Use what you have
Text: John 6:1-21
Jesus said with a smile, “You give them something to eat…”
The story of the five loaves and two fishes from the gospel of John is the only miracle story that appears in all four gospels. It is the story of a lonely place and lots of hungry people and very little to work with.
In Mark’s, Matthew’s, and Luke’s accounts the disciples tell Jesus to send the people away so they can buy food for themselves from the nearby villages. To this, Jesus answers, “You give them something to eat.” Only in John’s gospel does Jesus ask Philip a question: “Where can we buy bread for these people to eat?” John adds a parenthetical comment, the narrator shares a secret with the reader: “He asked this to test him. He already knew what he was going to do.” Jesus is playing a joke on the disciples — messing with their heads. Philip answers, “Six months of wages would not be enough to give each of them even a little to eat.” Only in John’s story does Andrew, the brother of Peter, tell Jesus about a little boy, who has five barley loaves and two fish. “But what are these,” he asks, “among so many people?” These are nothing, given the great need.
All four gospel writers tell us that Jesus said the same thing. “Make the people sit down.” John adds that there was lots of grass in that place to sit on. In all four gospels, Jesus takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it. Henri Nouwen describes these as Eucharistic stories. Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and gives the bread and the fish to the people.
This story is sometimes called the “miracle of the loaves and the fishes.” When you hear the word “miracle” or “miraculous” you are likely to think of magic, making something out of nothing. In this story, it’s not “now you see it, now you don’t.” It is, “now you don’t see it, now you do.” But the miracle in this story is not that something is made out of nothing. It is that something is made out of something. The miracle in this story is the miracle of taking whatever you have, however meager that might be, blessing it, that is, giving thanks, for what is very little, breaking it, then giving it away rather than keeping it to yourself. It is only then, when bread is broken, Nouwen reminds us, that you can give it to others.
The miracle here is that little becomes much, that 5,000 people use what they have, breaking it apart and giving it away, sharing it with each other. It turns out they had far more than they needed, more than enough to feed everyone. The miracle could be that they began to think of each other’s needs before their own. Jesus “took, blessed, broke, and gave” and they did the same. In his book “Life of the Beloved” Nouwen says that this describes not only the Eucharist, but Jesus’s life itself, and his death and resurrection. He was taken, blessed, broken, and given. And that, Nouwen reminds us, describes our life in Christ. We become who we are created to be when we are taken, blessed, broken, and given. Therein lies the miracle that moves us from a fear that hoards and keeps to ourselves, to a love that recklessly gives itself away, and, in the giving, changes everything. “Use what you have” is the language of the miraculous. In using what you have, you yourself are transformed. In hindsight, seeing the miracle, we wonder not so much where it came from as much as we come to realize that we already had it and didn’t know it. The miracle is in plain sight. It has always been. We need only take it, bless it, break it, and give it.
General George McClellan was head of the Army of the Potomac in the early months of the Civil War. McClellan was very good at training recruits and turning them into soldiers. He excelled at organization and drilling and parading. But he was a reluctant fighter. He wouldn’t send his army into battle. He always overestimated the strength of the enemy and underestimated the strength of his own troops. A frustrated President Abraham Lincoln finally sent McClellan a letter, asking, “General, if you’re not going to use your army, would you mind if I borrow it for a while?”
Jesus’ words to his disciples startle them. “You feed them. You give them something to eat.” In Mark’s gospel, Jesus brings it home with a question: “What have you?” And here in John’s gospel the abundance of the little we have, or the too little we think we have, is revealed in a boy with five loaves and two fishes. “This kid has a lunch,” the disciples say, “but what good is that?” Jesus said another time, “except you become like a child, you cannot enter the kingdom of God.” Faith begins, miracles happen, with a little child opening his lunch box. “I have five loaves and two fish!” I picture Jesus lifting up the little boy so that all the people can see him. “He has five loaves and two fish and he wants to share them!” What have you? Use what you have.
When you use what you already have, miracles happen. It turns out the scarcity is inside our own heads, perpetuated by fear or greed.
Not long ago Jeff Bezos shot himself into space — against a backdrop of obscene income disparity in our world and in our city, between the homeless and techie billionaires. It exposed the selfishness of making and keeping for yourself as much as you can of your own life. Bezos even had the audacity to thank his Amazon Prime suckers — of which I am one — for putting him into space. There’s something wrong with this picture. It’s as if Jesus asked the disciples and the crowd, “What do you have? Give it all to me. I’ll keep it and multiply it for myself. And if you’re lucky, you’ll get a few crumbs.” That’s no miracle.
The miracle of our story is that five thousand people discovered what they already had and gave it away, gave it to each other, and none had need. Like the miracle described in the Book of Acts, chapter two, where it says, “Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done among them. And all who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as they had need. Day by day, they spent much time together in the temple, and they broke bread together at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God, and having the good will of all the people.” “And day by day,” Luke says, “the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.” There were more mouths to feed and there was no shortage of food to feed them.
In his book, “The Gift: Imagination and the Erotic Life of Property,” Lewis Hyde describes an old folk tale in which gold only remains gold when it is given away. When kept, when it is hoarded, it turns into coal.
Our gospel reminds us that faith is imagination. Faith is adapting and overcoming, using whatever we have. It takes imagination to take five loaves and two fishes and feed thousands. It takes improvisation. Miracles happen when you remember that faith is not having everything figured out ahead of time. Faith is supple and creative. Within it is the capacity to adapt and overcome in changing circumstances.
What shall we do? Shall we share our lunch to the glory of God and discover that we have far more than we ever thought we had? Or shall we keep it to ourselves, eat our lunch for ourselves and by ourselves, and eventually die alone, irrelevant and forgotten? We are sitting on a treasure. What will we do with it?
The Apostle Paul says, “None of us lives to himself or herself and none of us dies to himself or herself. If we live, we live to the Lord. And if we die, we die to the Lord. So, then, whether we live or whether we die we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ came and died and rose from death, that he might be Lord of both the living and the dead.”
God says to us, “If you’re not going to use your life, do you mind if I borrow it for a while?”
What do you have? Everything. What do you have to lose? Nothing. It all belongs to God. Use what you have. Share your lunch. No telling what God can do, what miracles can happen, when you let go. Amen.