A Scotsman moved into the area and started drinking at his local pub. He ordered 3 double whiskies and then spent an hour sipping a little from each of them until they were gone, then he ordered three more. The landlord looked puzzled until the Scotsman explained that he always used to drink with his brothers and now they’ve emigrated to America. So he always has the three glasses of whisky to remind him of the good old times. He became quite an institution in the pub.
Then one day he just ordered two whiskies. There was a hush that fell over the pub and the Landlord, sensing the mood, offered his condolences to the Scotsman for his deceased brother.
The Scotsman smiled and said; “ Och no. My brothers are fine. But it’s Lent, and myself, I've given up drink.”
Part of the discipline of self-denial in lent is to remind ourselves that there is more to life than food and drink. And in an inverse sort of way, that is one aspect of today’s Gospel - the Feeding of the 5000.
This is a strange story, set in the relative wilderness to the east of the sea of Galilee, the Golan Heights. It is the only story, apart from our Lord’s Passion, that is recounted in all four Gospels.
It was obviously an important part of early Christian tradition, and although there have been various attempts to ‘explain away’ the miraculous heart of the story, most Christians have always accepted it, as I do, as one of the miracles of our Lord.
The disciples had just returned from a successful preaching tour - thousands won to the Catholic faith - and were in need of a rest. So Jesus takes them away to a quiet place. But as usual, the grapevine soon spreads the news to the local populace and this crowd of 5,000 men, and presumably at least that number again of women and children, gather expectantly.
It is late in the day. And then the young boy’s picnic lunch (a typical eye-witness account mentioned only in John’s Gospel) – the 5 loaves and 2 small fishes become the stuff of history.
The thoughtful Mother who wrapped them up and thrust them into her son’s hands, no doubt with the instruction that he was to wear a vest as it got chilly on the Golan Heights, could never have imagined that 2000 years later billions of people would be spiritually fed by her simple act of motherly love.
But why did Jesus perform this miracle? The people were not about to die. They would make it to their homes.
The Jesus of the four Gospels does not do tricks to try and persuade the crowd that he is the Messiah. Indeed, at the end of this story when the crowd want to hail him as the new Prophet, he flees into hiding.
In most miracles, Jesus responds to need, and occasionally, as in the water in to wine, this story and the following sign (in John’s Gospel), walking on the water, he shows his mastery over nature and also provides teaching through such an ‘enacted parable’.
In other words, the primary function of the miracle is to illustrate a concept he is trying to teach, usually to his immediate disciples.
And so it is here, that our Lord is making a simple point and, as it turns out later, another very complex point, to his disciples.
The simple point may be expressed in this way: Jesus is not nearly as discouraged as we are, by the little we have to offer. In fact, one of the prerequisites of true worship is the recognition of our inadequacy.
“What can I bring him, poor as I am.”For Philip it was hopeless - ‘how can we feed them?’ For Andrew it was a little better - he found the little that there was - and this was enough for the Lord.
We are to bring what we have in the recognition that only the Lord can multiply it to meet the needs that are there.
So in our worship: we bring our music, our liturgy, our preaching, our vestments, our art and culture; with the recognition that it is inadequate, but it is the best we can offer. Only Christ can transform it to worship in Spirit and in Truth which is acceptable to the Father and which truly prepares us for heaven.
And in our daily lives, our prayer must always be that God will take what we offer, the little we are able to do, and by his power give our acts of service significance and influence far beyond their meagreness.
But John’s Gospel also points to deeper truths in his account of this incident.
There is a little phrase (in v.4): “and the Passover was nigh”. (Mark’s account makes the same point by another eye-witness touch - they sat down on the green grass. Any of you who have been to the Holy Land will know that about the only time there is any green grass on the Golan Heights is before Passover.
The Passover. Here is John’s axis of interpretation.
If you read on in John’s version, there is a clear movement from miracle to theological discourse, from Jesus to Moses, from bread to flesh.
Our Lord is preparing to show them that hard teaching that will make many leave him: he is the Bread come down from heaven; the panis angelicus; the bread that satisfies the human heart and feeds the soul.
Soon the Passover lamb must be slain and eaten, as a reminder that the Angel of death passed over the Israelites as they were being released from slavery in Egypt.
And soon the Lamb of God must be slain and give his flesh and blood for the salvation of the world.
This story is not just about feeding hungry people. It is about a Saviour who alone can satisfy the spiritual hunger that is everywhere evident in the world.
And there is yet deeper truth here. For even when we have received, as we will in a moment, the Bread of Life, we are still not satisfied and as part of our human condition we will long for more. As CS Lewis says:
“All joy (as distinct from mere pleasure, still more amusement) emphasizes our pilgrim status, always reminds, beckons, awakens desires. Our best havings are wantings.”Our best havings are wantings.
When we have had a satisfying meal, when we linger over the port, is it not then that we most clearly realise that there is more to life than good food and drink.
And when we have truly enjoyed a spiritual meal at mass in the bread and wine, or in some private moment of spiritual revelation, do we not then most clearly realise that we are spiritual pilgrims who have as yet only just set off along the path.
In Epstein’s wonderful representation of Jacob wrestling with the angel (which you can visit in Tate Britain) you can see another metaphor for this giving and yet holding back of God. The Angel, while injuring Jacob, is yet supporting him, solidly holding him up, blessing and renaming Jacob for the next stage in the journey.
The 5000 were fed and we are fed. Like them, we bring the little that we have and that we are, and offer it to Jesus. We will do this symbolically in a moment in the offertory.
But like them we will only truly find sustenance for our journey when we realise that although our needs are met, there is a divine dis-satisfaction in us which always beckons us on.
Because this is miraculous bread.
“This is the Bread from heaven.” (John 6.58)
