Dr. Ron Sumners
January 20, 2002
A dramatic narrative interpretation of John 6:1-13
Introduction:
I began thinking about the boy who shared his bread and fish on that day so long ago. How would he remember that day as an adult, looking back? I also dug back into the archives of my youth to remember the tales of old men recounting stories of their youth. These were honest, hard-working, uneducated men, who spoke in their own unique way about their pilgrimages in life and faith. I began to imagine that little boy as a man, down in lower Shelby County, Alabama, where I grew up, telling the story as if he had lived in Palestine 2000 years ago. I present this with a deep respect for my heritage and the beauty of communication and a belief that God speaks in humility and simplicity as well as eloquence.
(Monologue)
Maw sez I could go fishin’ when we had us a school holiday. She sez, “A boy can git closer to God out by the lake than asittin’ in a dark, stuffy synagogue school.” That sounded reasonable to me!
I waked up afore the birds began to sing. I moved quiet as a mouse so’s not to wake Maw. She done laid out a barley loaf and a salt-cured fish fer my lunch. But I knowed she had plenty more ‘cause she had been at the village oven all day.
So I kinda’ stuffed my sack full. There was mebbe six er seven loaves and quite a few fishes too. “I gotter feed Ole Solomon today,” I sez to myself. Ole Solomon were my dog. He were a cutter. I named him after Ole King Solomon. Ole Solomon weren’t as smart as that ole king but pert nigh, I reckon.
I took one fish just to keep Ole Solomon quiet so’s he wouldn’t wake Maw while I were getting’ my fishin’ gear ready.
Ole Solomon knowed where we were agoin’. We dug some gret big “night crawler” worms and then we lit out. I couldn’t near keep up with Ole Solomon, but I’s as excited as he were. I started whistlin’ with the birds as they set into singin’ afore good daylight. There ain’t nuttin pertier than the mornin’ sky when the sun’s awakin’ up. Comin’ down on the lake from the nor’east like we done, them hills on the east were dark as a cave. Then the sun come ashootin’ beams oer the top of ‘em. It was a wonder to behold, that Ole Sea of Galilee.
Fishin’ weren’t no good a’tall. Wind out of the north were the problem. I felt real bad ‘bout not catchin’ nothin’. I figured that if’n I had me a good catch, Maw might fergit ‘bout me takin ‘ so many loaves n’all. One thang fer shore, I weren’t gittin’ no closer to God like Maw said I would. I sez to myself, “If’n God has a hankerin’ to git close to me, He might have the fish a’bitin’!
I didn’t have much time to do much studyin’ on it though. Ole Solomon commenced to barkin’ up a storm. I seen dust arisin’ up ore the hill. They must a been thousands of people acomin’ my way. I’d never seen so many folks afore in all my borned days. They were headed straight fer me.
I were so scairt that I dropped my fishin’ rod and dove in the bushes to hide. They were soon all ‘round me. Some of ‘em were plumb crazy-actin’, even asplashin’ out in the water. They were apointin’ and ashoutin’, “Here they come! They’s aheadin’ thisa way!”
And shore ‘nuf, they were this fishin’ boat acomin’ to shore. They were several fellers apullin’ hard at them oars. Soon as they beached the crowd commenced to yappin’ like yard dawgs. They’s askin’ questions ‘bout polertics and taxes and sech! They’s askin’ what were he gonner do ‘bout ‘em.
Well, that young Rabbi (I sez, young now ‘cause I’m old, but that day he looked mebbe 30-35 year old), raised his hands o’er ‘em, and they quieted down like givin’ suck to a squawlin’ baby. Then it hit me, I’d done left my sack lunch out in the middle of that crowd, as well as my fishin’ gear. I knowed my fishin’ were done fer the day, but I shore hated to lose my lunch. So, while they’s alookin’ at the Rabbi, who’s getting’ outen the boat, I slunk out among‘em to git my lunch. Jest as I grabbed it, and I looked up to see which-a-ways to run, there were the Rabbi astandin’ over me.
His eyes, hit were his eyes what grabbed a holt of me, not the hand that he put on my head. I were a quiverin’ like a rabbit sensen’ danger. Then the Rabbi said some’thin ‘bout “sheep ‘out a shepherd,” and the quiverin’ went away. I felt warm and safe all over, like Maw atuckin’ me in at bedtime.
I knowed right then that I weren’t gonna run away. I were gonna stay as close to that Rabbi as I could.
He got up the hill a piece and settled down and he found hisself a rock to perch on and he commenced to teachin’. Hit ‘curred me that he done turned that lakeside into a synagogue school, only it weren’t dark and stuffy.
Wellsir, most of the Rabbi’s teachin’s ‘bout the Kingdom ‘o God. I don’t pay no mind to polertics talk. Maw always sez to me, “Boy, don’t git wrangled up in polertics. Hits like a snake in the rocks. If’n it bites you, all you get is all swelled up er kilt, one or t’other.” So’s I figured this Rabbi is another one ‘o them Messiah-type fellers, what git hauled offen to Jerusalem and nailed to one of them crosses to die.
I perked up my ears though, when the Rabbi sez,”You all are God’s people when others call you names on account of me.” Right then, I thought ‘bout Josh, at school a-callin’ me names ‘cause I ain’t got no Paw. And then the Rabbi sez, “When that happens to you, be cheerful ‘cause you have a Paw in Heaven, and he loves you.”
I studied over that fer quite a spell. Next time Josh called me bad names, I bowed up and ‘llowed that I did so have a Paw. . . in heaven, and that he loved me better’n yourn, Josh,‘cause yore ole man stays drunk ‘bout half the time.
Bout then the Rabbi were getting’ atter them folks purty good. He sez, “You all are like kids aplayin’ in the streets, yellin’ at one another, ‘We put on fast music fer dancin’ but you wouldn’t dance; so’s we put on slow music fer wailin’ and acryin’ but you wouldn’t mourn.’ Fer John the Baptist offered a hard life and you sez that John’s a looney-bird. I offer laughter and joy and you sez that I’m a bum, and run ‘round with the wrong crowd. They aint no way to please you crazy folks.” Well, the Rabbi got a good laugh outen that’en. They’s lots of folks belly-laughin’, but some of them religious fellers were lookin’ as sour as if’n they’d just et a persimmon.
I shore wished Maw were there when the Rabbi commenced to talkin’ ‘bout worry. He sez, “God’s people don’t worry ‘bout stuff all the time, like what you’re gonna eat or drink or wear.” Then he sez the funniest thang: “Take a look at them birds. They don’t sow no seeds nor harvest no crops. They ain’t got no barns to store stuff in. Yet, God cares for them. You all are a heap more valuable than birds!” And from birds in general, he goes to sparrows. “Not a single sparrow tumbles to the ground ‘out that God knows it. So, don’t go ‘round scairt and aworryin’ all the time. Ya’ll are worth more than a bunch of sparrows.”
I still thank ‘bout that ever time I see a bird. I never kilt another’n just fer fun neither. I couldn’t atter what the Rabbi done said.
Someone in the crowd hollered askin’ the Rabbi ‘bout what happened when he were in Gadara t’other day. And he tole the spookiest story I done ever heard ‘afore or since. Seems he was agoin’ thar to hep some crazy feller. I never knowed afore that crazies were chained up in graveyards, but that’s what they done in Gadara.
Well, this feller didn’t wear no clothes. He broke them chains. I’da hated to run up on that feller! When the Rabbi shows up, that crazy feller starts ashoutin’ at the top ‘o his lungs, “What you got agin me, Son of God?”
The Rabbi asked him, “What’s yore name?”
He sez, “Multitude,” since they’s a slew of demons in ‘em. Then them demons started beggin’ him not to send ‘em off into the abyss, but to let ‘em go in a heard of hogs that were on the hillside. When them demons lit into them hogs, they went atearin’ down into the lake and drowned.
News of that spread like a brush fire and soon the whole town were arunnin’ to the graveyard.
There were the man, asittin’ at the Rabbi’s feet, with clean clothes on and actin’ sane as a judge.
Well, hit scairt the daylights outen them folks. They begged the Rabbi and them fellers with him to leave. So, that’s what they done.
This Kingdom ‘o God that the Rabbi kept talkin’ ‘bout made a lot of sense to me. He takes in even the crazies and makes em right in the head, and he don’t blink an eye at losin’ a whole heard of hogs to do it. What I can’t figger out is why them people in Gadara run off the Rabbi atter he done sech a wonderful thang.
Later on, the Rabbi told a story that made me feel real special. Hit was ‘bout this man what had a hunnert sheep, and a little lamb got lost. So, he leaves the ninety-nine and hunts fer the lost lamb. When he finds it, he puts it on his shoulders and takes it home. Well, he’s abubblin’ with joy, so he calls his neighbors, “Hey, ya’ll come over. I’m givin’ a party to celebrate findin’ my lost lamb.”
Then the Rabbi sez, “I’m atellin’ you all that they will be more joy in heaven over one little “outsider” who gets brought into the fold than over ninety-nine of them religious people who jes hang ‘round in the ole pastures and never know what hits like to be out there all alone and lost and then to get found and loved by the good shepherd.”
I were feelin’ jes like that little lamb while he were atellin’ that story. Ain’t nobody in the synagogue never noticed me, or put an arm ‘round me like a real friend.
Next thang I knowed, he were alayin’ it on them super religious types. He’s callin’ ‘em phonies. He ‘llowed how they made a big deal of prayin’ in public and how they acted like big shots in the synagogue. He sez that prayin’s jes talkin’ to God and bein’ fer his kingdom.
I decided right then and there that I would pray like that. I‘ve done that from that day to this’en.
There were one thang the Rabbi said that I weren’t too shore ‘bout. He sez, “Love yore enemies, and you’ll be the spittin’ image ‘o God.”
I don’t know if’n I can live that-a-way, but when the Rabbi’s talkin’ I got to feelin’ like I could, shore ‘nuf.
There were some’thin else ‘bout the Rabbi I couldn’t believe, even though I seen it happenin’. It were the way he made everone feel good ‘bout themselves. He never made nobody feel stupid er ashame fer not knowin’ some’thin or bein’ wrong ‘bout it, which the Rabbi at school done ever day!
He never answered with a mad voice, not even when them religious fellers got uppity and tried to put him down. And his voice: his voice, seem-like, come from the middle of the earth. Hit had the beat of the waves on the shore, and the music in it of a breeze through the cedar trees. He might-near put me into a trance, just alistenin’ to the sound.
Next thang I knowed, the day-endin’ shaders were crawlin’ right up the hill into the crowd. The fellers that were atravelin’ with the Rabbi had him in the middle of ‘em. They’s atalkin’all ‘cited-like ‘bout some’thin. One of ‘em shouted, “Hit would take a whole year’s earnins, it would!” The Rabbi’s voice calmed them down quick. Then them fellers scattered all over the hillside agatherin’ the people into groups and sayin’, “The master sez we’re gonna break bread together afore we go home.”
All of a sudden, one of them fellers were squattin’ down aside ‘o me. “My name’s Andrew,” he sez, “what’s yourn?”
“Michael,” I sez, amumblin’. I figgered he’s up to some’thin, but he seemed ‘bout nice as the Rabbi.
“Michael, I done noticed how good you been listenin’ to the Rabbi, all aternoon. I seen the master lay his hand on yore head and bless you. I knowed that you was jes tryin’ to save yore lunch from the crowd but when you followed the master up the hill and fergot yore fishin’ gear, I jes felt some’thin done happened to your heart. Am I right?”
I were dumb-struck. I opened my mouth but didn’t nothin’ come out. Then he sez, “Michael, I done picked up your fishin’ gear and put it in our boat so’s it would be safe. So be shore to let me git it fer you afore you go home.
“Thank ye,” I whispered.
“And Michael,” he goes on, “the Teacher is askin’ folks to give him any food they got with ‘em, so’s he can feed everone. Can he have yore sack lunch?”
I tell you, that Andrew feller had me right there. I’da give him my fishin’ gear and mebbe Ole Solomon iffin he’d asked. So I hands over my lunch, which still had five loaves and two fishes left in it.
Next thang I knowed, them helper fellers were huddled ‘round the Rabbi and he sez, aholdin’ up my sack lunch, “We have five barley loaves and two fish, thanks to young Michael asittin’ here at my feet.”
I suppose he went on into the blessin’ fer the food then, but I didn’t hear another word. I felt as big as a mountain and wanted to hide in the bottom of the sea, all at the same time. The Rabbi knowed my name! And he was ablessin’ Maw’s fixins, which I had gotten that mornin’.
I were mixed up ‘bout that. I hadn’t felt good all day ‘bout stuffin my sack with that extra food, but if I hadn’tof I shore wouldn’t have had a bite left for Mr. Andrew and the Rabbi.
By the time I come to my senses, them fellers were gatherin’ up scraps. They’s several baskets left over.
Atter the crowd kinda melted into the shaders of the day’s dyin’. Mr. Andrew were true to his word. He fetched my fishin’ gear and seed to it that I et my supper outen them leftovers. In fact, I took home more to Maw that I took that mornin’.
Ole Solomon and me were headed home. It got dark on us afore we got there, but Ole Solomon knowed the way, and I weren’t a bit scairt. I didn’t ever worry ‘bout the whoopin’ I’se likely to git fer takin’ all that food.
Truth to tell, I ain’t worried about much since that day. Somehow I just knowed that God were on that hillside that day.
And he knowed my name. He always has!
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