“He
distributed them to those who were seated, so also the fish, as much as they
wanted.”
St.
John 6:11
It didn’t take us long to see that
Big Jim wasn’t like any other horse in the barn. He was several hands taller than the quarter
horses, to begin with, and he ate an awful lot more. And he was our only horse with a glorious
past. Big Jim arrived at our small farm
through the auspices of Fred Goody, one of my father’s more eccentric friends.[1] Fred was from the mountains of West Virginia,
and had an astounding number of connections.
Besides Big Jim, he brought us a coon dog and some rather odd pieces of
furniture. You didn’t ask too many questions
about Fred’s procurements, but we were given to understand that Big Jim was a
thoroughbred, who had once been an item on the racetrack at Charles Town. His glory days were behind him, and our place
was the stop that kept him from the glue factory.
For a thoroughbred, Big Jim was a
remarkably calm and good natured animal, and I had no trouble catching him for
his feedings every day. But after he’d
been with us a few months, and had put on a few pounds, we out for a family
ride on a Sunday afternoon. Dad was
riding Big Jim, and we emerged from the woods into a long clearing. Dad wasn’t sure what the signal was, maybe
something the horse heard or the way dad shifted in the saddle. But in an instant, it was as if Big Jim was
rounding the final turn at Charles Town, the crowd cheering and the flags
waving. He sprang into action, his
muscles churning, his neck thrust forward.
None of us had ever seen a horse move like that in our back field. Dad said it was the ride of his life, that it
was like Jim was flying through the air.
He would be leaning back a bit further in the saddle from then on, just
in case Big Jim had a mind to relive old memories again.
We saw something new in Big Jim that
day. His actions revealed something
about who he really was that hadn’t been clear to us before. Big Jim showed himself a majestic animal, a
champion, a creature to be handled with a bit of awe.
The miracles of Jesus are a bit like
that Sunday afternoon in our back clearing.
Of course they were occasions for relieving human needs: sickness,
sorrow, hunger. And they were signs of
Jesus’ deep human compassion for those in distress. But above all, they were intended to reveal Jesus’
identity, to confirm that He had been given divine power. When Jesus worked miracles, they identified
Him as the long-promised Messiah, the One sent by God to bring His plan of
salvation to completion.
And the miracle recounted in today’s
Gospel, the feeding of the five thousand, is in some ways the most significant
of them all. It is the only miracle
described in all four of the Gospels, and in each Gospel it plays a central
role in the unfolding story of Jesus’ life and mission. It was important because feeding hungry
people always had a central role in God’s faithful care of His own. Our Vacation Bible School this week focused
on God’s power, and we began last Monday with stories and songs that promised
that God has the power to provide. That
was a great way to start the week, because it is such an important theme in the
Scripture. We might think of Psalm 145,
which reads, in the majestic translation of the old Prayer Book,
“The eyes of
all wait upon thee, O Lord, and thou givest them their meat in due season. Thou openest thy hand, and fillest all things
living with plenteousness.”[2]
God filled all things with plenteousness in creating a world of
such abundance. And He had worked
through patriarchs and prophets to relieve His people in their hunger. We might think of Joseph, raised by God to a
position of authority in Egypt to open the storehouses to his hungry brothers
and their families; or Moses, who prayed to the Lord, and was sent manna in the
wilderness. There’s a very close
parallel to the story in today’s Gospel in II Kings 4, when the prophet Elisha
multiplied twenty loaves of bread to feed a hundred people, so much that there
was even some left over.
That’s sort a junior varsity
miracle, though, next to what Jesus does by the side of the Sea of Galilee. There’s even less material, just five loaves
and two fish, and the crowd was much, much larger, and they are starving out in
the wilderness. The disciples are
rightfully overwhelmed by the task of buying enough provisions to give just a
little to each of them. But Jesus isn’t
thinking in term of snacks. He was
aiming to “fill all things with plenteousness.” He took what was shared,
and when He had blessed and broken it, He distributed it among them.
And how they enjoyed themselves, that hungry crowd, how they feasted
on that unexpected abundance!
Prudentius, the great hymnwriter of the Early Church captured the joyful
spirit of the event and the wonder it awakened when he wrote:
The stuffed boy
strives with undigested fare
The waiter
groans beneath his heavy load.
Who can a great
feast spread from stores so few?
Who but
the maker of our frame and all
That nurtures it,
who shaped the world from naught…
All
that now is was naught: that nothingness
Was
into being brought and bidden grow.
Small
was the first creation, but it grew
Till
it became a mighty universe.[3]
“Who can a great feast
spread from stores so few?” The crowd
goes there very quickly, with rather mixed results. Some of them remember old Elisha’s miracle,
and are sure this Jesus must be a great prophet, returned to call the people
back to God. Others remember Moses in
the wilderness and are ready to crown him a new king of Israel.
And Jesus is prophet and
king as well, of a certain kind. But
He’s more than that. His disciples, and
later the filled crowd, suffer from a failure of imagination. He, as our Epistle lesson says, “is able to
do far more abundantly than all we ask or think.” The
superabundance of this miracle reveals that Jesus is not merely a prophet or king,
but the “Maker of our frame and all.” Jesus
is God Himself become one of us to cleanse us from sin and raise us to new
life.
The twelve baskets left over point to a
mission yet to be accomplished. There
would be a new people of God, a new twelve tribes raised up from Jew and
Gentile, slave and free, of all races and tongues. Jesus would sustain this new people with His
own life, as He will go on to explain in the discourse that will form our
Gospel lessons for the next month. There
was plenty that day at the lake, but part of its bounty was that this feast pointed
beyond itself. The baskets of bread and fish hint at
the the living bread of the Eucharist, in which, as our Epistle says, we “know the love of Christ which surpasses
knowledge” and are “filled with all the fulness of God.”
Over the past week or so,
as I have been getting to know you here at Saint Timothy’s, it has become clear
to me that Christ is present among you, and that you are thriving through the
abundant life He alone can bring. I was
talking with a parishioner this week who is actively involved in many
ministries, but whose husband only worships here a few times a year. “Does he support you in being so involved in
the Church?” I asked her. Without
hesitation, she answered, “Yes, because he understands that the things I do
here are what make me truly happy.” I
think it’s like that with many of you.
It’s been wonderful to
learn about how many of you are finding joy and fulfillment in your life by
sharing your gifts and participating in so many different ministries. There must have been a hundred people
involved in this week’s Bible school, as we taught some of our youngest
disciples about God’s power to comfort, heal and forgive. We sent dozens of young people off to
Dungannon yesterday to bring hope and relief in Christ’s Name to those in
distress there. And I’ve talked to
others about the pastoral ministry teams, the educational programs, the
ministries to those who are hungry in this community. Your rector, who is so full of wisdom and
compassion, cannot say enough wonderful things about what is happening
here. Everything I have seen confirms
my first impression that is a vibrant, caring and active community, where the
Spirit is at work and lives are being changed.
Believe me, I’ve read the
Sunday Post. There are lots of other places you could be today. There are lots of places in this area where
you can get some guidance for your life, hear some good music, or help the
poor. But you have chosen to come here,
to be involved in this community.
Because there’s a crucial difference here, something you can’t find in
the concert hall, the op-ed page or the social services agency. Jesus is here in a unique and powerful way,
and as He did by the sea so long ago, He gives abundantly still today. When
we meet Him here, and receive the bread of His life, we are filled with His
plenteousness. Jesus is here and that
makes all the difference.
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