Readings (click here for full text of the readings):
   Nehemiah 9:16-20; Psalm 78:1-29; Romans 8:35-39; Matthew 14:13-21

The miracle of the feeding of the 5,000 is the only one of Jesus’s miracles that appears in all 4 gospels, and each of the gospel writers throws in his own unique twists on the story: in Mark, when Jesus tells the disciples to give the people something to eat, they sarcastically ask Him if He really expects them to spend half a year’s pay to feed all the people there; and John writes that Jesus asks the disciples how the people can be fed, in order to test them.  And the gospel writers place the miracle at different times: in Mark, it occurs after the disciples have returned from their mission of spreading the gospel, and in John it occurs on the eve of the Passover. 

All this to say that this is a critically important miracle – so much so that all 4 Gospels include it – and each gospel writer puts in a specific context in order to highlight that writer’s major emphasis.  Today we read Matthew’s recollection of the event, and he stresses the 4 actions that Jesus performs – first, Jesus takes the loaves and fish, then He blesses them, breaks them, and finally gives them to the people. Near the end of the book, Matthew describes another scene: “While [the disciples] were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, ‘Take, eat; this is my body.’” The early church recognized the parallel between the loaves & the fishes, and the Eucharist, for in the catacombs where Christians worshiped in secret, “a banquet with loaves and fishes [was] a standard representation of the Eucharist.” Matthew emphasizes the similarity between the two events, by showing that the four actions that Jesus took were the same.  And each of these four actions – take, bless, break, give – has direct application to our own lives.

First each of us is taken, or put another way, each of us is chosen.  Throughout the Old Testament the Jews are referred to as God’s chosen people, and in Jesus comes the promise that all of us are chosen by God.  Now this is a tough concept for some of us – it might seem haughty and presumptuous – “Who am I to claim that God has chosen me?” In fact, it might even seem dangerous, because a claim of special privilege has often been the justification for condemnation of those who don’t seem to be among the chosen.

But the beauty of chosenness is that it’s not exclusive, only wondrous.  For God has chosen each of us, all of us, not just here but in all times and places, to be God’s beloved. And the universality of the chosenness doesn’t diminish its importance; rather, it makes it all the more miraculous, for the very idea that the God of all that ever was and ever will be chooses any person, individually, uniquely, to be loved and redeemed – that’s almost too much to hope for, or comprehend. And the idea that God’s love is unlimited and offered to all – that’s even more miraculous.

Those that are chosen – which is everyone who claims God’s love – are then offered a blessing.  Just as Jesus blesses the bread at the miracle of the 5000 and at the Last Supper, so He blesses each of us – giving thanks to God for who we are and the way in which God has created us.  And this blessing is not an empty seal of approval, it’s not a formality that we can just as well live without. It is the empowering, enlivening, only-thing-that-matters blessing that Jacob deceived his father to get and then wrestled with an angel, an angel!, to get his.  It is so precious that if we dare to see it for what it is, we’d be willing to hold onto God just like Jacob did, holding on literally for dear life, saying, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.”

But we need not battle and cling, for the gift is free and ours for the taking.  For while we are chosen – created in God’s image and therefore good – we also need God’s blessing, to make us more than we could ever be, if it were not for God. As one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, writes, “Don’t forget, God loves us exactly the way we are, and God loves us too much to let us stay like this.”

And then we are broken – by the world and its harsh unfairness, where the innocent die, and the people we love leave us. Each of us knows how that feels, and so did Jesus on the day of the loaves and fishes. For in Matthew’s account, the reason He “withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself” was because He had just heard of the death of John the Baptist, the prophet who paved the way for Him, the friend who baptized Him.  In the end, Jesus was utterly broken – dying a criminal’s death, abandoned by his friends, alone, buried in a unmarked grave.

But from that death, that great brokenness, came new life, for Jesus and for each of us. That is the promise God makes to every one of us – though life is hard, God is always there. God will not take the pain away, for brokenness is part of life, but there will be meaning in the darkness, companionship on the rocky path, and we’ll never be totally alone. And so we’re free to admit that we’re defective and injured and flawed, and that so is everyone else, and God loves us all the same. We spend so much of our time afraid of being seen for who we really are, trying to appear like we have it all together – well, join the club. That’s who we are, marvelously imperfect, and the less time spent trying to hide our blemishes and the more time spent cutting ourselves and everyone around us some slack, the better. As the great playright Eugene O’Neill wrote, “Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is the glue.”

In the midst of this mending, we can give.  Jesus offers His very self to us – “This is my Body, which is given for you” – and this is not just spiritual nourishment.  This is nourishment of all sorts – physical, emotional, spiritual – for the 5000 plus people there that day were healed of their bodily ailments, and their stomachs were filled, as well as their souls. “Loaves & Fishes” is now a common name for food pantries and soup kitchens, reminding us that even small tokens of love can make all the difference.  We come to the table not just for solace, but also for strength; not only for pardon, but also for renewal.

But lest we see this miracle as an imperative to “help those less fortunate,” we need to see that those very “less fortunate people” were also the givers. Because Matthew says that “when the crowds heard it, they followed [Jesus] on foot from the towns,” and that “it” was the death of John the Baptist.  So these people, these common folks, heard that Jesus’s friend and comrade had been murdered, and without thought of themselves, without food or shelter, they followed him, as a sign of support and encouragement as much as one of need. The gift, the sign, that they offered Jesus was the sacrament of presence, of companionship in the darkest times, which is just as much a sacrament as the breaking of bread at the Last Supper.

In the end, there were a lot of broken people gathered together – Jesus mourning his friend, thousands of people who were scared and hungry and cold, and disciples who cared for the masses but had no idea how to help them – and the sum of the parts was greater than the whole. For no one there was “whole” in the sense of having it all together, but in that conglomeration of fragile souls, the cup ranneth over, and there were leftovers. When the whole fishes and loaves were taken and broken and blessed and given, the crumbs amounted to twelve baskets, one for each of the disciples.  The same disciples who had encouraged Jesus to send the people away, who had been ordered (probably under protest) to take their fraction of a meal pretty tiny to begin with, out to a hungry horde – those same disciples each came back with a full basket.  They gave what little they had, and they received much more in return.  There’s a lesson for all of us there.

Claim your chosenness. Accept God’s blessing. Admit your, our, brokenness. Give what there is in your heart to give, no matter how meager.  And let the miracles begin.

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