Today’s gospel reading begins, “Now when Jesus heard this...”
What did he hear? Well we skipped that part of the story from last week til this. In between the parable and the miracle, Jesus learned some devastating news, that his cousin, John, the prophet, whose miraculous birth showed God’s presence, whose life was a challenge and witness for the community to turn to God and freedom, who had baptized Jesus and marked the start of his ministry... John who spoke the truth of God’s justice boldly to the corrupt power system and the truth of God’s presence and attention to those who suffered within it, John who was a light of God had been killed by Herod.
Now King Herod was a puppet of the Roman Empire. He was caught up in his own family dramas and is presented in the gospels as a corrupt, cruel, manipulative person who lived in a place of constant paranoia around power and self preservation. And in a strange story of seduction and performance and revenge, his family finally killed John, who had long been speaking out against the corruption and abuses of the local government. They killed him and desecrated his body, putting his head on a platter and bringing it out to a dinner party.
This murder of John is a loss to the community, of a religious leader and a community fixture and a son and cousin and friend. And this murder of John is also a cold and terrorizing reminder of what might happen to you if you tell the truth about or stand up to the evil going on around you.
Today’s story is happening in the shadow of violence, of helplessness against the cruelty and power of a king and the larger empire that are working to keep them down. This story happens in community grief, in the whiplash of getting the worst possible news, that trauma, the impact across the community, that feeling of brittleness, the verge of shattering that comes with shock.
So Jesus “withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself.” He’s processing and pausing, and sitting with the horror of what has happened to his family.
But when the crowds heard it, when the crowds heard what had happened to John,
they followed him on foot from the towns. The people want to know what Jesus has to say in this moment of hurt and fear. They want to be in the presence of love and healing.
When [Jesus] went ashore, when he came back from the sea, having taken that time, I imagine, to process and grieve and pray, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick.
Had they come to him for this? Maybe in part. But the text says that they’re coming to Jesus in response to what happened to John. To a community tragedy.
We know Jesus doesn’t raise John the Baptist from the dead. And while there will come a time for him to confront the powers of empire and escalate that tension we’ve been seeing through Matthew’s gospel, this is not that time. In his grief and in his compassion, Jesus starts caring for the need right in front of him.
When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, "This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.”I wonder if the disciples were weary after that long day with people. I wonder if they had gotten time to reflect on this tragedy.
But scholars note that in the rural context of this story, even if the people had been able to find a village with provisions, many people would not have had money and resources to purchase food for themselves. Working class and poor folks in this society weren’t walking around Galilee with money to spare to pick up a sandwich.
The sickness and poverty in the community coming to Jesus is a reflection of the same social structures that John was speaking out against. The Roman Empire conquered, abused, and depleted people and their resources to benefit a very few.
Jesus was wise to this dynamic, understood that the disciples plan wouldn’t actually lead these people to usable resources. It’s like that whole teach a man to fish, thing, right? Except how can you send people to the pond when you know the poisoned water table has wiped out any catch?
So instead of sending the people away hungry, Jesus said to [the disciples], "They need not go away; you give them something to eat.”
Impossible! It’s not like the eclectic group of working class guys has the resources to feed the crowd! And They replied, "We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” That’s a snack for 13 people at best. A few bites.
But Jesus said, "Bring them here to me.” Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And all ate and were filled.
More than a snack for a dozen. More than a few bites. They were filled. And what’s more, there were leftovers. The disciples took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full.
The food blessed and broken and given around kept on coming and coming. I want to imagine it like Lucy and Ethel on the chocolate line—where does this stuff keep on coming from! It’s enough for at least 20,000 people! And 12 big ole baskets to take home for later.
This story is about a physical sign of hope and abundance for people struggling with fear and scarcity. It is a snapshot of the Good News of Jesus in the image of thousands of people with their need met, and we need this sign today, too.
As I studied and prayed over this gospel lesson, I was reminded of the poem “Loaves and Fishes” by David Whyte.
This is not
the age of information.
This is not
the age of information.
Forget the news,
and the radio,
and the blurred screen.
This is the time
of loaves
and fishes.
People are hungry
and one good word is bread
for a thousand.
In the midst of overload of frightening news, information overload, loss and uncertainty, the poet reminds us one good word is bread for a thousand.
We are people of this story, people who love and listen to and retell this tale of God with us, understanding our sorrows, seeing our needs, having compassion on us, and filling our tummies. With all the comfort and hope of that promise, we can offer that good word to the people around us.
But there’s a reason that this Jesus story in Matthew’s gospel isn’t handed down to us as a parable. It’s not meant to be a metaphor.
Jesus struggled and suffered along with his community under a system of harm that was too big for any one person or even this particular gathering of a crowd to fix. But he worked faithfully and called his friends to join him in healing the places of hurt and meeting the needs that he could, that were right in front of him and within his power to help.
People are hungry, and they need a good word. But they also need a good work. Even when we are drained and grieving, when the whole thing seems so overwhelming, we are called to follow Jesus into his holy work of healing and feeding wherever we are. We can give and serve. We can heal through listening well and offering small and large kindnesses. We can lend our voices and votes to make change in our community. We can commit ourselves to seeing abundance where others see scarcity, knowing that when we share our power and resources, there is always enough for everyone. We can speak a good word, and we can live a good word. And as we accept God’s invitation and take this risk to do what we can where we can, we might find ourselves fed and healed too.