Some people create the best things. They open their refrigerator, pull out Tupperware tubs, unveil the obscure contents on a dinner plate under plastic wrap and, in the time it takes some of us to cook and somewhat peel a hardboiled egg, these Ginsu knife gurus create a 5-star quality, four-course presentation from things like avocado wedges, the remains of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, most of the ingredients of a burrito and some unidentified noodle-based casserole. Grilling this and sautéing that, zapping a few of those and toasting a handful of what we'll eat if disguised well, they do an awe-inspiring job with leftovers.

And when it comes to leftovers, we know the one time of year when this topic gets any hype. Yes, long after the township mows the overgrowth of wildflowers and weeds bordering our country roads just in time for fair traffic, past the time of Halloween when we welcome back our snow shovels, we see newspaper and magazine articles showcasing what to do with the leftovers from that late, great November feast, Thanksgiving. Whether you cook or not, there's a lesson in the leftovers.  

As if we are sitting on a hillside with Jesus, we'll take a look at what we have—and honestly, truly, and objectively—we'll see that, unlike our magic chefs, what we have alone or by ourselves is not enough. Like our chefs, however, when we do put what we have together, when we do put our different gifts together in the basket for Jesus—and our different gifts aren't all about dollars and cents—then, like those in this story, we are blessed. We are blessed because we are able to continue to feed not only ourselves, but what, if this small church thinks about it, could, in time, be thousands.

Your pastor is not ahead of himself, nor is he dreaming far-fetched dreams. With what is coming our way this autumn through one small yet committed committee, we're in a place and time where good things are happening in the life and growth of this congregation. Like those following Jesus in our story, we, too, are following Jesus. Like those following Jesus in our story, we, too, are committed to Jesus. Like those following Jesus in our story, we, too, are excited by Jesus. Look around you. We, too, are experiencing the blessings of being close to him.

Jesus is just asking us to put what we have in the basket. I'm asking you this morning to put what you have in the basket for this church. Based on this reading where we are like those followers devoted to the miracles of Jesus, I'm asking you to recognize that what you can give to this "basket"—time, talent, energy, devotion, resources, energy, conviction, hope—will, once gathered with the gifts from those around you, be blessed.

Here's the lesson in the leftovers: we don't have to do it alone. We just have to gather. We have to bring our commitments to Christ, and, with God's blessing, see where this goes.

Take a look at your sermon notes, which is the flipside of the scripture sheet in your bulletin. I invite you to fill it out. With pen or pencil in your hand, here's the first point. Bring what you have. Bring what you have.

The boy in our story brought five loaves and two fish. The disciples certainly had more resources than the boy, but they knew they didn't have enough, so they didn't give anything at all. The boy gave what little he had, and it made all the difference.

Bring what you have. Here's a true story.

One of the more inspiring people I've ever encountered had little, but, like the boy, gave so much. This is a story of Jim, only Jim is not his real name.

I won't share Jim's real name because he was a patient and I respect his privacy. I also respect him because he joined the spirituality group I hosted as a chaplain intern in a locked psychiatric unit in a major Boston hospital.

Jim is a man my age who'd been through a tough bout with his medications and came to this floor with nothing but the clothes on his back. You heard that. He came with nothing but what he was wearing—painter's pants and a sweatshirt. Like that boy in our scripture lesson, he had little. But what he had he put in the basket, sort of speak, and it was blessed. You'll see what I mean.

Now locked units generally have a large common area, and that's where we met. We circled up. There was no table between us. I like this because it brings us physically and, in turn, spiritually closer. Questions I introduce lead to discovery and, respectfully, each individual listens and learns from those around him or her. Sometimes there are tears, but there is always resilience. Somewhere in our time together, there was an articulation of faith that is like super-enforced steel cable compared to the thread that too many of us have.

So, in the circle there's sharing and Jim, whom I've only met once, inspires. He inspires with his words and his actions, his expressions and his heart. When someone, two seats down, starts to lose it, Jim, like a beacon and buoy, offers light and stays afloat.

I don't remember exactly what he said. It was something small, like two fish and five loaves of bread, but he gave with his hears and his heart. The person in tears was blessed, and so was Jim.

I'm asking you to be blessed. I'm asking you to put in, or continue to put into the basket, and again, I invite you to consider that basket to be this church.

Give more. Do more. Be more. Do not be afraid, be inspired. Do not think you can't, when you can. Bring what you have.

That was my first point. Here is the second. God provides. We just don't trust those provisions. God provides. We just don't trust those provisions.

Here is a second true story. It's a story where I gave, or gave up, where I lived. Moving to Boston University's School of Theology was, hands down, the most difficult move I may make in my lifetime. Leaving home was something I just could not do easily because it was emotionally and financially arduous.

But I did. Now, a dog lover here, I wouldn't leave Pennsylvania without my troops—and because of that, it made most sense to buy a place near Boston University. I'd never be able to rent with two dogs that collectively weighed as much I did, and large dogs need a lot of space to run and roam. So there were five or six places I considered. Finally, I found my shoebox-sized apartment centered between Boston College and Boston University, but had looked at only the apartments themselves.  I didn't know what was down the block, or across the six-lane road in front of my building.

I found out though. Each day, the troops and I toured. On one of our early outings, we came across this park. There, in the hub and bub of the big city life for this guy and his big country dogs, literally five minutes from my building, there was a park.

We all have personal relationships with God, and in mine—honestly—I don't see God having this great sense of humor. Funny is not a word I'd use to describe God. However, here under the shade of giant trees and a nearby tennis court and—this isn't my own thinking but something a part from me—I hear this message, these few words. "And you were worried?"

It was God. It was God clearly saying something I understood as this: you thought I'd let you down? You who gave to me? What? I'd let you down? God took what I gave (which was three years in a new city) and blessed me with that park.

Again, God does take care of us. God does provide. Trust that he'll do so.

Here is our third and final point today. What we give to God is used abundantly, and multiplied.

This is also a true story. There's a sixty-something woman out there named Jane. Unlike Jim, this is her real name. Like the rest of us, she is not a saint, but truly, anyone here would be hard pressed not to at least like, if not love, her. Why? Jane is special because Jane has what you have. And she does what you do, or can do—and that's give. Truth time here: the woman gives, gives, gives.

Again, you are someone like this, you know someone like this, and all of us can be someone like this. Jane and her cousin live some two hours apart. That's not a great distance; not considering how many here travel great distances to see family and friends. The cousins see each about twice a year not because they don't cherish time together; that's not it; it just doesn't work out that they can see each other more. (Retired grandparents, you know exactly what I'm talking about.) Even if you are far, far, from the grandparent stage in your life, get this. Every time Jane comes east or her cousin travels west, Jane gives such gifts. And the gifts Jane brings are used abundantly. That little bit of this or that is multiplied because Jane's gifts are just right. And Jane's gifts are just right because she puts her whole heart into her gifts which include well considered mementos, soaps and homemade jams and jellies. And with these gifts, God steps in.

Consider this. All of us have been on the receiving end of a gift that truly touches and warms our heart. Equally, we've given gifts we know are just the right thing at just the right moment. On the giving and on the receiving end, that joy that we experience—now think about this—is something God has a deliberate hand in. Here's how. God takes what we give and multiplies its power to both the gift giver, and the gift receiver. God also lets the power of that gift move the hearts of bystanders. We've all been touched or moved when we know—or maybe even don't know—receives a gift.

God is far more powerful than the fuzzy feelings we get around a gift-giving time, of course. The author of Psalm 29, for example, tells us that the voice of the Lord is full of majesty. This writer tells us the voice of the Lord breaks and splinters the cedars. The Lord shakes the wilderness and divides the flames of fire. That's power.

That power also turns what we give into something so much more. Take that time in the park and the stories of Jim and of Jane home with you. Take home the lesson in the leftovers. When we give our all, however, when we give not this 2, 5 or 10-percent bologna but when we really give our all (and that, for some, includes giving up our anthropocentric control because we're to the point where yes, truly, it is in God's hands) then what we give turns to so much more.

Something is going to be asked of you this fall. A building committee is working to present us with an idea. With God, I invite you to consider the idea, and if you feel that the idea is worthy of God's plan, then I invite you to take that idea, put that idea in the basket and have God bless it.

I started this sermon saying some people create the best things by pulling leftovers out of the refrigerator. Let's create something just as good, if not better, with the different ingredients—the different gifts—we can give here. As God did for Jim and for Jane, I invite you to reflect on what God will have you do. And in what you do, you will find God's blessings in what you give. As in the story of the dogs in the park, you'll find God gives back.

Let no back stepping, nail biting or fret come our way. Instead, as ones who know the word and the way we need to go, we are going to follow not our fear but our faith. And from all these different ingredients blessed by God because our eye is on God, we are going to grow. Amen.