\nwith low nutritional content.
\nThis is such a prevalent issue in our own state
\nthat there is actually a law requiring the government
\nto track food deserts
\nso that they can adequately be addressed.<\/p>\n

In this fragmented society and country,
\nthere are also food deserts of a spiritual kind
\nin which people\u2019s human hungers for kindness and care,
\nfor generosity, and even God
\nare not being met.
\nThere is also a law that addresses this issue as well:
\nit is called the Great Commandment, which in part reads
\n‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’<\/p>\n

In his magical story, the Mother of Soda Bread,
\nJack Shea narrates the quest of one daughter:<\/p>\n

To learn how her mother makes the world\u2019s best soda bread, before her mother declines and her secret recipe disappears.\u00a0 So she asked “Ma, mind if I watch and take a few notes?\u201d Her mother didn\u2019t mind<\/em><\/p>\n

The next afternoon Ma gathered on the countertop all the ingredients necessary for her famous soda bread — flour, sugar, raisins, butter and a host of ancient spice bottles hidden in the back of the cabinet. Then with a deep intake of breath like a conductor the second before a symphony, she began.<\/em><\/p>\n

Sarah took copious notes. Each pinch and dab and sprinkle were scribbled on her yellow pad. Later on, looking over her jottings, she was puzzled by the entry HDE. Then she remembered. That was shorthand for “hit dough with elbow.” Abbreviations were needed. when Sarah’s mother began to make the bread, she seemed to go into a trance. She moved gracefully, her hands swift and precise as a concert pianist’s.<\/em><\/p>\n

The next day Sarah taped her notes to the cabinet door and began meticulously to follow the instructions. When she came to the part about elbowing the dough, she looked around to make sure she was alone. She felt a little silly, but then delivered the dough a mighty blow. No pro basketball player ever threw a better elbow.<\/em><\/p>\n

That night at dinner she presented her masterpiece to family with all the anxiety of a bride’s first meal. Her family praised the soda bread extravagantly but also unanimously agreed that it was not as good as grandma’s.<\/em><\/p>\n

That made Sarah more determined than ever, and sent her back for a second note-taking session.<\/em><\/p>\n

The next afternoon her mother began her ritual of baking. Everything was as Sarah had marked it down. She could not see where she had gone wrong. “Ma, I did everything just as you did, but it didn’t turn out the same.”<\/em><\/p>\n

You forgot the yeast,” her mother said. “You don’t use yeast in soda bread,” said Sarah.\u00a0 “You use yeast in everything,” instructed her mother.\u00a0 “I didn’t see you use it.”\u00a0 “When I was kneading the dough, I saw all the faces of all the people who would eat it. The yeast entered the dough and made it bread.”<\/em><\/p>\n

“What are you?” Sarah asked, laughing, “some kind of bread mystic?”\u00a0 Her mother smiled, but she did not deny it. <\/em>[2]<\/p>\n

Bread mystics, fragment prophets, messengers of divine nourishment
\ncommissioned to vanquish the food deserts
\nof body and spirit,
\nserving the multitudes from our poverty, so becoming eucharist.
\nThis is our hope \u2026 our life \u2026 our mission
\nso we pray that we might become what we eat
\nthrough Christ our Lord. Amen.<\/p>\n

\n

[1] I heard this story first narrated by Prof. Andrew Root at a conference in South Africa in 2015.<\/p>\n

[2] From John Shea, The Spirit Master <\/em>(Chicago: Thomas More Press, 1987).<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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