Food

*In light of Thanksgiving, a few reflections on a feast, the feeding of the 5,000!

Judean hillside. Long day of teaching from a new rabbi, a different rabbi--Jesus. The disciples go up to him, "Teacher, the crowds are hungry..." Come, let's mingle with the crowd on that hot Israeli day.

Jonah in the crowd: I shifted my feet, trying to ignore the rumbles in my belly. Shifted noticeably. Bumped into my buddy, Obadiah. But he seemed oblivious. Wrapped up. Intent on the rabbi’s words. I was just getting hungry and it was a long trek back. Food? Gone. Water? Low. My work in the fields? Piling up. The rabbi paused; I seized the opportunity to jab my elbow into Obadiah’s scrawny side. Didn’t he have any stomach? Maybe that was why he was so skinny. Um, isn’t your wife expecting you at home? Isn’t it kind of a long journey home? Obadiah turned, shook his head, wiped the sweat off of his brow. Home? Go? Food? Huh? He was firedly energetic as if strengthened by the words of the rabbi. Spouting off the rabbis teachings. Did you hear? What do you think? Could this be? I just shook my head and rubbed my belly. Maybe I’d see if a stranger would make the journey home with me. I glanced around at the other dark-haired Jewish heads, hair glistening in the hot sun. The crowd was shifting, settling, sitting in groups. Obadiah yanked on my robe, “The rabbi says to sit.” Sit? Why? My stomach roared at the farther delay and my lower lip stuck out a little. But sat I did. And then the food was passed out. Bread. Fish. Ripping into it. Grateful. Satisfied. Where it came from, don’t know. It was a lot of food. But gosh, stomach was glad.

Mark, Jonah's friend in the crowd: We had come, zealots we were. Inspired. Fascinated by this rabbi’s teachings. And then—he fed the people. Food! For the hungry! Could Moses do greater! Look at the miracle! The power! Crown him! Crown him!!! Now, now! He could supply an army with bread. Supply us with bread. And surely if he can do that, he can do more. Could this be the Messiah come in power?!

From AD 1386 - Jesus Feeding the 5000

Andrew the disciple: My jaw dropped. Thanks and then—baskets and baskets, it just kept coming, kept giving. I had feared an angry, grumpy hungry crowd. Then weariness lifts, excitement, thrill. Adrenaline rush of power! My God, who was this man? Bread from nothing! Creator ex nihilo! Manna! But then…. Then he kept talking. This bread is my flesh. I am the bread of the world. As the adrenaline settled and his teaching continued, as the bread begin to sit satisfying heavy in our stomachs, mine began to churn with anxiety again. The crowd… They began to grumble. Leave. Throw angry glances. Jesus, enough! Quiet now. You’re confusing them. Surely you don’t mean…. We don’t get this, and they don’t get it. From Rabbi to Hero and now Reject. Why? Why this confusing teaching? Surely you don’t mean we eat your flesh….. Why turn the people against you? From hotshot to hated?

Tovia in the crowd: I had come already weary. My hand had been crushed as a stone mason, leaving me jobless, able to only be a dayworker for odd jobs to try to feed my family. I had heard of this rabbi who healed, made the long journey from my village to see him. Unable to get close enough to him to find healing, but what he said made my soul stir. I fed on his words. Forget my hand. Something, something. I was drawn. When my hand was crushed, I didn’t cry in the pain. I bit my lip, muffled the scream. When the doctor tried to set it, I didn’t cry, held back the tears. When the flour ran out and I had to glean, I didn’t cry. When the oil was gone and I went hungry so my kids could eat that night, I didn’t cry. No tears. But now, his words poured up and pushed tears out of my soul. Wept. Unabashed. I was fed by his words; didn’t recognize my stomach grumbling, already having come with an empty purse. But then he lifted up his hands. The breeze caught his words and carried his thanks to the edges of the crowd. And then he fed us. Physically. Body as well as soul feasted. I sat and chewed the bread thoughtfully. When he lifted up his hands to give thanks, poised lifted up against the sky, did I see a tear slip down his cheek? Was this giving a sacrifice? Was he the bread I was hungry for?

Jonah saw nothing.

Mark saw power.

Andrew was confused.

Tovia saw Jesus.

One miracle.

Who do we see?
When I get up in the morning and the sun greets me? When a prayer is answered? When a prayer is not answered? Do I see it as normal, as attributable to natural laws, doctors? Confusion, doubt, anger? Or do I see Jesus? And my friends? Confronted with the same beauty of spring, the same answers, who do they see? Who does my mouth point them to? 

Who do we need? Who will we let him be? 
Will we let him place us in such a place of need that we see him? Will we let him ravish us of all so we can be ravished by him? Will we truly let the hunger pains rip through us or will we placate them with the little pleasures, our rational explanations? Will we let Jesus be the dangerous God who changes all? Jonah went away with his world still in order, explained. Mark let with the same view of the world. Andrew and Tovia--Jesus rocked their world, beautifully, dangerously. Nothing was the same. Each new bite, each new provision, changed. Will we let him rock us so?

Oh, let us see Jesus, each breath, each bite! Jesus, I want to see you more!