"Enough to Go Around" given July 29

The "Feeding of the Multitudes" is one of the most widely known and beloved of Jesus' miracles. It's the only miracle story found in all four Gospels. That fact, it seems to me, tells us in no uncertain terms that it is God’s Will that the hungry be fed.

Mark tells us the story in order to point to Jesus' deep compassion. John is telling us the story in order to point to Jesus himself. John calls the story "A Sign". It is for him, a mighty act of God that points to Jesus' true identity, as the Holy One who comes among us from the God of Israel.

But if we stop and think about it, the “Feeding of the Multitudes” is not only a "Sign", not only an example of Divine compassion, not only a miracle story. It is also a tale of faith-- and a paradigm for our times.

Jesus and the disciples and the women had gone out into the wilderness for some time apart-- a retreat. Instead, they found themselves surrounded by a huge crowd. Jesus guts had been twisted with compassion and instead of resting he' d spent the day teaching them, preaching to them, healing the sick they brought to Him. And, then at the end of the day, yet another issue arose. Jesus brought it up himself-- to test them, John tells us.

"So, guys, anybody got any ideas where around here we can go to buy enough bread for all these people?"

The whole day had been after all, a spontaneous happening. There'd been no Planning Committee, no Arrangements Committee, to plan and set up a buffet. There was no United Methodist Women's circle around to throw a potluck. There were no handy caterers nearby, or apparently had any street vendors followed them into the wilderness with pushcarts peddling hot dogs and Pepsis.

"How are we going to feed them?" Jesus asks-- with his tongue planted in cheek. Philip, who apparently has a bit of bean counter in him, answers

"With all due respect Master, I'm afraid you're putting the cart before the horse here. We don't have enough money to buy bread for all these people."

Probably Philip was getting ready to suggest that they pass the hat around in order to scrounge up enough money to buy food. (Philip apparently even hadn't gotten around to figuring out where they were going to buy food out there in the wilderness.)

But Andrew had an idea. He turned around to the crowd and yelled out,

"Hey! Anybody out there got any food?" And suddenly that huge, noisy crowd-- all those thousands of men, women and children-- must have gotten very, very quiet. They must have all looked around at one another in nervous silence. Nobody had the nerve

It would seem to me that there would have had to be some food out there in such a large crowd. Some of them must have had enough foresight to bring a picnic basket along. But nobody ranted to admit it. No one wanted to start sharing what he or she had, because they all knew. There would not be enough to go around.

Nobody was willing to be the first one to admit that they even had a crust of bread or a scrap of meat. They were afraid, because they were sure that even if everyone who had some food contributed, there still wouldn't be enough to go around. All those hungry people would eat the food they'd brought for themselves, and they'd end up with nothing-- or at best, not enough.

It's at this point that the hero of the story shows up. No, it's not Jesus, nor Andrew, nor Philip, nor any one of the Disciples. The hero is not one of the women either. The real hero of the day was just a young boy. He'd been watching Jesus all along-probably just standing there with his mouth open. Maybe he had a front tooth or two missing, a runny nose, dirty face, bare feet, and was dressed in a hand-me-down patched tunic.

When he heard Andrew’s request, the kid must have felt under his tunic and found the lunch his mom had packed for him that day that he’d likely forgotten to eat. And finding it, the boy didn’t hesitate.

“Hey mister! Over here. I got somethin’.” And he held out five barley tortillas and a couple of sardines. And the people nearby who saw him probably smiled. Likely even the disciples found it amusing. But Jesus didn’t laugh at the unhesitating generosity of a child. He took that small boy and his willingness to share with ultimate seriousness.

“Bring them over here, son.”

And Jesus took the bread and the fish, and had the disciples tell everybody to sit down on the ground. Finally everybody was sitting down except for Jesus. And of course that one small boy-standing there beside him—his eyes full of wonder and his hand still outstretched, offering Jesus his lunch of bread and fish.

John tells us that Jesus took the five loaves and the two little fish and blessed them. Then he handed them to the Twelve and told them,

“Divide these among the people.” Knowing there wouldn’t be enough to go around, the Disciples probably looked at Jesus wondering if he’d gone crazy.

“Divide what? What are five barley loaves and two small fish among so many people?” But Jesus told them to just go ahead and do it.

So they started tearing apart the fish, and breaking the bread in two, and tearing apart the fish, and breaking the bread, and tearing apart the fish, and breaking the bread, and tearing apart the fish, and breaking the bread, and tearing apart the fish, and breaking the bread, and tearing apart the fish…until, until somehow or other, there was enough to go around! Everybody got to eat their fill, and there was still food left!

There was in fact so much food that after lunch, the disciples went around and collected the left-overs. John tells us there were twelve baskets full. And I’m sure, given who Jesus was, the kid who was willing to share his lunch got at least a couple of baskets of those left-overs to take home to his mom.

So what happened? Maybe that small boy’s open-handed generosity shamed those adults who were hoarding some food of their own to step up to the plate and share. Maybe on the other hand, Jesus actually made more bread and fish materialize. Or maybe both those things happened together. Maybe the people started sharing, and in response the bread and the fish were multiplied—the human and the Divine working in concert to feed God’s hungry sons and daughters. (Personally, I kind of like that last possibly best, myself.)

But I want to suggest that it doesn’t really matter which of those three explanations you choose to believe. If you and I try to dwell on, or try too hard to explain what happened, we’ll miss the sheer extravagance. We’ll miss the overflowing, unexpected, unmerited, wondrous grace that the story conveys.

Five thousand fed. Not just a dab of fish paste on a cracker like you’d get as a sample at Jewel’s. Not just a flimsy cardboard box from the caterer containing an ounce of cream cheese, half a bagel, and an apple. But five thousand full meals. Five thousand people fed and satisfied—everybody’s belly filled and still twelve baskets filled with left-overs. Give the reality of human nature, whatever happened was still a genuine, dyed in the wool, honest to goodness miracle!

I don’t want to ignore John’s original intent in telling this story as one of the signs of Christ’s divinity. That’s a crucial theological understanding. But in our day and age, in this world of ours, there’s another crucial lesson in the story—and in it’s own way, it’s just as serious a lesson as the theological one.

I hardly need to tell you that you and I are living in a world of diminishing resources and rising expectations. We have famines today in countries you and I never heard of a few years ago—countries that didn’t even exist a few years ago.

And since the last Great Depression, our nation’s government—under Republicans and Democrats alike, has been paying some farmers not to farm some of their fields. And for some reason or the other, proposed legislation that would address that is irrevocably tied to legislation that would cut the funds for our Food Stamp program.

And of course, the deadly irony is that we have now—and have had for decades—the agricultural technology and expertise to produce enough food so that no one in this country—or in any country in the world—needs to starve. The capabilities are there. Only one thing stands in the way of the whole world being fed—politics.

We live in a world where hunger has become a political tool. There are countries where international food aid is withheld or distributed by local governments in order to enhance their control over their own population. There are food producing countries—such as our own—that shamefully use food aid as a political lever, distributing it to other lands solely on the basis of their government’s cooperation with the political aims of our own.

In the ancient and medieval world, it was considered acceptable to conquer castles and walled cities by “laying siege” to them—which is to say “starving them out.” Today, we live in a world where hunger has become more than simply a weapon. In a very real sense hunger has become the ultimate weapon of mass destruction.

There are countries where famine is actually created by warring factions as a tool of war waged on civilian populations. There are countries where famine is purposefully being used as a tool of “ethnic cleansing”—which is just another way of just saying genocide.

I’m not sure I can think of a greater evil than to callously use human hunger in that way. It’s certainly a horrible sin that calls out for a strong and strident witness by Christians. The time has come for those of us who call ourselves by His name what the Jesus who commanded “Feed my sheep” would do. The time has come for us to take a stand.

The time has come for Christians to pressure our leaders of both parties to change this sinful situation. The time has come for us to make hunger an election issue. The time has come for us to ask candidates questions around the politics of world hunger when they come before us seeking our votes. The time has come for us to inform ourselves, and write letters, and support organizations that attempt to address the problem of hunger—both immediate and long-term. The time has come for believers to look once more to the compassionate One who fed 5,000 in a single afternoon.

In Jesus’ time, hunger—need—resulted from scarcity. There truly was not enough bread, not enough resources, not enough energy production, not enough wealth to go around. In much of the world today that would still seem to be the case. But overall—for most of the world it isn’t shortage, it’s surplus—it’s waste, it’s human greed. We convince ourselves that there’s not enough to go around , we look at those measly five barley tortillas and two sardines and say to ourselves,

“What are they among so many?” We don’t really believe in the extravagance of our God. If there’s gonna be only five slices of bread we figure we might as well have them. If there’s gonna be only so many barrels of oil, we should get it. If there’s gonna be limited resources, we’ll be the ones to use them.

We see a need or a possibility that will bring benefit, but will require resources. We know we ought to do something. We can actually visualize something that might make a difference. But then, Philip the bean counter kicks in.

“How are we gonna balance the budget if we do that?” We don’t really believe—or we don’t want to believe in the extravagant grace of God. I see that attitude on the floor of Annual Conference every year. I’ve seen that attitude in every one of the churches I’ve pastured. I’ve known that attitude in my own heart, in my own home. “Tighten our belts. Don’t spend money we don’t have. What’s the bottom line? What are so few among so many?”

Don’t mistake me. I know that budgets are crucial. Families need budgets, businesses need budgets, churches need budgets. And every single time I’ve heard some faithful believer say “Don’t worry. The Lord will provide” a little tiny voice in the back of my mind has replied “Yeah, but the Lord helps those who help themselves.”

Because sometimes we, as individual believers are called to set our own fears and hesitations aside. Sometimes we’re called to stop saying the Lord helps those who help themselves. Rather, we’re invited at times that those who are willing to help themselves to hope, to risk, to reach out in compassion, to give without worrying about bottom lines, to share without having to stop and consult the budget or count the cost, all in His name—will indeed find that their Lord will help them. They will discover the benefits of giving—both spiritual and material benefits will far out weigh the costs.

To their astonishment they will find that there will indeed be enough to go around—in surprising ways and yielding joyous possibilities the bottom line could never imagined. And sometimes the people of God are just called to set the bottom line aside and leap forward in faith, doing their best as they discern it, to accomplish what they’ve been called to do, and trust that there will be enough to go around, that the God whose compassionate hand opens and provides for the planet will provide. Sometimes a congregation is called to believe that God will not allow a congregation whose heart and hands are genuinely engaged in mission to die.

Jesus told us that those who give in faith will receive back in abundance.

That’s awfully hard for many of us to believe—much less live out. But all around us are the cries of need. Every day it seems, you and I are challenged to believe and share. But we fear that we’ll lose in the giving, that at some point they’ll be nothing left to give, nothing left for us because there isn’t enough to go around.

We don’t really believe—or we don’t want to believe in the extravagant grace of God. At such moments we would do well to remember a small boy who was unhesitatingly willing to share his lunch with thousands—without checking a budget or looking at the bottom line or wondering if there’d be enough to go around. That boy had no reason to believe he’d end up with anything to eat that day—and yet he still gave. And instead, he went home with so much more than he’d had in the first place. Given to him because he’d been willing to offer all he had.