Where Miracles Happen
Sermon by the Rev. Rick Millsap preached on August 2, 2026 at St. Paul’s, Year A, Proper 13.
Years ago, I attended the funeral of someone I loved dearly. On the way home on the freeway, I noticed a lot of people were on my tail and passing me. I couldn’t figure out why… Until I looked down at my speedometer. In a 65 mile per hour zone I was going 45… Amazing I didn’t get into an accident. Since then every time I’ve been behind someone who’s driving below the speed limit I always wonder, “Maybe they just came out of a funeral of a loved one.”
Any of you who have stepped out into the sunlight after attending a funeral know what it’s like. The world outside doesn’t seem real anymore… How can it be if the one you love is no longer in it? The world not the same, and you’re not the same.
And that’s exactly where Jesus was in the Gospel we read this morning. He just found out that King Herod had his cousin John the Baptist, executed. Jesus loved John. They shared a common vision of how the world should be: More compassionate, more humble, more filled with hope. He was closer to John than to his own brothers and sisters who often thought John and he were both nuts. John was always there to support Jesus even when it meant he became the star and John receded into the background. And now he’s dead… worse, he was murdered, and why? Because King Herod wanted to look like a big man in front of his birthday party guests.
If Jesus didn’t know it before, he also has to have known from this moment where he himself was going. So he’s dealing with both the loss of the cousin he loved and probably the recognition of where his own path is taking him. It’s good to have folks around you when you’re grieving to comfort and hold you, but there comes a point where you need some time alone. Jesus was no different. “And he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself.”
So, how would you react if the minute you got those first few moments alone to try and process your grief, you were mobbed by people who wanted your attention for their problems? I think I would just want to leave… maybe even get a little angry. But not Jesus. The Gospel reads, “When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd… and he had compassion for them because they were like sheep without a shepherd…” Look how he puts others ahead of even his own grief! “… and he began to teach them many things.” The fact that this event is recorded in all of the Gospels is evidence of its importance to the early Christian community. (Mk. 6:30-44; Lk. 9:10-17; Jn. 6:1-13)
And he taught them all day into the late afternoon. He didn’t just make polite conversation… put in an appearance. He set aside his own grief and fear and spent the whole day with them.
My dad was a preacher. So right before I was ordained a priest, I asked my mom if she had any advice for me. She thought about it for a while, and then she said, “Rick, don’t preach more than 10 minutes. No one’s listening to you after that.”— Yep, that was my mom.
Jesus also knew when to stop preaching and teaching. He knew that people had a limit as to how much they could absorb at one time. And so there came a time for Jesus to call it a day. Humans might not live by bread alone, but they sure don’t live long without it. They had heard enough. Stomachs were growling. The sun was setting.
You’ve heard this called the miracle of the feeding of the 5000, but actually I’ve always thought it should be called the miracle of the feeding of at least the 10,000. The Gospel says there were 5,000 men, plus women and children. If 10,000 people showed up on a Sunday morning here at St. Paul’s for services and
then were going stay for lunch I don’t know what we would do… but I know one thing… Margaret would figure it out.
Jesus’ disciples wanted him to send the people away so they could go into the surrounding villages and get their own dinner. But Jesus replied they don’t need to go away, you give them something to eat… but all they had was a couple fish and 5 loaves of bread. And Jesus took them, and looking up to heaven blessed them, and began to distribute them, and everyone ate, and everyone was satisfied, and there were 12 baskets full leftover. That’s not one of those little miracles like finding a parking place at Costco in Reno on the weekend. This is a pretty big miracle.
Some wonder if maybe it wasn’t a miracle, but just that the people in the crowd had all brought lunches with them in their pockets, and when they saw the apostles starting to pass out the meager five loaves and fishes, they brought out their lunches and shared with one another. I don’t know. maybe. I guess it depends on what you call a miracle. Sometimes getting people to open their hearts and hands and share is a miracle.
It reminds me of the following true story:
After months of hard work and years of saving, the day came for Reb and Jackay to open their own restaurant. All that was needed was the final health inspection and the issuing of their business permit. That was scheduled for first thing that morning; then “Our Place,” as they called their restaurant, would be in business.
But that morning in 1989, the winds and rains of Hurricane Hugo hit, unexpectedly making its way 200 miles inland to their North Carolina town. Trees were uprooted, power lines were down, homes and stores were destroyed.
Reb and Jackay hurried to their restaurant. Everything was intact. A deputy sheriff pulled up and told them that their restaurant, the fire station next door, and a service station down the road were the only ones that had electricity.
Reb and Jackay called the health inspector to come immediately so they could open, but because of the power outage, he couldn’t get into his office to issue the permit. No permit, no business opening.
With a refrigerator stocked with 300 pounds of bacon and beef and bushels of tomatoes, lettuce, and bread, there was only one thing to do: Give the food away. They told the deputy, “Tell your coworkers and other emergency people you see that we’ll have free BLT’s and coffee for anybody who wants to drop by.”
Soon firemen, policemen, linemen, and other workers were filing into Our Place. When the couple heard that another restaurant was scalping people by charging ten dollars for two eggs, toast, and bacon, they placed a sign in their window: FREE BLT’S-FREE COFFEE. FAMILIES, TRAVELERS, AND STREET PEOPLE ARE WELCOME.
Then something began to happen. People started to clean counters and sweep floors. Volunteers took over the dish washing from Jackay and helped Reb at the grill.
Hearing about what was going on at Our Place from the local radio station, people from a neighboring town that had not been too badly hit by the storm brought food from their freezers. Stores and dairies sent over chicken, milk, and foodstuffs of all kinds. And so the long day went.
Those first cups of coffee and BLT’s somehow stretched to 16,000 meals. The restaurant’s small stock increased by 500 loaves of bread, cases of mayonnaise, 350 pots of coffee, and bushels of produce.
I don’t know about you, but what happened at that little restaurant in North Carolina in 1989 sounds like a pretty big miracle to me.
Jesus had a choice this morning. He was grieving and probably fearing for his own future. He could have made the choice to turn in on himself to… close up. But instead, he chose to open his heart and care for others. The fact that he could put aside his personal grief and fear, and focus on the needs of others was the first miracle.
Then came the second miracle we don’t read about in the Gospel. We don’t know what Jesus said to all these people, but it changed them. It was getting toward dark, they were hungry, but you don’t see them angry or complaining… just waiting. Whatever Jesus said, it changed them.
And finally, came the third miracle where upwards of 10,000 people were fed with five loaves and a couple fish.
There’s a lesson in this for St Paul’s: If the loaves in this Gospel story had remained unblessed, unbroken, and unshared, they could have fed no one. But when the bread was blessed, and broken, and shared, “all ate and were filled.”
Somehow, miraculously, Jesus called the scattered grains of wheat from all the hills and valleys and transformed them into something beyond what they had been all by themselves: Now they were bread.
Christ has called the people of this church and transformed them into something beyond what they had been by themselves: Now they are Christ’s Body. We have a lovely church with lovely people. But, if we just stay here, without going and giving ourselves to the world, we feed no one.
And people today are so hungry for kindness, for hope. When we, the church, are blessed, and broken, and shared, we can be bread for a desperately hungry world.
Three miracles happened in today’s Gospel: First, Jesus overcame his own grief and fear and turned it into caring for others. Second, the words of life he spoke changed hearts. And third, everyone was fed.
I don’t pretend to understand how miracles happen, but I can show you this morning where they happen. Do this for me… Make your hand into a fist… Now open it.
It is in that space between your clenched fist and your open hand ready to share… It is in that small space… where miracles happen.
Amen.