Today’s questions are for those of you who watch television. You may not want to admit it, but if you do, you can raise your hand to answer the first one. The question is: how many of you watch so-called “reality” shows on tv? Well, if you have, maybe you can think about my next question for today, which is: just what do we mean by “reality?” Does Survivor or any of the other programs that deal with “real” people – do they show us what “reality” is?
We once said “reality” could be summed up in that old phrase: “seeing is believing”. But now days, many aren’t as sure, not when we deal with “reality” shows and “virtual reality.” Well, ancient peoples, whether they were Hebrews or Romans or Greeks, also had questions about reality. But their answer was slightly different from ours. For them, reality was what actually existed even if they couldn’t see it. In our modern skepticism we ask: well, if you can’t see it, how do you know it exists? If you can’t weigh it, or touch it, or measure it in some way, how do you know it really exists?
The Greeks asked the same question, too. Their conclusion was there are signs which point toward what is real. The signs exist. They are able to be seen. These signs point towards a higher reality that cannot be seen. At least this was the conclusion philosophers reached.
But what about ordinary people like you and me? They saw things, just like we do. And sometimes in their seeing, their looking, they missed the reality. They mistook the signs as being what is real. That’s, of course, what today’s gospel is all about: mis-reading the “signs.” Which leads me to another question: what is the sign and what is the reality of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes? Is it a sign of the reality of God’s power? Or is it, perhaps, a sign of our trust in God and God’s trust in us?
Our reading for today actually began last Sunday when the people followed Jesus and his disciples to a deserted place. The people had pursued Jesus because of the signs he was performing. They saw him cure the sick. They saw this as the power of God. They, too, wanted to be cured of their physical ailments, healed in their twisted legs and blind eyes.
Jesus thought he and his companions might escape the demands of the crowds for a little while and crossed the Sea of Galilee in a fishing boat. But the crowds followed them along the seashore. They wanted more. More cures. More healings. At least, that’s what they thought they wanted. For them, the reality was what Jesus could do to heal their physical bodies.
But what about Jesus? What did he perceive their reality to be? He looked at them and knew they hungered. At first, we might think he saw their physical hunger. But what he really saw was their spiritual starvation. Have you ever thought about how this story begins? It’s such a familiar story, this multiplication of the five barley loaves and two dried fish, we sometimes fail to read between the lines. Just like the Hebrews, we see the bread and fish and fail to see the “signs” of the story.
First of all, was it the people who demanded to be fed? Did someone come running up to Jesus to tell him the crowds are turning ugly, if we don’t give them a free hand-out, they’re going to turn on us? I don’t see anything like that in the gospel John has given us. No – it was Jesus who saw the crowds and asked Philip, his disciple: “Where can we buy enough food for them to eat?” Jesus, himself, recognized the need of the people for nourishment even before they realized they were hungry. And although he proposed a worldly solution in his question – going out and buying food from the villages – John tells us Jesus knew this is not what he needed to do.
What about Philip? This disciple seemed to take Jesus at his word about buying food and pointed out something that Jesus, no doubt, already knew: they did not have enough money to do it. How many times have I been like Philip when Jesus asks me to do something? When my answer is: I don’t have enough time, enough talent, enough money to do what you want. And, so, with a variety of excuses, I never begin.
And then there is Andrew. What was his response? Well, Lord, it isn’t much, but there’s this kid with some bread and fish. And what did Jesus do? He took what was offered, as little as it might seem, and he blessed it and gave it to them. Have there been times when Jesus has asked me to do something and my response has been: Lord, it’s not much, but it’s a start. My fear is that most of the time I’m more like Philip than I am like Andrew.
We know how the story ends. Or at least we think we do. The disciples gather up the leftovers so that nothing would be wasted and found that they filled twelve baskets. It’s no wonder that, when the people saw what had happened, they were amazed. They had seen a new sign and thought they had seen a new reality. Immediately, they wanted to carry Jesus off and make him their king. What better person to have as a king than someone who could perform a miracle like that. You’d never have to work again, there would always be a free hand-out of food. But, Jesus seeing they had mis-read the sign, fled away from them to go to the mountain alone. No doubt to pray.
If the crowds had mis-read the sign they saw, is there a chance we, too, might mis-read it as well. Are we much better at reading signs than the Jewish crowds were? Some hear this story and take it at face value. Jesus overcame natural law and every time a piece of bread was torn off, or a piece of fish was taken, a new piece miraculously grew back to replace it. Many say it, indeed, happened that way. There was a physical miracle. However, for a moment, I’d like for us to reflect on another aspect of what Eucharist might be.
What I want to reflect about during the next few minutes does have to do with Eucharist. However, I won’t be talking about the reality of the Body and Blood of Christ under the appearance of bread and wine. During the next four weeks, there will be other opportunities to address this topic, as we listen to the continuation of John’s Gospel about the Bread of Life. Instead, let’s look more closely at another reality of this sign of the multiplication of the loaves, at another reality of what Eucharist is.
Some bible scholars point out that the Jews who came to hear Jesus were no fools. These scholars say no one in his right mind would go out for a day to hear this new prophet without taking along some food. Each person, or each family, had brought along a loaf of bread, some dried figs, or a piece of dried fish. And Jesus, also not being a fool, knew this. So, what did he have them do?
First of all, he did not tell them to line up for a hand-out. Instead, he asked them to recline. To lie down just as they would at home for a meal. After all it was an ancient custom among the Mediterranean people of that time to recline for a meal. It showed they were safe and among friends. No one would lie down among strangers, among enemies. To recline was a sign of fellowship. And so, they did.
And what happened next? According to some bible scholars, the people began to share their food with one another. These interpreters say the miracle Jesus performed was this: having heard him talk about God, about his Father, about how they should love one another, these people were now willing to share with one another the food they had. For these scholars, the miracle of the loaves and fishes is not a story about how Jesus miraculously made bread and fish reproduce itself, but rather how his love caused these people, these strangers, to see one another as friends and companions and share their own sustenance with one another. For some, then, the sign which is shown by this miracle is not the power of Jesus overcoming the natural laws of physical bread and fish but, perhaps, the greater miracle of how strangers, hearing of God’s love, can share with one another.
Yet, there is another related sign I’d like for us to reflect upon for a moment. And that is the sign of trust. If you believe the bread and fish were miraculously reproduced, consider the level of trust Jesus had in his Father to begin the task of feeding over five-thousand people. And if you believe the love shown by Jesus caused the people to share their meager food, consider the amount of trust Jesus had in God and in the people to bring about this sharing.
Trust in God is an ancient miracle. The Israelites trusted in God when Yahweh told them: I will be your God, and you will be my people. Jesus taught them a new trust: trust in Abba, our Father. He loves you as a parent. You are his children. Children are born to trust. Think for a moment just how trusting a child is: an infant trusts that a mother or father will provide food and warmth and a toddler trusts that a parent will not let go of a hand held for support.
But somewhere along the way, we learn not to trust. Teenagers don’t trust that parents really know what might be best for them. And parents don’t trust that their children, when left to their own devices, will continue to follow what their parents have taught. A spouse no longer trusts that the partner will remain faithful. A boss does not trust that an employee will perform the tasks which are assigned. One race or group of people does not trust the intentions of another. One nation does not trust the good will of another.
And so, it goes. We start as innocent, trusting individuals. We end up as divided political countries. What happened to us? Perhaps we need to go back to Philip and to Andrew. Philip who said: there is not enough, it is pointless to begin. And Andrew who said: it’s not much, but it’s a start. Maybe this is what trust is: the ability to make a start, even if you’re not sure how it will end. Trust recognizes the uncertainty of the future but does not stay frozen in either the past or the present. Each one of us is given the chance to be a sign of trust. A sign to the world that God does exist, that Abba loves each one of us.
I began by asking questions about reality, about what is real, about what is a sign of reality. I would conclude by asking whether each one of us is real. Am I a sign of God’s love? Do I trust God enough to begin to change my life? Do I trust God enough to share what I have with others? Am I Philip or am I Andrew?
Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time; July 24, 1988; revised July 27, 2003
2 Kg 4:42-44; Eph 4:1-6; Jn 6:1-15