July 23, 2006
(Seventh Sunday after Pentecost; Proper 11)

An Unbeatable Combination

by The Rev. Carol Sanford, Curate

Isaiah 57:14b-21  •  Psalm 22:22-30  •  Ephesians 2:11-22  •  Mark 6:30-44
(From The Lectionary Page)

Several years ago, my husband, Grady and I were sitting in a church basement in a meeting, when a man entered through a side door. Although he said that he had a connection to the group that was gathered, none of us knew him personally, but we were happy to have him join us.

As the evening progressed, the stranger’s story began to unfold. He said that he had just been removed from his job as a truck driver due to the sudden onset of a medical condition, and that he was, in fact, stranded in town with no cash on hand and no transportation and no place to stay. He had managed to get a ride to the church for this gathering, and hoped that someone might help tide him over until his situation was sorted through and he could get back to his home in another city, where he could start dealing with his physical problem and his job loss.

At about the point in his story where money was mentioned, people began to back away ever so slightly. Small clumps of people gathered by the refreshment table and in the hall. There were whispered conversations as to whether or not it was helpful, feasible, or even moral to give money to this man.

What if he was making this whole story up and was just a con artist trying to pay for drugs? Even if his story were true, was it ok for us to take money out of the cash reserve without going through proper channels? Should we have let him in the building at all? Did he really have a legitimate reason to be at this gathering, or was he just looking for a handout?

As the group prepared to close out the session, we noticed that the man was no longer with us. It seems that while all the complicated reasoning was going on, one gentleman present, a man named Larry, had simply walked to the phone, booked a room for the stranger, tucked a little cash in his pocket, and had dropped him off with his best wishes.

When questioned later, Larry said that he didn’t see what all the fuss was about; why, the guy just needed a place to stay and a little cash, and he, Larry, had some money to cover it.

Larry saw a need, and filled it as best he could. The rest of us were, let’s face it, trying to decide if this interloper deserved help and, if so, whether or not we might get in some kind of trouble for giving it. We were busy judging the man and worrying about our own skin. Larry was thinking about how he could help.

Ouch.

I’ve never forgotten that night. Larry was a great teacher.

Today’s gospel about the loaves and the fish is also a story of a great teacher. Jesus’ teaching was evidently so compelling that people stayed out far past dinnertime, sitting on the ground without benefit of folding chairs, just to listen to him.

When the disciples mention that it is past time to eat, Jesus makes things pretty clear. People are hungry? Feed them!

Jesus doesn’t seem even remotely concerned with who is in the crowd. He doesn’t ask if they are good or worthy, he doesn’t note whether they were Jews or Gentiles, circumcised or uncircumcised, he doesn’t separate them from one another by rank, age, race or religion, nor does he speculate that they are there to cadge a free meal. He just says, “Give them something to eat.”

This is not the answer that the disciples are looking for. They are practically incredulous at what seems to be a suggestion to come up with the cash to buy bread for everyone, and even somewhat sarcastically mention an amount that wouldn’t begin to buy supper for so many.

But that isn’t what Jesus is after, either. His response is, again, very simple. He says, in essence, ok, what do we have to work with?

I love this next line; it’s one of my favorite of all the verses in Scripture. Five loaves and two fish. Here in the midst of this most famous miracle story, the only one written about in all four gospels, is a detail that is intimate and earthy, domestically precise, and, on the face of it, ridiculously, impossibly impractical. Scholars are intrigued by why Mark cites particular numbers, but I love the verse for its simple statement of the reality of the situation.

Let’s see. Five thousand hungry people. Five loaves. Two fish.

Jesus does the only really practical thing under the circumstances. He looks up to heaven, meaning he brings God the Father into the picture; he blesses the loves, meaning he acknowledges that all the fruits of the earth are gifts from God, and then he breaks the bread, which obviously must happen if it is to be shared.

Depending upon our understanding of Jesus as fully God and fully human, we may conclude either that he in some way, natural or supernatural, multiplied those loaves and fishes, or that he was about now hoping that his faith in God was justified and that, somehow, people would be fed.

I cannot help but think of Jesus on the cross.

As we orient ourselves more and more toward the image and likeness of God within us, as we give ourselves to what Jesus has shown us about who we are meant to be, we begin to worry less about who is worthy and how safe we are, and we are freed up to think more about what we bring to the table.

We don’t have to worry so much about what or how much we bring. You bring a fish. I’ll bring a small loaf. Someone else will show up with their loaf or fish. We will then give thanks to God and do the best we can with what we have to offer, knowing that God’s power and love multiply that which we have returned to him in ways far beyond our comprehension, and in an abundance far beyond our imagination.

We may not always see or understand the miracle taking place. There is no record of amazement by the five thousand who were fed, with baskets left over, out of the five loaves and two fish. God’s action is not always visible and outcomes are not always immediate. We may look at the world around us and wonder sometimes if God is present at all.

Still, in our faith, we bring to God the fullness of our lives; our selves, our souls, our bodies. God brings, well, God brings God. It’s an unbeatable combination, even though the results are not always evident in the moment.

Our job is to be who we are, right now, today. This is what we offer to God. We take stock of what we bring with us, without falling into the trap of worrying about whether anyone or anything, including ourselves, is good enough, and without letting our inclination to divisions get in our way.

This is what we do every time we celebrate Holy Eucharist; it is what we are doing here today.

So, let’s see what our current situation is. There is a city around us filled with people hungry for food, for education, and for shelter, and starving for assurance of God’s love and for some simple human kindness.

What do we have to work with?

What can we bring to God’s table?

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Five Loaves and Two Fish

by The Rev. Bryan England, Deacon

We are all familiar with the story related in today’s gospel lesson about the feeding of the multitude. We’ve all read it, and heard it preached upon a number of times. It is one miracle story which is related in one form or another in all of the gospels. But have you really listened to the story?

In a way, it’s a story about a vacation gone bad. The disciples had been sent out in pairs into the countryside to teach and heal in the name of Jesus, and they had just returned to their rabbi. Jesus feels they need a little rest and privacy, so they get into a boat on the Sea of Galilee and row off to a deserted place where they can be by themselves.

The crowd foils Jesus’ plan, however. Some of them notice which way the disciples are rowing, and hurry ahead of them on foot. Others from the local towns join them, so when the boat touches shore again, there is an even bigger crowd waiting for them than the one they had left. Instead of being irritated, as we would probably be, Jesus has compassion for the crowd, and begins to teach them.

That evening, the disciples, who are probably kind of irritated that their vacation has been put on hold, come to Jesus and say, “It’s late, everyone is tired and hungry. Send the people away so they can get something to eat.”

Jesus just looks at the disciples, however, and says, “You give them something to eat.”

This is too much for the disciples. They’re tired, and hungry, and now Jesus is asking them to do the impossible. “Even if we had the two hundred denarii we need to buy bread for all these people, which we don’t, where would we get it? There’s no Hy-Vee, no Price Chopper, anywhere near here!”

Jesus doesn’t bat an eye. “How many loaves have you? Go and see.” They scramble around for a bit, then come back, probably even more irritated. “Five, and two fish.” “Now what?” they seem to ask.

Jesus takes the five loaves and the two fish, he looks up to heaven and blesses the food, and then he gives them back to the disciples to distribute them to the people. And everyone ate and was filled. And there were twelve baskets full of bread and fish left over, more than when they began.

This story of Jesus is familiar to all of us. The Eucharistic symbolism in the story is pretty obvious, as are comparisons with God feeding the Hebrews in the wilderness. The latter was surely what the story meant to the early church.

But this afternoon, I want to give you a quiz on how closely you were listening to the story. The question is this: How many people did Jesus feed that afternoon? [Stop reading now and think about it before you continue.] The gospel says there were five thousand men there, and I’ve heard one commentator state that the number of women and children present are not included because the women had too much sense to go out into the wilderness without food and water, and they fed the children.

But what I want you to take away from this miracle story today is the realization that in this story Jesus actually feeds no one. Think about it. What Jesus actually does is make it possible for the disciples to feed the multitude. “You give them something to eat,” he says. And when they say they can’t, he shows them how to do it. He takes the five loaves and two fish they actually have, Jesus blesses them, consecrates them, and gives them back to the disciples, who feed the people. Christ makes the impossible possible.

“You give them something to eat,” Jesus says to the disciples. And he says the same thing to us today. We live in a world in which the four horseman of the apocalypse seem to be unleashed. War, famine, pestilence, and death seem to be running rampant throughout the world. We experience drug abuse, child abuse, spousal abuse, even parental abuse in our homes. There is murder in our streets, and murder in the streets of Baghdad. We look out on a multitude of social and spiritual problems in our communities, in our world, and we turn to Jesus in our anguish and beg him to make the multitude of our problems go away. But Jesus answers us, “You give them something to eat.”

We know we can’t. It’s impossible. The problems of our world are just too big. There are over six billion people out there. Where are we going to get enough bread to feed them all?

“How many loaves have you?” Jesus asks. “I’m only a teacher,” we say. “Maybe I can play the guitar a little bit.” “Maybe I’ve got a few extra hours a week I can volunteer.” Then Jesus takes what we have to offer, and he blesses it, and he gives it back to us, and it’s enough. There’s even more left over than we began with.

Christ makes the impossible possible. In response to the needs of a broken world, he takes what we have to offer, he blesses it, and then he gives it back to us to bring about the Kingdom of God.

It remains for us to answer our Lord’s command to feed the multitude, in spite of the enormity of the task. We need to persevere in feeding the hungry among us. We need to oppose the violence in our streets. We need to wage peace when others are crying for vengeance. We need to spread the Kingdom of God wherever we are.

Next Sunday we will pay tribute to a woman who took the talents God gave her and used them to further God’s Kingdom in this place, and who, in the process, touched all of our lives. Truly during her presence among us, Linda Yeager exemplified what a deacon is called to be, and fed the multitude. But surely the best tribute we could pay to her is to follow her example. The best tribute we can give to Linda, or to anyone who touched our lives with the Kingdom of God, is to bring our loaves and our fish, place them in the Master’s hands, then take them back and feed the multitude.