The miracle of the fishes and loaves is the only one that all four gospels describe (aside from the empty tomb!), and do so quite consistently: from the content of the meal, to its timing (the spring festival of Passover, many traveling, and green grass), to where it’s situated within the narrative (preceded by John the Baptist’s death and the tiredness from the crowds that demanded healing and required teaching, and followed by the walking on water, to arrive at the shore and do more healing). Mark is considered to be written early, only a few decades after Jesus’ death, whereas the gospel of John we read today was, likely, written as late as in the 2nd century. And so you may notice how much more assertively John presents Jesus’ intentionality in demonstrating his divine nature through the so-called “signs” – not “miracles”, as such events are called in the synoptic gospels. Such nuances aside, every gospel uses this story to remind us of God’s compassion, sacrificial giving, and unity at God’s table. 

Recall that looking for a place to rest, Jesus and the disciples got into a boat, only to encounter the crowd that went on foot to meet them on the opposite shore. Yet again, people asked that he put their needs before his own – and he did, as a symbol of God’s compassion on us all. But then, the day was quickly spent. Jesus took the 5 loaves and 2 fish, gave thanks to God, blessed them, and breaking them into pieces, handed them over to the disciples to distribute. Everyone had enough, with leftovers. Two Passovers later, might the disciples have had a déjà vu, as they gathered for the last supper with their teacher, and then again at Emmaus, where they had a vision of his return from the dead? Two millenia later, do we notice a replication of this miracle every time we have a Eucharist that, come to think of it, follows the same protocol of thanking, blessing, breaking, distributing, and putting the leftovers in the ambry?

Indeed, the narrative is deeply symbolic – “a sign” with many meanings, which echoes several OT stories. Ancient Israelites enjoyed the “bread of heaven,” a shower of manna every morning in the wilderness. Likewise, Elija sustained the widow and her son by multiplying oil and flour; Elisha fed 100 men with 5 barley loaves with leftovers; and 12 loaves that sat on the shrine altar were enough for the whole of David’s band. Maybe, the 5 loaves point to the books of Moses; possibly, barley is the first grain harvested in the spring, as Jesus is the first fruit of the new creation; perhaps, 12 baskets of leftovers represent both the tribes of Israel and disciples; the fish get their lives from the water, as we do from the waters of baptism; the green grass is where the Good Shepherd leads us for sustenance and rest in Psalm 23… Those who wrote down the story of Jesus’ life compiled spoken anecdotes passed down over the decades, and synthesized their belief in Jesus from the blend of Greek philosophy and Jewish religion. As a result, in the gospel of John in particular, we arrive at the Word who became flesh and dwelt among us, and yet at the same time was a prophet like Moses, Elijah and Elisha, a king like David, and a priest like Melchizedek. But if it was all about validating Jesus in the context of ancient Judaism, wouldn’t he be said to have arranged for the manna to rain down on these multitudes? But he wasn’t.

He did not make “something out of nothing,” and only used the agency of his friends, showing that God works signs and miracles through ordinary objects and people such as ourselves. We might give freely of what God has already given us, but we are limited; as a result, this life’s miracles tend to appear pretty ordinary as well. Here, the meal was only what they ate every day (not even wine), and the ingredients were no more – but also no less! – than what the little boy had on him. Some people might not have even noticed this miracle, and the boy was probably scared and sad to see his food taken away. Or maybe, he was used to it, as many are in our broken world, reminding us that even the vulnerable, weak, small, and powerless have enough for God to work a miracle through them, abundantly, for all others. Note that Jesus didn’t instruct his followers to keep what they needed and give away the leftovers, but instead to take what God gives – which, to begin with, comes from the depth of your lunchbox… I mean, your self! – and distribute it among others.

We all have enough to give back to God, don’t we, so that God’s table may be set. This is a powerful metaphor for the love with which God heals, feeds, and transforms us, for others. Any and all of us – the multitude who might not normally be seen together, and yet now sits on the grass (pews?), shares bread (communion?), and talks about the different ways in which we experience God’s healing and teaching. Perhaps, the feedings of the multitudes were just like every one of our own potlucks, where food always comes through, despite the empty sign up sheets over the preceding weeks. Or, like our communion rail, where people of all colours, ages, backgrounds, gather to receive the same bread. The real miracle was not that Jesus could feed a multitude with a small lunch, but rather that God is willing to unify an infinite number of diverse people by grace alone. May we appreciate and give thanks for all the everyday miracles, invite people to our own table, and put their needs before our own. Thanks be to God.

Reflection Questions

1. What strikes you as important about this story, and what symbols do you recognize? 
2. When you eat, do you think of your food as a gift from God? 
3. In what ways are you helping to “feed” people, physically or spiritually, and do you think of this as your participation in the work of God’s kingdom?