Our Deepest Hunger

“Jesus said to the people, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’”  John 6:35

The Reverend Luther Zeigler

Emmanuel Church

August 12, 2012

            Two years ago in March, my wife, Pat, and I led a group of high school students on a trip to South Africa.  The trip was part of a cultural exchange program between the high school I was then serving – St. Andrew’s Episcopal School in Potomac, Maryland – and a small youth center in Winterveldt, South Africa by the name of Bokamoso.   It was an unforgettable trip.   We were there for about two weeks, and immersed ourselves in both the rich history and natural beauty of that great country.  We traveled to Cape Town, Johannesburg, Pretoria, and Soweto.  We went on a short safari in the Pilanesberg Game Reserve; we ventured down to the Cape of Good Hope; and we discovered the African penguin along the southern coast.  We also spent considerable time learning about that country’s struggles with its apartheid history, visiting Robben Island where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned, touring the Anglican churches that served as sanctuaries for the resistance movement, and spending time in the many settlement communities that continue to give witness to that terrible history.

            As an Episcopal school, however, we also wanted to ensure that service was an essential aspect of the trip.  So, we spent several days with our students serving the orphanage at the Bokamoso Center in Winterveldt, as well as spending a day with children suffering from AIDS in a hospital for the chronically ill run by a Roman Catholic order.  But, for me, the most memorable service project from that trip was the evening we spent with homeless and displaced refugees in Johannesburg. 

            Like most of the world’s major cities, Johannesburg has a significant homeless population.  The city’s issues with homelessness have, however, been greatly exacerbated over the last decade because of the incredible numbers of refugees entering South Africa from the neighboring states of Zimbabwe and Botswana.  Experts report that during this time as many as three million people have fled to South Africa from the north in the hope of finding a better life, and as South Africa’s largest city, Johannesburg has had to cope with a large share of these refugees.  One of the largest and most active churches in the city that has stepped up to meet the needs of these displaced persons has been Central Methodist Church, a large church in the heart of downtown Johannesburg. 

            One evening we took our students to Central Methodist to learn about their programs for the homeless and to participate in one of their mobile feeding programs.  We were met in the church by one of the church’s lay leaders, a gentle man by the name of Ndai.  Ndai explains to us the city’s refugee problems and the steps the church has taken to provide shelter and services for these persons.  He tells us that because of the incredible numbers of refugees, the Church cannot accommodate them all in its facilities and has, as a result, established a mobile feeding program that seeks to deliver food to where the refugees are encamped on the outskirts of the city.  The program is a simple one, Ndai explains:  vats of soup are prepared in the church’s kitchen, loaves of bread are delivered from a nearby bakery, and when everything is ready, vans are loaded up with the food and water and then teams of volunteers go out with the vans and drive to three different locations where the refugees are waiting.

            Before we venture out in the vans, however, Ndai takes our students aside to share with them one other important aspect of the program.  “We do more than just give bread and soup and water to these people,” Ndai says, “as important as that is.”  “We also learn their names and listen to their stories.  You see,” he continues, “these people hunger for more than just bread:  they hunger for human connection.”  “So,” Ndai instructs us, in addition to feeding these people, “I want each one of you to come back at the end of the evening prepared to share with the group the name and story of at least one of the people you meet tonight.”  He assures us that many of them will know at least a little English.

            As Ndai says this, I can feel the anxiety of our students mount.  This situation is already scary enough:  here we are in a strange and frankly dangerous city half way around the world from home; we are venturing out into the shadows of the evening to parts of town that are even sketchier than where the church is located; and we are asked to serve hundreds and hundreds of total strangers from other countries who are in the most desperate of circumstances.  That seems challenging enough.  But now, we are told, we are also supposed to make friends with these strangers.

             At this point, Pat and I and the other adult chaperones are getting just as nervous as the students, since we, after all, are responsible for their safety and welfare.  But we also know that we have to put on a brave face so that our students will have the confidence to do what we have been asked.  And so, we take a deep breath, gather up our courage, lead our students into the waiting vans, and drive off into the night in teams to feed these unknown strangers.

            What we discover once we arrive at the appointed sites surprises us:  we see hundreds and hundreds of refugees quietly lined up in queues awaiting our arrival.  These are not hardened criminals or threatening runaways, but rather simple families – men, women, and children – who, as we get closer, seem just as scared as we are.  We unload the bread and soup and water and begin to feed them, and as we do, our students gradually break through their fears and begin to strike up conversations, as they are able, with those we are serving.  We come to learn that these refugees are for the most part people who, through no fault of their own, are victims of oppressive and uncaring governments.  They have left everything behind them and are merely in search of those simple things that all of us take for granted:  bread and water, a place to sleep, a bath, meaningful work, hope for their children, a future.

            After we finish our feeding ministry that night, traveling to all three of the designated refugee sites, we bring the students back to the church and form small groups so that we can share what we have experienced.  In contrast to the quiet tension in the atmosphere before we left, the students are now relaxed and talkative.  One by one, our students share the names and stories of some of the people with whom they broke bread that night.  And gradually our students begin to realize that not only bodies, but spirits, were fed that night. And not only were the refugees fed that night; but we were fed as well.

            Over these past few Sundays, we have been winding our way through the sixth chapter of John’s gospel, and listening to Jesus teach about bread and how God feeds us when we least expect it.  We have heard Jesus remind his disciples of God’s faithfulness in feeding manna to the Hebrew people during their wanderings in the wilderness.  Likewise, we have watched Jesus feed five thousand from just a few loaves of bread, creating abundance where before there was only scarcity.  And today we also hear Elijah’s famished cries of desperation answered with bread that sustains him and gives him hope where he thought there was none.

            But as we listen more deeply and more carefully to Jesus, we hear in today’s lesson something radically new.  We hear that the bread we really crave is not the bread that keeps our bodies going, for that is a bread that will not endure, just as our bodies will not endure.  No, what we really crave is a lasting connection and a permanent relationship with all that is true and beautiful and good.  Our deepest hunger is not that our bellies might be filled with the bread of this world, but that our hearts might be filled with the bread of life.  And when Jesus says, “I am the bread of life,” he is assuring us that God is offering in him just such a relationship of eternal and joyful intimacy.

            Our friend, Ndai, was a wise and faithful follower of Christ.  He knew that an authentically Christian ministry to the homeless requires more than the mere delivery of bread, soup and water.  He taught our students that day in Johannesburg a core gospel truth:  that as important as it is to feed our bodies, what sustains us as God’s people is to feed each other’s spirits.  And we do that by opening our hearts to the other in loving vulnerability, just as Christ opens his heart to us. 

            And Ndai taught us something else:  it turns out that we are all refugees.  For the moment, we may have the good fortune to live in nice houses, to lie in warm beds, and to eat sumptuous foods.  But let us not kid ourselves:  these things will pass.  One day, sooner or later, we too will find ourselves standing naked and homeless before the Creator and Redeemer of all.  Let us be forever grateful to know that Ndai’s teacher, and our Lord, is there now waiting to take us in, already knowing our names and our stories, and dying to feed us a bread that will satisfy even our deepest hunger.  Amen.