The Power of a Scrap of Bread

Matthew 14:13-21 — Tenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 13), Year A

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A Boy Named Todd

I’m sure glad our old friend Todd wasn’t there the day Jesus passed out the fishes and the loaves. That kid could consume vast quantities of food in no time at all. One cold winter day, my wife and I invited Todd and his family over for hot soup. We’d bought a nice long loaf of Italian bread, figured we’d have a hearty meal before getting back to shoveling snow. We sat down, said grace, and my wife ladled out the soup.

“Honey, did you forget to put out the bread?” I asked.

She looked puzzled. “I thought I put it out.”

The bread was nowhere to be found. Todd’s father gave his son one of those knowing looks. “Todd,” he said sternly, “do you know anything about the bread?”

A guilty look spread across Todd’s face.

“I ate it,” he said. The whole loaf.

So we had… soup.

I wonder how today’s story would have gone if Todd had been there the day Jesus multiplied the fishes and the loaves. No way could enough bread have been made to get past that boy. No way would twelve baskets have come back full. People would have gone home hungry, and Jesus probably would have been chased out of town. History would have been rewritten!

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Five Loaves, Two Fish, and a Lot of Absurdity

Even without Todd, it’s a great story. Jesus and the disciples are out in a remote place. A large crowd finds them, pressing in for help and healing. The day grows long, and the people grow hungry — five thousand men, besides women and children. Jesus tells the disciples to give the people something to eat. They’re appalled: all they have are five loaves of bread and two fish. How absurd!

But the absurdity is the point. The early Christians passed this story down to teach us that following Christ often requires us to jump outside the borders of our own reason and conventional wisdom. Can you feed five thousand people with five loaves and two fish? Of course not. Can you feed them until they’re satisfied? Of course not. Can you still have twelve basketfuls left over?

Of course not.

And yet, when given over to God, even the smallest, scarcest, most insignificant human things have the power to become more than we could have believed.

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A Prayer Mother Teresa Wouldn’t Let Go

There’s a wonderful story about Edward Bennett Williams, the famous trial attorney for whom Georgetown University named its law library. Williams gave nearly four million dollars to Georgetown, and he and his family supported many other causes besides. He and a colleague once ran one of America’s most prestigious charitable foundations — and one day they found themselves face to face with a pint-sized woman named Mother Teresa.

Mother Teresa was building a hospital for people suffering from AIDS, and she needed money. This was at a time when many people preferred to blame certain groups for the epidemic, bury their heads in the sand, and hope it would go away — one reason AIDS became such a raging crisis. Williams and his colleague had already decided they’d listen politely and send her away with a gracious no.

Mother Teresa told them all about the work, the need, the ministry. Then she asked for the money.

“We’re sorry,” they said. “We can’t support your project.”

“Before I go,” she said, “let us pray.” She bowed her head and prayed for God’s mercy on those suffering from AIDS. Then she told them again about the work, the need, the ministry — and asked again for the money.

Williams’ partner blurted, “The trust investments haven’t done well this year. All the money is spoken for.”

“Let us pray,” said Mother Teresa. And she prayed again, and told them again about the work — and asked again.

Just as the other lawyer started to object, Williams threw his hands in the air. “All right! All right! Just give me the checkbook!”

And Mother Teresa got her money.

What did she possess to make that miracle happen? No stature. No power. No visible strength. Just guts, a little nerve, compassion for people with AIDS, and perseverance. Most importantly, she had a God who loves little things.

When given over to God, even the smallest, scarcest gifts have the power to become more than we could believe.

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The Turning Point Was Compassion

Look at all the little things in this passage. Jesus is at a low point here — he has just lost his best friend, John the Baptist, murdered by Herod. Jesus was in mourning, and that’s why he’d gone away to this lonely place. You know how it is: sometimes life leaves you drained and hurting, needing time alone to lick your wounds. Jesus’ tank was on empty that day.

Then the crowd showed up. With their sick children. Their illnesses. Their poverty. Their hunger.

And Mark tells us something small but significant: Jesus had compassion for them.

That’s all. Compassion.

Apart from everything Jesus didn’t have that day, he had a little compassion. And that was the turning point. When given over to God, even the small gift of your compassion can become the launching pad for a major miracle.

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This Is a Communion Story

Then there’s the lack of food — five loaves and two fish. Nowhere near enough for a crowd like this. I once heard a preacher try to explain the miracle away: the boy’s generosity supposedly inspired others in the crowd to pull out their own hidden lunches, and one act of generosity led to another until everyone had plenty. Not a supernatural multiplying of bread and fish, he said — just the ordinary multiplication of human love.

Maybe. Or maybe not. That approach takes all the fun out of the Bible!

So let’s leave the arguing about literal miracles aside and go instead to the heart of the passage. Looking up to heaven, Jesus did three things:

He blessed the bread. He broke it. And he gave it to the disciples.

Do you recognize those words? They are the words of the Communion service. Here at the Table, Jesus takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to us — his disciples.

This is a Communion story. But a Communion story with a twist. Instead of giving us the bread and saying “Take and eat,” Jesus says something else altogether:

“You give them something to eat.”

In the early Church — as in our own — Christians often gathered at the Table and missed the point. We receive the Bread simply to satisfy our own spiritual hunger. We drink the Wine simply to assure ourselves of our own forgiveness. But Communion is not a receiving. It is a giving.

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You Give Them Something to Eat

Now you see why the crowd is numbered as five thousand men, not counting women and children. The crowd cannot be quantified — it is larger than our capacity to count. It symbolizes all of humanity: the broken, the hungry, the lost, the poor, the sick, the lonely, the hurting. Everyone. Jesus hands us each some scraps of bread and says, “You give them something to eat.”

And look what happened. Humanity was fed. And each of the twelve disciples came back with a basketful more than they started with.

I don’t know what it will take to heal the world of war, feed all the hungry, eradicate poverty, eliminate injustice, make all children safe, end conflict, or build a society that looks like the Kingdom of God.

But I know we have a God who can take the smallest, scarcest, most insignificant resources of our lives and transform them into more than we could ever believe.

Today, as we come to the Table, Jesus will hand you some broken bread.

And then he will say: “Go — give them something to eat.”

Your family, friends, neighbors, strangers, even your enemies. Everyone you meet. Give them something to eat.

And what is that “something to eat”?

Maybe it’s simply where today’s story starts.

“He had compassion on them.”

Compassion.

Go and do the same.

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