8th Sunday After Pentecost, August 3, 2014

Gospel: Matthew 14:13-21

(Now when he heard that John had been beheaded,) Jesus withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. 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.” Jesus said to them, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” They replied, “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” And he 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; and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.

Reflections: We have heard this story innumerable times. It’s recounted in all four gospels, and a second version occurs in both Matthew and Mark. Our familiarity should be enough to prevent us from hearing it with new ears, or at least cause us to drop the needle of our mind into the usual grooves: the miracle of multiplication. But that’s not the only dimension of the story.

Two things I’ve noticed: First, the story begins with a Jesus who had been teaching and teaching; we can imagine that he’s worn out. Worse, he’s just got the news that his cousin and spiritual friend John the Baptist, has been executed by Herod. He needs some solitude to reflect and pray. But the public doesn’t allow it. They are hungry for more. But he doesn’t do the reasonable thing of sending them off. Moreover, he knows (as he tells them John 6) that they really want the wrong thing for the wrong reasons, which makes his behavior even less understandable. So it should be even more surprising that he doesn’t send them home for dinner at the end of the day.

I wonder if this is might be less a story about a miraculous multiplication than it is a story about the miracle of compassion. Just where does Jesus get the resources to respond to this crowd when he himself has been drained dry—and the need just won’t stop? We can take an easy out by saying, “Well after all, he is the Son of God . . . ,” but where does that leave us? We’re merely human. . . . But let’s think again. Since Jesus was not only fully divine but also fully human, the story might just show us something relevant to our lives.

We, too, face unexpected situations that demand our attention when we’re already tired, in a hurry, or have other plans. When that happens to me, I often feel frustrated and rushed; I automatically experience them as obstacles to be dealt with quickly so I can get on with my “real life.” My mind and heart are divided; I have to do one thing, but I’m actually thinking of—and wanting—something else. How could I possibly handle them very well? And that, of course, only drags further on my mood.

Over the years, however, I’ve learned something very surprising. I perceive such unexpected situations as problems. But I’ve discovered that the problem is not the situation. The problem is my resistance to it. To paraphrase Henri Nouwen in Reaching Out, I used to think interruptions get my work; then I realized that the interruptions are my work.

The gospel tells us that before Jesus cured the people, or taught them, or fed them, “He had compassion for them.” And here’s the other half of what I’ve learned: what gives me the energy to deal with unexpected demands is precisely the opposite of what I feel like doing. By moving my attention from my thwarted agenda and focusing it on the situation at hand, I discover that compassion is already flowing—into the situation and bringing me a deep sense of well-being. Perhaps that, even more than multiplying fish and bread, is the real miracle.