Ten summers ago, while I was in seminary, I worked as a volunteer at the Quincy Crisis Center and helped prepare and serve a daily noon meal for approximately 50 homeless and needy people.

 

There were people like…Tony, a recovering alcoholic in his mid-forties.  I was expecting my son Ian at the time, and Tony acknowledged both my pastoral presence and my pregnancy by calling me "Reverend Mum."  He had recently moved into his own apartment, and his determination to remain sober centered on his realization that – in his words – he "didn't have many more come-backs in him" and that to slip back into a life of alcohol would eventually lead to death.

 

There were people like…Mark, who one lunch hour entertained everyone with an extended jazz concert on the center's piano.  The next day, he arrived late, ill and shaking.  An active heroin addict, he had spent the previous night in the local hospital.  Now, with no place to go, he asked me to call his mother; there was no answer.  I then called his brother; a machine answered.  Alone, sick and without hope, Mark began to sob, and he clung to the arms I wrapped around his shoulders.  He was taken to the local homeless shelter, where he would at least have a clean bed to sleep in that night.  Mark did not return to the noon meal during the remainder of my time at the crisis center, and I prayed that he would achieve some physical well being and inner peace.

 

Then there was Bob, who came to the noon meal only once.  His eyes were red-rimmed and, upon my gentle inquiry, he told me how his two-year-old niece had died the day before while under his care.  Even worse, he blamed himself since his efforts at CPR had been unsuccessful.  He was tormented.  Over the next several days, I searched in vain for a notice about his niece in the obituary section of the local newspaper.  Whether Bob's demons were actual or imagined, they were real enough to him to cause almost unbearable pain.  I often pictured Bob's face, twisted in heartbreak and asked God to hold him gently in his brokenness.

 

The Quincy Crisis Center was heavily reliant on donations from the public.  During my volunteer stint, a local wholesale warehouse consistently provided an ample supply of pies for dessert, and there was often an excess of bread products from local supermarkets.  But we could not just serve bread and pie for lunch; although it would fill the bellies of the clientele, it would not be the nutritious food they needed.  And for many of these people, the noon meal was the only good food – perhaps the only food, period – they would get that day.

 

The center was dependent upon other groups, such as local churches and restaurants, to provide the main dish – or at least the meat and vegetables from which we could put together a tasty and nutritious meal.  It was a continual challenge to coordinate the scheduling of these various donations so that there would be a full and varied offering each day.

 

I can tell you that there were a few times we waited anxiously for a promised donation which did not arrive.  Mahatma Gandhi once said, "To a starving people, the only form in which God can dare appear is in the form of food."

 

And so… what do you do when it's only a few minutes until serving time, and the promised donation has not arrived, and there are fifty people waiting line – and they are hungry?  It was precisely at these times that a miracle would occur.  An onion or two from a drawer.  Some frozen chicken found in the back of the freezer.  Some of that extra bread which could be sliced up and seasoned into stuffing.  Lots of rice.  All the volunteers working together in cooperative, purposeful, concentrated activity.  And voila!  A hearty, nutritious and delicious meal for 50 hungry folks.  Somehow, there was always enough for everyone, and many times, there was enough for second helpings.  Yes, it was a miracle.  God did indeed appear in the form of food.

 

In this morning's Gospel reading, a similar miracle occurs when Jesus feeds the 5,000.  In this story, people have traveled far from their villages to hear Jesus.  He has earned a reputation for his miraculous healings, and they want to see him for themselves.

 

The people who have come don’t realize that Jesus’ presence would be so powerful, his words so compelling, that they would stay far longer than expected to his preaching.  No one has brought food with them – no one, that is, except one young boy who has packed a meal – a snack, really – of five small barley loaves and two small fish.  The fish are probably cold and dried, and the loaves are nothing more than biscuits.

 

Now the people in the crowd could have left Jesus and returned to their villages to eat when the hunger in their bellies became too great.  But they stay because they desire a different kind of food – the better bread that only Jesus can provide, the bread which feeds the hunger in their souls.

 

Jesus does not ask the people in the crowd to ignore their hunger.  He knows that the kind of food he is offering for their souls cannot take the place of the food they need in their bellies.  Jesus understands hunger, and he understands if the crowds don't eat soon, they will be distracted from his teachings.  Food for their bellies will become more important than food for their souls.

 

Jesus says a blessing over the fishes and loaves, and the disciples begin to distribute them to the crowds.  Nobody can describe exactly how it happens, but somehow the food keeps multiplying until there is enough for everyone.  In Jesus' time, it was believed that the Messiah would reveal himself by renewing the miraculous manna that God had given to their ancestors in the wilderness.  In the book of Exodus, we read the story of how Moses led the ancient Hebrews out of Egypt toward the promised land.  During their 40 years of wandering, the Israelites relied on God every day just to survive.  And in their time of hunger, the Lord rained down thick flakes of bread called manna, which each person could gather in the quantity needed.  And it is through the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000 that Jesus reveals himself as the promised Savior, the Son of God.  Jesus points to a better, life-changing meal - himself.  He says, "I am the bread of life.  He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty."

 

Five thousand people come to hear Jesus that day.  And by the time the same 5000 people leave, their lives have been changed forever.  And every day people's lives are changed when they begin to feed on the better bread of Jesus.

 

I have often wondered why only 50 people would come to the Quincy Crisis Center for the noon meal.  Surely, there were more than 50 hungry people in the city of Quincy.  Surely there were many people on fixed incomes, and many single mothers with young children, and many others going through difficult times who could use a free hot, nutritious meal.

 

Perhaps they could not get to the center because they were too ill or had no transportation.  Perhaps they were too proud to take a free handout.  Perhaps they did not want to associate – or be associated – with the kind of people who came for the noon meal.  For whatever reason, they did not feed their bellies with the Crisis Center's food.

 

And similarly, there are people who do not feed their souls with Jesus, people who refuse to recognize the power of God in their lives.  Perhaps they consider themselves successful enough without having God in their lives.  Or perhaps they have known despair or loss or illness in their lives and believe that if there really was a God, they would be spared such misery.  Perhaps they want God to prove God's existence.  "Perform for us, God, and we will have faith.  Make me rich.  Take away my pain.  Give me what I want.  God, do us a miracle and then we will believe."

 

But what many people don't see is that God's miracles are all around us.  We see them, and feel them, and experience them all the time.  We see the majesty of God's creation when we look up and see thousands of stars in the night sky.  We experience God through the people who love and accept us just as we are, warts and all.  We feel God's everlasting arms sustain us during times of loneliness, or suffering, or loss.  We experience God's grace as we are pulled out of an anguished and hopeless despair.  We see God every time we look into the faces of our children. 

 

What keeps you from feeding on the better bread of Jesus?  Are you waiting for God to show you a miracle?  He already has.  Let's celebrate with a feast!  Amen.