04.08.2026
Saint Francis
Sermon Pentecost 10A (Proper 13)
The Reverend Christian Jennert, Bridge Pastor
Isaiah 55:1-5; Psalm 145:8-9, 15-22; Romans 9:1-5; Matthew 14:13-21
What was the last meal you truly remember?
Perhaps it wasn’t the food at all. Maybe it was who sat around the table. A birthday celebration. Thanksgiving. An Anniversary. A quiet dinner after a difficult week. A meal with friends you hadn’t seen in years. Chances are, what made the meal memorable wasn’t simply what was served, but the community it created.
Meals have always been about more than food. Around tables we tell stories, laugh, mourn, celebrate, reconcile, and remember. Tables have a way of bringing people together.
One of the things I have come to treasure most here at St. Francis is exactly that gift. We know how to gather around tables. Whether it is our wonderful coffee hours after worship, our generous potlucks, or our senior center meals that welcome neighbors and strangers alike, hospitality has become one of the hall marks of this congregation. There are Sundays when the aroma of fresh coffee and the conversations downstairs are reason enough to linger – and I confess, almost reason enough to come to church in the first place! They remind us that fellowship is not an “extra” to the Gospel. It is one of the ways the Gospel becomes visible.
So, here’s your homework: bring your favorite reasonably-price, transit-friendly San Francisco restaurant recommendation to Theology on Tap on August 10. We’ll toss all the suggestions into a hat and let providence – or the Holy Spirit! – choose where our first fellowship dinner this fall will be. After all, Lutherans have always done some of our best theology around a table!
Today’s Gospel gives us perhaps the most famous meal in all of Scripture: the feeding of the five thousand. Most of us remember the miracle itself – the five loaves, the two fish, the overflowing baskets. But before there is abundance, there is heartbreak.
Jesus has just learned that his cousin, Joh the Baptist, has been executed. John’s voice has been silenced. His friend is dead. Jesus withdraws by boat to a deserted place. He seeks solitude. He needs space to grieve.
Who among us cannot understand that?
There are seasons when we, too, simply need to step away. Life becomes overwhelming. We carry grief, disappointment, uncertainty, exhaustion. We long for a quiet place where we can simply breathe and rest in God’s presence. Yet the crowds follow Jesus.
Imagine that moment. Jesus longs to be alone but instead finds thousands of people waiting for him. And remarkedly, Matthew tells us that Jesus is moved – not by irritation – but by compassion.
Even in his own sorrow, Jesus sees theirs.
That may be one of the greatest miracles in this story.
When evening comes, the disciples see only scarcity.
“There isn’t enough.”
“Send them away.”
“It isn’t our problem.”
How familiar those words sound.
There isn’t enough money. There isn’t enough time. There aren’t enough volunteers. There isn’t enough energy. There isn’t enough hope. Scarcity has a way of shaping our imagination. But Jesus sees something entirely different.
“They need not go away.”
“You give them something to eat.”
The disciples look at five loaves and two fishes. Jesus looks at possibility. Jesus takes what little they have, blesses it, breaks it, gives it – and somehow there is enough for everyone. Not barely enough. Abundantly enough. Everyone eats. Everyone is satisfied. And twelve baskets remain. That is how God’s kingdom so often works.
God rarely begins with abundance. God begins with willingness. A small offering. Open hands. A compassionate heart. And somehow, by God’s grace, little becomes much. I have seen that happen here at St. Francis. A coffee hour becomes holy conversation. A potluck becomes a place where newcomers become friends. A community meal becomes a reminder to someone that they have not been forgotten. Sometimes what nourishes people most isn’t what’s on the plate but knowing someone saves them a seat at the table.
That, I think, is the deeper hunger Jesus is feeding today. Yes, people needed bread. But they also needed hope. They needed ‘belonging’. They needed to know that no one was invisible. No one was forgotten. No one was sent away. And isn’t that what happens every Sunday at this table?
Here we bring our griefs and our joys. Our doubts and our faith. Our loneliness and our longing. Our empty hands. And Christ does exactly what he did beside the Sea of Galilee. He takes. He blesses. He breaks. He gives. And once again there is enough; enough grace, enough forgiveness, enough mercy, enough love.
No one leaves this table because they have earned a place here. Everyone comes because Christ has invited them. No one goes away empty. That has always been the promise of the Gospel.
So today, as we gather around this table, may we receive Christ’s abundant gifts with grateful hearts. And then may we become what we have received – people who make room for one more chair, one more conversation, one more act of welcome, one more expression of compassion.
For there is no scarcity in God’s kingdom. There is always enough. Thanks be to God. Amen.
