So, it's kind of odd, this Gospel passage. It seems so nice and subdued. It begins with Jesus taking a break, going away to relax.
But that's not what is really happening. Jesus is on the run; he's a fugitive, hiding from Herod.
Right before this reading, Matthew tells us that Herod has gotten wind of Jesus and the marvelous works he has done, and he's heard about the crowds.
And no king likes it when there are crowds -- and those crowds aren't singing HIS praises. And he's more than just worried, he's afraid that Jesus is a ghost, the ghost of John the Baptist.
And in what may be the only biblical flashback that I can think of, Herod thinks back on how he had John the Baptist executed and his head served on a silver platter, a gruesome meal indeed for the guests gathered to celebrate the king's birthday. You see, Herod is serious about staying on as king. Nobody, especially this Jesus, is going to take his place.
So, Jesus has fled, gone off by himself to ride out the danger in a deserted place. But it's not deserted for long. For where Jesus goes, the crowds are sure to follow, and follow they do. And Jesus is moved by compassion and begins to heal them, curing the sick they bring to him.
And then... they all sit down and eat.
This is, quite frankly, a weird passage. This is not how a good story-teller builds suspense.
I mean let's face it, the reason Jesus is where he is is pretty exciting. A man on the run. Friends trying to spirit him out of the territory. Powerful government agents going here and there, looking for him. All the stuff that makes gripping headlines
Exciting stuff! But our reading today doesn't see fit to mention it.
And then there's the miracle of the multiple healings. People following Jesus out into the wilderness, just on the off chance that he might touch one or two of them. And he heals them all!
And this only gets one line in the story.
All this activity, all this adventure, all this wonderment. And the star of the story is...food. Essentially a whole bunch of tuna fish sandwiches.
I've read a lot of different interpretations about the feeding of the 5000. Some are the of the literal stripe, where the miracle of Jesus resulted in the fish and bread continually reappearing out of thin air. Whenever a fish was gone – they would reach into the basket and, Hey, another fish!
Other explanations are more metaphorical: they are versions of thinking that many of the people who followed Jesus out into the desert actually were smart enough to pack a lunch,
…and the miracle was that when Jesus sat down to share his meal with others, that act of charity so touched the hearts of everyone else, that food began to appear as each person took his lunch and saw that, hey, really, I have more than enough and can share.
Personally, I like, “Hey, another fish!” But either way a miracle of compassion happens miracle. So, that's a great place to end the story. Everyone was filled and happy, and it's all because of the divine presence of Christ in their lives.
But we don't stop there at all. Instead we stop at the clean up. It's like reminiscing about your prom and saying that the best part of it was sweeping the floor and taking down the decorations after the dancing was done.
And I've always wondered about that. What was up with the leftovers? Why are we told about that? What are we to make out of it?
The fact that it's tacked on at the end there makes me think that maybe the true miracle is that something so mundane – food, and something even more mundane – leftover food – can be the catalyst of so many miracles in our lives today.
There’s just something magical about how food can bring us together, how eating food with another person puts us on the same level, fills us with the same stuff.
Now, I love sitting down to eat a really well-prepared meal. But, y’all, leftovers can be so much better than their fresh counterparts. Next-day chili; a Thanksgiving dressing sandwich on white bread; pizza right out of the fridge. Dare I say it? Even cold bacon! Especially cold bacon!
And you know what? Being invited for leftovers, to me, is a really cool thing. To get to that point, you have to be close and comfortable with people. There’s a couple of layers of social manners that have fallen away.
Meeting at a restaurant is a wonderful way to mark a special occasion, or a nonthreatening way to go on a blind date. And inviting someone over for a meal you just cooked, now that’s welcoming and generous. A fine way to bring someone closer into your life, developing a trusting relationship.
But inviting someone for leftovers? That’s almost calling them family. I know you and love you enough that I don’t feel the need to put on airs and impress. It's not fancy, but it's vulnerable and special in its own right.
So, there's got to be a reason this passage doesn't end with the miracle of never-ending fish and reproducing bread.
There's got to be a reason instead, that this passage ends with the disciples gathering up the leftovers, 12 baskets overflowing with leftovers, one for each of them.
Twelve baskets of loving God and loving our neighbor. Baskets of all Jesus has put into his time on earth, and his example living still today in our souls. Sharing. Sharing our faith with our family and friends, letting them know that our friendships and loves have a source: the very God who loves us and who has given us life. Even when we can’t gather physically we still have baskets to share. Baskets of prayers, baskets of notes, baskets of phone calls.
One overflowing basket for each us to take into our lives, to share among our friends, among our enemies, among strangers.
A world where we sit down and eat together, invite each other into our lives, sharing a meal of loaves and fishes left over for 2000 years, never running out.
When we invite people to eat with us, we aren’t just inviting them into our homes and our lives, but we are also giving them the stuff of life.
At the end of the service of Morning Prayer, there’s a line of scripture pulled from the Letter to the Ephesians. Right at the end of our first prayers for the day, like we are praying today: right there before we begin to address the needs of those around us, before we encounter other people in our work, before we settle old arguments or stir up new ones, right there, we say this line, echoing the sentiment of the disciples standing before thousands in a hungry crowd:
“Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.”
Christ working is us does more than we will ever think to ask or hope to imagine. Christ feeding us nourishes us and leaves us with more than we will need. Food left over for us to give to others.
With that abundance, we can do infinitely more, share infinitely more, love infinitely more. So gather your basket, go out in the world, and share.
Trust me on this: your basket will never run empty.
Amen.