There are a lot of things they don't teach you in seminary, things you just have to figure out on your own or talk about with a mentor or friend. One of them is that once you enter parish ministry your chances to go to Sunday morning worship narrow down to close to nil. Of course as pastors we're in worship every week but obviously it's a very different experience. While we continue to worship God at the same time as leading others, it becomes dangerously easy to forget what it's like to be in the pews. And so, quite early on in my ministry, I realized how important it is to seize the opportunity to go to Sunday morning services whenever I have a "day off." Resisting the temptation to just relax and stay at home and read the papers, I manage to get up and get dressed so that I can get to church on time - whenever and wherever that may be.

Last Sunday was one of these occasions. Up north for the weekend I found my way to a sister church, First Parish Congregational in Saco, Maine at nine-thirty in the morning. It was what they call a Summer Union Service, held in conjunction with their neighboring congregation, United Baptist. I found a parking space on Main Street and headed toward the church.

Walking down that block and a half, I was staggered by the questions that began filling my mind. You see, I found myself wondering what I was really doing. Wearing my dress shoes and carrying a handbag, seeing a few others ahead of me doing the same, I felt like an old-fashioned prude headed toward some white ivory tower. For some reason, it all seemed so antiquated and out of date. In that moment I found it hard to believe that here, in this modern world and technological age, I was headed off to sing some old songs and listen to someone talk about the Bible, of all things, and Jesus. It was one of those moments - maybe you've had one, too - when our faith just seemed a little surreal and a bit superstitious. Entering the sanctuary that was filled, I might add, with men and women and children of all ages, I kept asking myself, "What are we doing here?"

Maybe that's why preachers shouldn't attend worship when they have a Sunday off. Oh, but it's exactly why I know I need to go to church whenever I can. Getting the chance to ask what we do here from the depth of my soul helped me think about what it really means to be Christian in this twenty-first century. It challenged me to claim yet again the relevance of our practices, reminding me that the action of coming to church each and every Sunday of the year is one that stems from my own free will and God's amazing grace.

And so, on this morning that is part of our national Independence Day Weekend I want to tell you why I freely choose to be here. I want to confess what it is about Christianity that makes me yearn to be a part of the story, this old, old story, even in this modern time and very liberal culture. I want to share why it is I work so hard to help this faith live on - not as a custom or convention but as a transforming source of divine and healing power. Worshipping with you today I hope we can remember together why church - yes, church - is such an important part of our daily living.

My outline comes from today's Scripture reading, not because it's the assigned lectionary passage for the morning but because I've specifically selected as a powerful metaphor for how we are drawn to the body of Christ. For I don't know about you, but I come to church much like those men and women following Jesus up that mountain. I come seeking spiritual healing. I come to learn more about this Savior's teachings. I come curious about his relevance and power. Like those people in ancient times I admit I'm one more gawking fool hungry for some good news, looking for strength and a sign from God in this sad, torn up world. It's like the words of the Scottish theologian James Denney who wrote back in the late nineteenth century, "The kingdom of God is not for the well-meaning but for the desperate." That's me: I'm a little bit desperate, hoping there's more to life than what surrounds us in this pretty mixed-up world.

So this leads me to I admit that most fundamentally I come to church aware of my brokenness, feeling a need for healing and care. In more traditionally theological terms we call this confession of sin and a seeking of grace, but quite simply I just know I need help. I just deeply desire witness, assurance, and mercy. From personal problems and challenges I face daily to the larger, more existential dilemmas of the human experience, there's so much I cannot do on my own or simply don't understand. So here I am, like those women and men on the mountainside, looking to God for strength and for understanding.

I also am here today because I've heard some great things about this man Jesus. Similar to the many miracle stories filling Matthew's Gospel, I've been told of radical changes occurring in people's lives: addictions ended, marriages restored, lives, careers, families resurrected at the verge of disaster. I've seen some powerful conversions and I know how dramatically God has changed my own life, and so I come as one eager to witness more miraculous events unfold. Coming to church in my brokenness, arriving with stories and memories of healing, I am like those people sitting with Jesus: I'm here as a witness to God's loving presence in this world, believing in and having experienced Christ's transforming powers.

Consequently, a third reason I come to church is to gather together with those who also look for and worship God. Rather than being closely linked with another kind of self-help system or more socially respectable club or professional organization it's with people in plain, old-fashioned church that I choose to align myself with. Having tried to find such community in a lot of other ways I've realized this is where it's possible to discover meaning and healing by wrestling with the tough issues in life - right here alongside others who are trying to do the same. It's not very cool in to do this just a block away from fashionable Newbury Street but this is where it's at for me. Here, in this sacred space, society's demands and judgments fade away and I am able to both receive and offer acceptance in ways I've never been able to do before. Here, together with people like you of all different ages and from all different backgrounds God helps me to find joy and meaning in life.

I admit it hasn't always been this way for me. For years I thought I could do it on my own. I'd read, think, and pray. I'd wander into churches and then quickly out as soon as the service ended. Maybe there's someone here today who's doing that right now, who thinks, as I did, that this Christian thing can be done alone. That's certainly one way to go about it; God touched me deeply in those years I was on my own. But I've come to realize that the greatest call of Christ is one that leads us into community. You see, looking for God on the mountain we become a part of the crowd, and reaching out to Jesus our hand touches others who are reaching out as well. That's the miraculous way Christianity works: we come together seeking God's loving touch and we find each other; we come alone but are then joined both to God and to people we would never otherwise have met.

This is the power of the miracle story in front of us this morning. The feeding of the four thousand is an account of a new community being formed as people from all different backgrounds are joined together and fed by God. There were Jews and Gentiles, women and men all in the same place, all seeking the same thing - it was unheard of at that time! It would be like us coming together with our own enemies and society's outcasts - say with Muslim terrorists, homeless drunks and right wing, conservative Christians. Unthinkable? Not in the presence of Christ. Unimaginable? Not with the grace of God. In this story Jesus ministers to the crowd as a cohesive whole, offering healing to the sick and wounded, the outcast and afraid. There's no preferential treatment going on here. Everyone is equal as they confess their needs before God. Everyone is welcomed and loved.

It's in this climate of acceptance that over four thousand people can be miraculously fed. Taking those seven loaves and few small fish the disciples have stashed away for their own later use Jesus models generosity and sharing as he offers that food to the crowd after giving thanks to God for such bounty. Imagine that: after hours and even days of giving care to those in need this prophetic man provides a parting meal. Seeing such an act of kindness the crowd is moved to respond in a similar way. Pockets are emptied, bags are rummaged through and an hour or so later all that remains are seven barrels filled with trash. Everyone is fed by each other. No one goes away hungry. This is truly a scene of people coming together as one, demonstrating, yes, that with God all things are possible.

This miracle lays out the fourth and final incentive leading me to church that I'll share with you today. It is here, within this place that I'm inspired to live like Christ. It is here, gathered with you, that I'm empowered to believe the Christian way of life is possible and relevant even in this contemporary age. Recognizing that God offers us healing with the trust that we will then share it with others challenges me to be a more a loving, generous, compassionate and humble person. It's a different message than those surrounding us on billboards and TV screens. But this is where we receive the radical vision laid out by the Congregational preacher, John Henry Jewett many years ago: "God does not comfort us to make us comfortable, but to make us comforters." Coming to church I learn that truth. Hungry for God I remember the many thousands of others who are hungry, too.

So why do you come to church? Is it because you are broken like me? Are you looking for healing and hope? Are you hungry for community, where acceptance and sharing wins out over judgment and greed? Why are you walking up the mountain with this crowd today?

Last week, sitting in the back rows of that church in Maine I stood and sang a song that helped me recall why I'm here every Sunday. It's a simple tune you might recognize even as I just say the words. It goes, "Open our eyes, Lord, we want to see Jesus, to reach out and touch Him, and say that we love Him. Open our ears, Lord, help us to listen, open our eyes, Lord, we want to see you." Singing those words with that room full of strangers I remembered what we do here and why we gather, week in and week out, from the many different places we call our lives. We come, like that crowd climbing up a hillside, to see the One who offers hope and healing in a world divided by violence and despair. We come hungry, in need of mercy and inspiration so that we can join together as a true community to then feed others in this world. No matter how modern our times may be and no matter how old-fashioned this faith may seem, we gather together by the grace of God. It is a miracle. And I confess that I am so glad to be here together with you. I am so grateful God brings us to this place in this time to offer love and meaning through Jesus Christ. It is miraculous. It has changed my life and I know it can change yours, too.

Let us pray.

Eternal God, we do want to see Jesus. We do need your loving touch and care. Bowing our heads to you this moment we pray for your mercy, that like those crowds gathering to witness such acts of transformation so you may cast your Spirit among us this day. Heal us, Lord. Renew us. And teach us always to share the joy and hope we know in Christ with others in your world. Amen.

SCRIPTURE READING Matthew 15: 29-39