Mark 6:35-44
THIS IS THE STORY OF HOW five thousand people sat down and ate their fill of five barley buns and two fishes is the only miracle story agreed upon by all four of the gospel writers. The raising of Lazarus, for instance, appears only in John, the healing of the blind man of Bethsaida is found only in Mark, and the healing of the ten lepers only in Luke. But the feeding of the five thousand appears in all four gospels, which means not only that it was a very important story for the early church, but also that it probably happened much the way we hear it today.
But that is not saying much, given our modern powers of interpretation. One such interpretation is that the meal was symbolic, that the five thousand pinched off tiny, tiny pieces of fish and bread so that there was enough to go around. But what about the twelve baskets of leftovers? Well, in that case, goes a second interpretation, just about all of the five thousand had a little supper tucked away in their tunics, a little something to sneak off and eat by themselves. When they saw how freely the disciples offered to share what they had, they all pulled their own meals out of hiding and passed everything around. And then, of course, there is the third possibility: that it was a miracle, that Jesus took five loaves and two fishes and by the grace of God used them to cater a dinner on the lawn for five thousand. So those are three of the possibilities and there is no one to say which we should believe. For all the questions it raises, the Bible is not a book with the answers in the back, but as a rule the answers we choose tell us something about our faith.
To go back to the faith of the early church, this story was important not least of all because it foreshadowed God’s big banquet for his chosen people at the end of time. That great feast gets talked about a lot in the Bible, and Jesus gave us a continuing reminder of it in the sacrament of his body and blood. His actions at that last supper were the same as his actions in this story: he took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it. So as twentieth-century Christians we tend to look upon the feeding of the five thousand as a form of eucharist, which makes it hard to remember that the people who actually were there did not see it that way at all. They knew little of Jesus’ significance, nothing of his death and resurrection, and certainly nothing about a holy meal of bread and wine that would change the face of history. They were just hungry—for food, for health, for understanding—and this man Jesus seemed committed to feeding them.
What they did know were some of the old stories about how God Almighty fed his people in various miraculous ways, sending manna to sustain Israel in the wilderness and ravens to feed the prophet Elijah with bread and meat. In the second book of Kings there is a story very much like today’s of how the prophet Elisha fed a hundred soldiers with twenty barley loaves and a few ears of corn. In every case, the situation looked hopeless, the people despaired, and God provided. So the crowd was hopeful. Rumor had it that Jesus, like Moses, Elijah, and Elisha before him, was a man of God. They watched him, followed him, pushed their way to the front of the crowd, reached out their hands to him, implored him. And he healed many of them, but on this particular day Jesus is weary and discouraged. He has been separated from his disciples for some time. They have just returned from traveling two by two through the countryside and brought back with them the grim news of John the Baptist’s death, a totally unnecessary death at the whim of a dancing girl. Jesus wants some time alone with them to absorb the news, and he wants some time to himself. “Come away by yourselves to a lonely place,” he tells them, “and rest a while.”
So they do, climbing into a boat together and sailing down-shore a ways, hoping to escape the crowd. But the crowd is hungry, and hunger does not easily give up the prospect of food. So the crowd follows, picking their way along the shore of the lake, some of them keeping an eye on the boat while others run to get their friends. The end result is that when Jesus and his disciples moor their boat, they step into the midst of the same crowd they had hoped to leave behind. It is not hard to imagine several realistic responses to such a situation. Jesus could turn his back and stay in the boat to catch up with his disciples’ news, or could even sail on for that matter. He could scold the crowd for following him and ask them to disperse, telling them he has no more to offer them this day. Or he could throw an uncharacteristic temper tantrum, reminding them that he is just one single person who is as much in need of a little rest as the next guy and fed up with their demands.
But Jesus chooses none of those. With every reason in the world to choose anger, resentment, or despair, he chooses compassion. He looks at the crowd and through some holy optical illusion sees not a crowd but a collection of people—a woman with a frail baby in her arms, a gaunt man with a withered hand, a boy with a face full of questions about the meaning of his life. He sees all these people, like sheep without a shepherd, and he lays aside his own need in favor of theirs. He may not have much to offer them just now, but what he has he gives, teaching them all afternoon.
When it grows late his disciples, whom we may imagine as a little less compassionate than their friend, point out to Jesus, as if he did not already know, that the sun is going down and there is no food in sight. “Send them off to the farms and villages round about, to buy themselves something to eat,” they suggest, wanting someone else to solve the problem, but Jesus has a better idea. “Give them something to eat yourselves,” he answers, and the problem boomerangs back into their shins. It is hopeless, can’t he see that? There is no money, no food, not even a house in sight, and we are talking five thousand people here. Even if the disciples gave all they had, it would not make a dent in the hunger of the crowd. It would be a waste of their meager resources. Let someone who has more do it: better yet, let the people take care of themselves. And Jesus says to them, “How many loaves have you?” They do not know for sure what they have; they just know it is not enough, that they do not have what it takes to meet the challenge. And Jesus says, “Go and see.”
If we have not already stepped into this story, here is our opening. Is there anyone who does not know what it is like to face a hungry crowd, a hungry world, with five loaves and two fishes? Hundreds of homeless women and children competing for fifty spaces on the floor at the YWCA: there is not enough to go around, Lord. Whole nations perishing for lack of food: everything we have would not help, Lord. There is nothing we can do, Lord. It is too big. We are too small. Send them away. Do not ask us. We have not got enough to go around. And he said to them, “How many loaves have you? Go and see.”
We collect our pocket change for Feed My Starving Children and the Moms and Tots program. We will collect all that we can for the Warmth Drive. It may not seem like much when we send that change away or when we send a few mittens over to Good Samaritan Family Services. But to one starving child, to one N Michigan family, it makes a world of difference – a life changing difference. It is a miracle to them that God cares and provides. To us, it is a miracle that we can actually be God’s hands with so very little. When we take our offerings over, let us put our hands on it and bless it before we go.
We go into our mission work skinny, with five loaves and two fishes, but we come out fat with twelve baskets to spare. Not because we do anything right or because we had enough to give, but because God made good on the promise to match our gifts, such as they are, with his own. It is something to remember when the crowd looks too big, the odds too poor, the work too hard, the situation too hopeless. It is something to remember when our own resources look too meager, our efforts too puny, our spirits too low. Stop staring at the crowd; go look at your loaves. How many do you have? Any answer will do. Now follow the leader. Take what you have—whatever you have—take it into your hands and hold it lightly, very lightly. Then bless it—thank God for what you have and make it holy by giving it away for love. Then break it—sorry, but you have to tear it up to share it, there is no way to keep it all in one nice piece. And finally, give it—to whoever is standing in front of you, beside you—spread it around, and never mind that there does not seem to be enough for everyone. It is not up to us to feed the whole crowd, to solve the whole problem, or to fix the whole world. It is up to us just to share what we have got, to feed whatever big or little hunger that happens to be standing right in front of us. The rest will come. Because God is God, the rest will come. For now, for your part, how many loaves have you? Go and see.
Adapted from the Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor, Mixed Blessings