Strange, how something so good begins with something so bad.  Jesus is told his cousin has been executed, murdered.  John the Baptist is dead: he didn’t compromise the message.  Can you feel the heaviness in the heart of Jesus as he goes off by himself?  Crossing the lake, hear the silence of the disciples, the hush, as Jesus maybe looks up to the sky, runs his hand and forearm in the water, or just sits there, looking somewhere, someplace, the disciples don’t see, yet.

Jesus knew rejection well enough, though not everyone rejected him.  There were those who drew near because of the pyrotechnics of the healings, the miracles.  Others gathered along the fringe to listen to Jesus berate the Pharisees, bring them down a peg or five.  There were also those who truly received him, welcomed him, wanted to be with him, to hear him.  These were the ones who felt the presence of God, near this man, who heard the Word of God when this man spoke, and the Word they heard was a Word of grace, hope, and life.

All these follow around the shore, to be where the boat will draw near to shore again.  Jesus and his disciples saw them.  Jesus knew he wasn’t going to have any more time, that day, to dwell upon John or his own sorrows and frustrations—and he had them!  Jesus didn’t dwell upon such things.  His purpose, his mission, and his joy lay in another direction, the direction of others, yes, certainly, and above all, in the direction of his Father in heaven, glorious, eternal, loving, calling, offering.

Jesus draws a crowd.  That shouldn’t surprise us, yet how surprised we would be, if a crowd showed up here to hear God’s Word!  We’d be delighted, but we aren’t expecting it: even before March, we weren’t.  Why?  Jesus has followers, who stay with him right up to the arrest, crucifixion, and beyond.  God bless them.  God bless us.

And how we need that blessing!  Every day, we need it, we know that, in principle.  We have felt that need powerfully over these last few months.  We absolutely acknowledge this deepest need for the blessing of God.  And Jesus came to bless, to bless by healing, restoring sight, giving strength, making the dead to live, opening ears, causing speech, praise, where there had been no ability to speak.  Above all this, Jesus came to bless by proclaiming the Good News, and by making his way to that hill, far away, yet always so close.

Seeing all these people already gathered, waiting for him, waiting to see what he would do, to hear what he would say, reaching out to him for his blessing—seeing all of them, Jesus didn’t tell Peter to take the boat back out onto the lake.  He had compassion on them (14:14).  This is why he came, as John reminds us, “For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him” (John 3:17).

He heals, freely, for the asking.  He teaches those who will hear.  He blesses, and the blessing of Jesus Christ is blessing indeed!  Then the day begins its slow descent to darkness.  The sun reddens and the sky goes golden.  Here they all are, in the middle of some isolated place, no shelter under which to sleep, no food to eat.  The dark will come upon them, and where will they go; where will they stay?  The disciples, sensibly, suggest that Jesus dismiss the people, with his blessing of course, but dismiss them, so that they may go somewhere and find their shelter and buy their food.

          Jesus answers them: “They do not need to go away.”  And before the disciples can ponder what that means, Jesus says, “You give them something to eat.”  I can imagine Peter, at this point, throwing his hands up in exasperation, or another of the disciples, Philip, perhaps, or Thomas, wringing his hands, lamenting to Jesus or to anyone within earshot: all of them, some way or another, collapsing under the weight of what Jesus asks of them.  The disciples don’t collapse, though.  They disciples don’t say “We can’t”; they don’t say “No.”  All they say, quite accurately and honestly, is that they don’t have nearly enough food to feed all the people: only five loaves and two fish (14:17).  Their resources are limited.  That’s what they’re saying.  They barely have enough for themselves.

One of the early teachers of the church[1] pointedly observes that the disciples are saying this with Jesus right there: Jesus, whom each disciple already has seen on many occasions performing miracles beyond their expectation.  Jesus watches his disciples as they fumble around, hears them as they say they just don’t see how they can do anything for those people.  It is Jesus who, as John later reminds us, tells his disciples that he has food they do not know about (Jn 4:32). As they then, on that occasion, stand there looking at one another, trying to figure out what Jesus means (without asking him, because they don’t want to look stupid, after all), Jesus answers their question: “My food is to do the will of Him who sent me” (Jn 4:34).

So here are the five loaves and the two fish.  Not much.  Not too impressive, though not bad food, in itself.  His disciples tell Jesus that, though they have five loaves and two fish, they don’t know how to feed all those people.  They show Jesus what they have.  They tell him, confess, this is all they have to give.  They wait to hear what Jesus will say.

          “Bring them [. . .] to me” (14:18).  Bring what?  The bread and the fish?  The people?  The disciples hang fire for a moment.  Then they begin to understand—how blessed, when we begin to understand, because the understanding comes from the one who blesses: it is His gift, yet another gift from that generous, loving, merciful hand.

The disciples do as Jesus tells them.  Let’s make that the pattern and goal of our lives here on this earth, too!  They bring; they offer to him, give him, what they have—Lord knows it isn’t much!  Doesn’t look like much.  Isn’t nearly enough to get the job done, but the disciples don’t dwell on that.  The disciples do as Jesus asks, beginning to understand, beginning to trust that the one who has done so many works of power can do more.

Jesus takes what is given to him.  In what spirit do we take what comes to us?  We talk about gratitude and thankfulness and even feel that way, until we don’t.  Then we frown over how meagre our portion is, how it doesn’t measure up to our expectations or to what that other person received.  Our hearts are too ready with a spirit of complaint.  Jesus takes, then thanks his Father in heaven.  All that we have, all that we are right now, and all that we may yet be, comes to us from the hand of God.  When we pray, do we spend more of that sacred time asking for things, or thanking God for His blessings?  O, we know the need in which we come to Him—and He knows!  “Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him” (Mt 6:8).

          After giving thanks, Jesus breaks.  Another of the early teachers of the church[2] speaks of how the people could not have been fed if the bread had not been broken.  Well, obviously!  But consider what Jesus is doing, here.  He is not just giving a multitude bread for their stomachs, limited bread from his disciples’ limited resources.  Jesus is showing all those who will understand that he is the bread, he is the abundance, he is the blessing.  He is also showing them, though they do not yet understand, that this blessed abundance must be broken to be given, broken to be received.  Without the breaking, there is no giving, no receiving, no feeding.  O that God might break our hardened hearts—including mine—by this bread and this juice set before us this morning!

Breaking, Jesus then gives to the disciples, and what they have been given they give to those around them.  You know, there are about as many people living in West Columbia as were gathered there that evening with Jesus.  The disciples had enough for all—and then some!  What’s the point of the leftovers, the surplus?  Perhaps this, there is still enough, more than enough, for those who have not yet received.  Beloved, Jesus gives us bread enough for those not yet here, so many out there in the twilight, with no shelter to speak of, no food to sustain them and give them cheer.

In the Eastern Orthodox church, the tradition is, as the worshipers are leaving, to give each one a piece of the bread remaining from Communion.  The Greek word for it basically means gift.  The worshiper can enjoy the gift, the bread, him or herself—Lord knows our need for that bread!  Our gratitude and joy in that bread is ongoing!

The worshiper is also free to give the gift to someone, maybe a neighbor, a friend, a family member, a co-worker, a fellow student or a teacher, maybe, even, a stranger, who seems to need that bread, keenly.  I like to think that the one giving lets the one receiving know who has provided it, and know also that this bread is given, free.  And the miracle is that, despite our very real and constant limitations, in Christ, there is always enough bread, more than enough, for all.  Gracious Father, “How abundant are the good things that You have stored up for those who fear You, that You bestow in the sight of all, on those who take refuge in You” (Ps 31:19).

Now, to the One who by the power at work within us is able to do far more abundantly than all we can ask or imagine, to God be glory in the Church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever.

               [1] John Chrysostom.

               [2] Jerome.