We Are Fed

After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, also called the Sea of Tiberias. A large crowd kept following him, because they saw the signs that he was doing for the sick. Jesus went up the mountain and sat down there with his disciples. Now the Passover, the festival of the Jews, was near. When he looked up and saw a large crowd coming toward him, Jesus said to Philip, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he was going to do. Philip answered him, “Six months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little. One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?” Jesus said, “Make the people sit down.” Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.” So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets. When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, “This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.” When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.

John 6:1-15

“We Are Fed”

My mom and I had lunch together at a wonderful bakery this week after the funeral of a family friend. As we were waiting for our food to arrive, I began to realize that we had both spent the time waiting for our food staring at the multiple bakery cases; sadly, I have to admit I think we may have been drooling while staring. There were so many desserts—strawberry and caramel cakes, cinnamon and chocolate rugelah, breads braided and buttered and twisted into pretty shapes, sugar cookies decorated with minions, petit fours and cupcakes decorated for baby and wedding showers. Yes, I know we were drooling. There is something about bakeries and the smells coming out of them that makes me drool every time. I love to bake, so much so that when my parents asked me what I wanted for my 40^th birthday, I asked for a kitchen aid stand mixer. I love to mix cinnamon and sugar, love whipping a little cream up, love melting butter and making frosting. Although I have to admit that my love of baking shows on my body and prompted my gym membership, I really love to bake because I love to share it with others. I love food and everything that comes along with it—the recipes, the sharing, the eating together around tables, the smiles that sharing food brings to friend’s faces during times of celebration and times of confusion, in times of lostness and times of grief.

I love to think about meals I’ve shared with others—family night suppers and covered dish dinners, pizza nights with our students, about how my family always gathered together in the kitchen where the food was made, in the smallest room of our house growing up, instead of in the bigger rooms. There is something about being together with loved ones, even being with strangers, and sharing the experience of a meal together. One of the meals I will always remember is a meal I had in Paris—I was with two of my dearest friends in one of the most wonderful cities of the world. As we walked by beautiful chapel of Saint Chappelle, we came across an outdoor café. We sat for several hours, simply sharing cheese and crackers and delicious soup as we sipped wine and laughed and observed the scenery surrounding us. I remember that meal for so many reasons—for its simplicity and beauty, for its easiness that led to relaxation, for the beautiful people with whom I shared it, for the background music and noises that surrounded us, and certainly for the gelato we shared on the way home. And, yes, I’m sorry if I’ve made your stomachs growl a little earlier than usual today!

My hunch is that we can all think of times like this when we savored every bite and every moment of a meal. We can all remember times when food has been ample and delicious, when it has brought family and friends and strangers together in fellowship around a blanket or a table. That is one of the many reasons I love our story from John’s gospel today—because of the simplicity of the meal in the way it is shared, because of the fellowship it brings to its guests, because of the story it tells about our Christ.

Food, and most importantly, the way meals are shared with us, is a common thread woven throughout our Biblical story, from the first food eaten in the garden to the manna given to the Israelites in the wilderness; from the lavish feasts thrown for the kings in our story to the ones who are lost looking for food; from the first miracle at the wedding feast in Cana to the party thrown for a prodigal son returned home, from the feast made out of five loaves of bread and two fish to the final meal offered by Christ to his disciples; from the breakfast shared after his resurrection to the fact that Christ’s body is broken and his blood is shed in communion for us all.

Yes, the stories of food and the meals we share are woven throughout our Biblical witness—and this particular story of the feeding of the 5,000, is a wonderful part of our story together, a crucial part of it. It is the only miracle story shared with us in all 4 Gospels, which should tell us something about its importance. On the surface, many of the details of this narrative are simple. The neat number of 5,000, the little boy who has the barley loaves and the fish, that the numbers of them both add up to the number of creation days, the pastoral, green setting of the mountainside.

But there is something extraordinary in the simplicity, something extraordinary in this miracle. Our text tells us that 5,000 are fed, but that normally only includes the men gathered—that number is probably three times more when women and children are included. 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish for countless numbers of people. A little boy has gathered the food, a little boy who has been seen as less than human, only valuable for what he can gather, as children are seen in Biblical times. A little boy brings all of that food, and Christ calls him out, acknowledging him for the miracle he has helped to begin. What is gathered is shared, shared so much that the text tells us they all had all they wanted, shared so much that those gathered are full, full enough to even have fragments and leftovers to share.

There are so many things to love about this text, but I think I love this little, crucial, necessary one the most: Jesus says to the disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.” Jesus knows that there are even more folks with whom to share, and 12 baskets full of fragments are gathered to share with those who are in need. On this miraculous day, Jesus has fed all of those gathered, foreshadowing his death and resurrection, foreshadowing the promised banquet we will all share with him in heaven. But he doesn’t just stop with the feeding—he orders the disciples to gather what is left, reminding them that there is always enough to be gathered and shared, telling them that there will always be enough for everyone in need, calling them to share. And he is telling us the same thing. No matter how many are gathered, there will always be enough to share—and it is up to us to gather it and share it.

I shared the story of that lovely meal in Paris with all of you because it has always been one of my favorite times, a lovely experience. But there have been other meals that were more than that—meals that transformed and changed me. When our students and I spent a week in Haiti, I tried to be constantly aware of the food around us and the way it was shared—the snacks we took with us on the plane to share with those around us, the meals cooked for us as we sat around tables, the rice and beans we fed to children who were mentally and physically disabled, the day we were each given a kid for whom to buy pizza and burgers and hot dogs and fries. We take these foods for granted every day, but I will never forget the look in their eyes as they ate these things that were special delicacies for them. All of these times were transformational, but what I keenly recognized was that there was nothing leftover. Uneaten rice and beans were scooped off of plates and saved for another meal on another day. We were always asked to take only what we needed, not just what we thought we wanted. Even the wrappers from cookies and chips, something we Americans always throw away, were saved to be recycled into jewelry to be sold so the profits could be given to those in need. Simply put, trash cans were small (partly because of the poor sanitation system in the country, party because not much is thrown away). There was no room for much to be thrown away—leading the way for more to be given to those in need. Even in the poorest country in the Western hemisphere, more were fed than we ever could have dreamed of, more than enough to go around.

“Gather up the fragments left over,” Jesus says, “so that nothing may be lost.” Christ gave this miracle to those countless numbers of folks gathered on the hillside that day. And he shares it with us. It is up to the disciples and us who call ourselves followers to lose nothing, to make sure we are all fed. My favorite writer, Barbara Brown Taylor, puts it this way:

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 you to feed the whole crowd, to solve the whole problem, or to fix the whole world. It is up to you just to share what you have got, to feed whatever big or little hunger that happens to be standing right in front of you. The rest will come. Because God is God, the rest will come. For now, for your part, how many loaves have you?

How many loaves have you? How many fragments have we? What do we have to give, since we have been given so much, since we have been fed our daily bread? Thanks to be God.