Rev. Katherine Todd
Hear me, Lord, my plea is just;
listen to my cry.
Hear my prayer—
it does not rise from deceitful lips.
Let my vindication come from you;
may your eyes see what is right.
Though you probe my heart,
though you examine me at night and test me,
you will find that I have planned no evil;
my mouth has not transgressed.
Though people tried to bribe me,
I have kept myself from the ways of the violent
through what your lips have commanded.
My steps have held to your paths;
my feet have not stumbled.
I call on you, my God, for you will answer me;
turn your ear to me and hear my prayer.
Show me the wonders of your great love,
you who save by your right hand
those who take refuge in you from their foes.
Keep me as the apple of your eye;
hide me in the shadow of your wings
from the wicked who are out to destroy me,
from my mortal enemies who surround me.
They close up their callous hearts,
and their mouths speak with arrogance.
They have tracked me down, they now surround me,
with eyes alert, to throw me to the ground.
They are like a lion hungry for prey,
like a fierce lion crouching in cover.
Rise up, Lord, confront them, bring them down;
with your sword rescue me from the wicked.
By your hand save me from such people, Lord,
from those of this world whose reward is in this life.
May what you have stored up for the wicked fill their bellies;
may their children gorge themselves on it,
and may there be leftovers for their little ones.
As for me, I will be vindicated and will see your face;
when I awake, I will be satisfied with seeing your likeness.
When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.
As evening approached, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a remote place, and it’s already getting late. Send the crowds away, so they can go to the villages and buy themselves some food.”
Jesus replied, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.”
“We have here only five loaves of bread and two fish,” they answered.
“Bring them here to me,” he said. And he directed the people to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people. They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. The number of those who ate was about five thousand men, besides women and children.
Imagine this scenario.
Jesus receives news of what has befallen his cousin John, who he later says is Elijah returned. In gross human tragedy, jealousy, lust, power, shame, revenge, and the needless shedding of blood, John is beheaded – his head delivered on a silver platter to Herod’s niece-now-daughter-in-law.
Can you begin to imagine such evil perpetrated against your cousin? Against someone doing such good and proclaiming truth and justice?
This is where Jesus finds himself – in need of rest, in need of quiet, in need of solitude.
And so they deliberately leave by boat, as quietly as they can. They head to a remote place. But the people – yearning for healing, seeking help and guidance and wisdom – they have followed him from the shore, on foot. And now this usually remote area is filled to the brim, teaming, with people – parent and child, sick and well, men and women and people of every dimension.
Jesus lands only to find a large crowd.
I would have been angry at the people, I imagine. I might have broken down in tears of exhaustion and grief. I might have instructed the disciples to just keep on going and going – anywhere but there.
But Jesus sees them, and even through the eyes of his grief, he has compassion on them. And he begins his sacred work, his holy work of healing the sick.
As evening approaches, everyone gets a little more restless. It is mealtime, and there are no provisions, no homes and families or town there. How shall they all eat?
So the disciples begin to encourage Jesus to send the crowd away. Perhaps if they go now, they can make it to villages to find food for themselves. The disciples know that the people will keep waiting their turn to be touched by Jesus’ hand, to be beheld in Jesus’ eyes, to receive and cherish his words. They have traveled long. They are tired and hungry. But the waiting is worth it.
But Jesus does not respond reasonably.
A reasonable person would come to the same conclusion.
A reasonable person would assess the scenario:
- No food there to purchase
- No food there to harvest
- No money to buy food even if it was nearby
- AND 5000 men + women and children
- = bad news
This kind of assessment is important, is it not?
It’s how we live and don’t starve.
It’s how we work out housing and transportation and work.
The need to eat is vital and central. Most other things revolve around it. Most other things support this one critical human need.
Jesus knows they are a large crowd of deities or super-humans. Jesus knows they must eat. Jesus knows the situation. Jesus knows human vulnerability and temptation. Jesus remembers they are each made of dust.
And yet, Jesus tells the disciples give them something to eat (the CROWD, that is – some 5000+++ people).
I’m pretty sure that if Jesus and his disciples packed a dinner at all, it was likely meant to serve only 13-20, perhaps. They were expecting a solitary camp, not a coliseum’s-worth of people on shore.
Have you ever been in such a scenario?
I love camping. But there are many kinds of camping in this world.
There is the camping that Jesus and his disciples had expected to do – likely laying underneath the stars and cooking fish over the fire.
There is camping my sister and brother-in-law like to do: carrying everything they need, carefully weighed and planned – on their backs for days or weeks of hiking in the wilderness.
There is camping like Incy’s brother and family enjoy: where they park RV’s together, decked out with every imagined convenience.
And there is camping I am accustomed to: car camping. Whatever fits into the car can come: a tent, a tarp, cooking gear, sleeping bag, handsaw, matches, pots and pans. This is how my mother gave us the experience of traveling around the whole united states one summer. It was crazy and empowering…and magical.
When I shop, I make lists. When I organize my work, I make lists. And when I camp, I make a list. I actually keep a running list – to help with things I might forget between camping trips. I try to think of everything: what if it rains the whole time, what if the wood is too wet, what if everything we have gets soaked, and on and on.
For campers like Incy’s brother there is a term: Glamper. It means glamorous camper!
For campers like me – there is no term – so she made up one: Pramper. It means prepared camper.
That is me.
That is how I feel most comfortable operating in the world.
I like having everything on ready. I like to know where everything is – extremely organized. I organize my snack basket on any road trip so very carefully that I can reach back & easily find most things I want, without turning my head to look.
I am distressed by disorganization. I feel stressed when my environment is cluttered or unkept.
Basically, I like being prepared in every area of life.
But as you might imagine, it hasn’t worked for me very well. Not only did life throw more curve balls than I could ever imagine, but I have had to walk into the unknown, which I do not like. I am naturally that person who likes to sit quietly at the back of the room – to study people, to listen, to observe. I don’t want to say anything embarrassing. I don’t want to say anything inaccurate. I want to gauge the room. I want to think a lot before I speak.
But I’ve had to deviate from my comfort. I have felt God calling me to speak up – and have churned inside until I obey. I like to follow, but God keeps calling me out – to speak out, to share vision, to invite others into greater discipleship.
I have had to leave the places of my security and preparedness in order to be obedient to the Spirit of God and in order to love those God calls me to love.
Funny how others don’t walk my plans very well. Funny how they seem to sabotage my expectations, over and over. Funny…
What’s truly funny is that I thought I could “control” others.
What’s funny is that I thought I should “control” others.
What’s funny is that I tried to “control” others.
And it never worked; in the end it wasn’t loving.
I could not both love and respect others
And even when I tried to hide my intentions, they could always feel it.
It created wedges.
It seeded mistrust.
And I was faced with the call to truly let go of my security blanket.
I was called to follow God in faith – not chart out the entire passageway.
Like Lewis and Clark, I prepare for everything I can foresee. But then when the rivers no longer take me forward and mountains loom ahead, I have to look around me, I have to listen, I have to humble myself in collaboration and prayer, and I have to step out into the unknown – making it up as we go.
And this has been a massive journey in my life: this journey from my natural prepared – play-it-safe positioning INTO a trusting of God in the process, a trusting of those with whom I take this journey, and a trusting of myself.
And this is HARD because as you know, Jesus was crucified. Bad things DO HAPPEN to good people. Jesus Christ is not insurance for the good life but actually told us we would suffer.
This trust has been hard won.
But it has been life to me.
I have had to flee from control like an addictive substance, because it has been that to me.
And this new experiment of faith – this experience of letting go and letting God – has been absolute LIFE and HOPE and JOY and SURPRISE and LOVE to me.
Through the years of heartache along my journey of discovery and learning to let go and to trust, I accepted that there will always be factors out of my control. And that as scary as that feels, that is also hopeful, because God is ever doing a new thing. And what we have today will be different from what we have tomorrow.
We cannot accurately assess the future because we do not yet have, all that we will have, at that time.
We cannot accurately assess the future because we do not yet have, all that we will have, when the time comes.
Someone else more eloquently said, “You cannot solve tomorrow’s problems with today’s answers.”
Jesus knew this.
Jesus know of more resources than any others could perceive, moment to moment.
Did he physically multiply the loaves and fish to feed that enormous crowd?
Some have suggested that the miracle may have been one of sharing.
You know the idea of stone soup, do you not? The host says, “Come on over. I’m making soup. Bring whatever you have to put in the pot.” And as each guest come, carrots are added, potatoes, celery, some chicken…and eventually it is a wholesome, nourishing soup – even though the host only had water and a stone in the pot to start with.
Might the miracle have been that everyone shared? That everyone let go of their precious food to share with others?
Perhaps. That would be miracle – in their day or in ours!
I do not know how Jesus did it. But whether the miracle performed was in the hearts and hands of the individuals such that they opened themselves to share with one another OR Jesus in his power turned two fish into twenty thousand, I believe Jesus CAN do that.
There are many lessons we will glean from this account in our lifetimes. But today may we be attentive to Christ’s provision – unexpected, unimagined, unfathomable, yet delivered right on time.
And as Christ’s disciples long ago, may we – Christ’s disciples here and now – leave room for the unexpected. May we not limit the possibilities of what can be by what we already see or what has been. For our God is still creating. Our God is still providing. Our God is still renewing and remaking all things. And we cannot yet imagine the miracles and visions God will make reality, in us and through us.
Thanks be to God!!
Henri Nouwen (1932-1996)
I keep projecting my present condition onto the future. If I feel dark, the future looks dark. If I feel bright, the future looks bright. But who am I to know what life will be like for me tomorrow, next week, next year, or ten years from now? Even more, who am I to know who you will be for me in the year ahead? O Lord, I will not bind you with my own limited and limiting ideas and feelings. You can do so many things with me, things that might seem totally impossible to me. I want at least to remain open to the free movement of your Spirit in my life. Why do I keep saying to myself: “I will never be a saint. I will never be able to overcome my impulses and desires.” If I keep saying that, I might prevent you from healing and touching me deeply. O Lord, let me remain free to let you come, whenever and however you desire.
Sometimes I go about pitying myself
While I am being carried by the wind across the sky.
Denise Levertov (1923-1997)
As swimmers dare to life face to the sky and waters bears them,
As hawks rest upon air and air sustains them,
So would I learn to attain freefall,
And float into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,
Knowing no effort earns that all-surrounding grace.