The feeding of the 5,000 is one of Jesus' quintessential miracles; it occurs in every Gospel. John, though, is a bit different from the rest of the authors. Perhaps it is because we have the tendency to hear these Bible stories as children and stop listening to them when we become adults. Sometimes, I think we fear the Bible will lose its "magic" if we peer too deeply into the text. I think our real fear, though, is that we will peer deeply into the text and find that it changes us and our assumptions about what the Bible says. We could talk about the fact that six months' wages couldn't buy enough bread for these people. We could talk about the ways that the bread could have been stretched that far so that we can have some explanation other than the mysterious miracle. We could talk about the 12 baskets left over... Perhaps all of you already knew this, but I didn't realize there wasn't a last supper in the traditional sense, at least, in John's Gospel. Nonetheless, finish this sentence, "Jesus took the bread, and when he had given thanks..." And what happens after the last supper?
Now, as I started reading the passage in this way, John 6:15 became all the more haunting, a looming portent of what is to come: "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." This man heals the sick, raises the dead, and feeds the hungry; if he were in charge of the world, it would be a far better place.
It is our desire to be saved immediately that prevents us from seeing our true salvation. As a country, we seem to choose political leaders based on the promises they make during their campaigns when support and energy are high, and then vote for the opposing party for the next election, because they have not lived up to our expectation that they would save us: from financial disaster, from taking care of our neighbors, from taking responsibility for our unhealthy relationship to stuff and debt... and then I am stopped dead in my tracks as I read the words of the Grand Inquisitor, the perrenial cynic, to Christ regarding his trial:
"Judge Thyself who
was right -- Thou or he who questioned Thee then? Remember the first question;
its meaning, in other words, was this: "Thou wouldst go into the world,
and art going with empty hands, with some promise of freedom which men in their
simplicity and their natural unruliness cannot even understand, which they fear
and dread -- for nothing has ever been more insupportable for a man and a human
society than freedom. But seest Thou these stones in this parched and barren
wilderness? Turn them into bread, and mankind will run after Thee like a flock
of sheep, grateful and obedient, though for ever trembling, lest Thou withdraw
Thy hand and deny them Thy bread." But Thou wouldst not deprive man of
freedom and didst reject the offer, thinking, what is that freedom worth if
obedience is bought with bread? Thou didst reply that man lives not by bread
alone… And we alone shall feed them in Thy name, declaring falsely that it is
in Thy name. Oh, never, never can they feed themselves without us! No science
will give them bread so long as they remain free. In the end they will lay
their freedom at our feet, and say to us, "Make us your slaves, but feed
us." They will understand themselves, at last, that freedom and bread
enough for all are inconceivable together, for never, never will they be able to
share between them! They will be convinced, too, that they can never be free,
for they are weak, vicious, worthless, and rebellious... They are sinful and rebellious, but in the end they too will become obedient.
They will marvel at us and look on us as gods, because we are ready to endure
the freedom which they have found so dreadful and to rule over them- so awful
it will seem to them to be free. But we shall tell them that we are Thy
servants and rule them in Thy name," (Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamozov, Grand Inquisitor).
Lest we judge the portrayal given by the Grand Inquisitor, let us for a moment consider the assumptions we make about life. So often, we assume that, if we play our cards just right, everything will work out for us. Your child, whom raised to know the difference between right and wrong, still turns away; the cops call the house, "Mr. Jones, we have your son here..." You study and study and study for the text and are so excited to get it back, only to see the letter on the front of the page is not the "A" you expected, but something far worse and a note to talk to the teacher after class. You come home to the spouse you have spent your whole life loving, trying to honor, love, and cherish, only to find a note, "I'm done," and half of the closet empty. These are the times the Grand Inquisitors of the world seep in, whispering in our ears, "Where is your God now?"
Dear brothers and sisters, your God isn't on the mountain, enjoying the fame and fortune from healing the sick and raising the dead and feeding the hungry. Your God isn't grasping at power, mimicking our own attraction to success. Your God is in a place far more real: your God is on the cross. It was not enough for Jesus to feed 5,000 people bread; Jesus is the bread of life, given for you. It's more personal than long ago and far away and a miracle on a mountain. It's here and now: It is the body of Christ, given for you. Jesus could have been king on the mountain, feeding the 5,000, but Jesus is the king on the cross, feeding the world.
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