Picnic basket
Photo Courtesy of Greg Weeks
I met Jesus as a teenager growing up on a farm near Poplar Bluff, Missouri. The preacher at the First Methodist Church pointed me in his direction. I walked and talked with Christ by the lakeside, through the woodlands, and in the pastures. It was a me-and-Jesus type of thing, and I value that to this day. One side note was that things seemed simple and clear-cut. There was right/wrong, saved/unsaved, godly/ungodly.
Recently, 55 years later, I drove through the Ozark heartland of south central Missouri. Towns like Licking, Houston, and Cabool lined the way. It was like going back home again. Rolling pastures, cattle contentedly grazing, abundantly green forests lining everything. Astoundingly beautiful. I hummed, “I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses…”
My mind drifted while traveling Highway 63. I thought of when Jesus told a large crowd to sit down on “the plenty of grass” for a picnic. It would have been similar to one of the pastures I was driving past, just without the cow patties. Jesus himself passed out lots of fish and bread to each little group sitting in that field, and made sure everyone had enough. (John 6:10-13)
Half a century ago, I would have known and loved the people sitting in the pasture. We were all comfortable with each other, came from the same background. We were mostly Caucasian and definitively Christian. Pious. Ate at the Holiday Inn lunch buffet after church. There was a lot of room for us in that field, since you had to carefully follow the signposts along the straight and narrow way in order to get there.
It’s taken a few decades, but I’ve discovered it’s not up to me to decide who Jesus is or is not feeding. I now imagine many groups sitting on that cushy grass, and I wouldn’t personally know them all. Hispanic, Asian, Native American, Black, Whites… Gays, straights, bi’s… Male, female, trans… Hindu, Muslim, Jewish, Baptist, Catholic, None…
Jesus would serve them all without preaching. His only instruction would be, “Take as much as you want.” And as they received, he’d get to know them. Where they grew up. Who their family was. What they liked and disliked. What religion they were. It was as if by feeding them and wanting to know them, he was giving unconditional love and respect. And when you feel loved and respected, you simply want to give love and respect back in return. You get introduced to the Kingdom of God in a personal way that transcends human distinctions that sometimes masquerade as sacred.
I’d love to have heard Jesus’ conversation with each person he fed. And I’d love to learn in my soul that their differences from me are invitations to discover more about the heart of the Creator who formed each of us out of love and hope.
It’s easy to limit the guest list when you’ve never seen the faces or heard the stories of the 8 billion people scattered across the globe. It’s easy to confine Jesus to the group in which we’ve chosen to confine ourselves.
But Jesus connects with all, serves all, loves all. From that, he transforms all. His caring for the needs and dreams of others lies at the heart of his message. He gives us all the same meal because we are all sitting on the same grassy ground.
What a picnic that is.
Greg Weeks
Rev. Greg Weeks
The Rev. Greg Weeks is a retired clergy member of the Missouri Annual Conference of The United Methodist Church. This post is republished with permission from his blog, "Being Christian Without Losing Your Mind."