More Where That Came From
Between the physical and the spiritual of five thousand fed
When Jesus heard about the death of John the Baptist, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” Jesus said to them, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” They replied, “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” And he said, “Bring them here to me.” Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and blessed and broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And all ate and were filled, and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.
Matthew 14:13-21
I saw The Odyssey last week, perhaps the most famous ancient story in Western civilization (if you want to feel how old it is, consider that Pontius Pilate would have learned this story when he was a schoolboy when it was over 700 years old). Even if we’ve never seen the movie or read the specifics, we know its fantastic imagery: the cyclops, the sirens, witches and spells. But for all its mythical elements, it resonates not because the plot points are that fascinating, but because there is more to it than these fantastic elements, which are symbolic stand-ins for the dynamics we face across a human life. But also, The Odyssey is so foundational because it’s even simpler than these: the guy just wants to go home. And that’s powerful not because we think Ithaca itself is so great, but because we know “going home” means more than simply returning to a physical place.
Our gospel reading today is far simpler. There’s no sea monsters here, just fish; no spells, just bread. And even more popular than the story of Odysseus fighting monsters is a story of leftovers.
Right before our story, Matthew tells us of a different feast more fit for The Odyssey, king Herod’s violent banquet, lavish in its excess with far more than what those who were there needed. The last dish of the night was gruesome, the head of the prophet John the Baptist who told him that he could not have his brother’s wife. And so in our story today, Jesus had just seen his friend John die to political persecution by a king who didn’t like hearing that he couldn’t just do whatever he wanted to.
So Jesus goes to be by himself, maybe sad, maybe anxious, we don’t know, but we know that as he saw people yearning for healing, he “had compassion for them” and cured all who were sick. But they were still hungry. And when his disciples turned to Jesus asking him to help them, he said, “You feed them.” And perhaps like we may look at the massive problems in the world in 2026, then swivel our heads back to Jesus, and say but Lord, look at our budget, look at our “human resources,” look at how limited and tired and busy we are. The disciples said, “We’ve tallied it all up and we have enough to make about ten tiny fish sandwiches.” So Jesus blesses and breaks the bread like he would on the night of his arrest, gives it back to his disciples, and says, “No, really, you feed them.” And all ate. And all were filled.
We don’t even know how exactly it worked out with the twelve baskets being passed around the crowd that day, just that when the disciples thought they needed to live in a scarcity mentality, with this simple man Jesus, there was somehow more where that came from. And they learned that we have all been conscripted into his miracles. We are not merely to be bystanders who are Jesus cheerleaders, but Jesus is handing us the basket back and saying, “Feed my sheep.”
I’ve seen us do it here in this church, I’ve seen us do it here in this community: somehow, by faith, there is more where that came from and more than the sum of our parts. But also, just like no great story is just a story, and the cyclops is not just a cyclops, and the bread and the fish are not just bread and fish, they point to something more. Likewise, when (for example) the Barton Hub has their Thursday meals to provide food for anyone who wants to show up that day, there is something more happening than just food to plate to mouth. But also, it’s not less than that. You don’t just tell people that they are symbolically a community. You feed them real food.
In his miracles, he isn’t only concerned with physical sight, but spiritual sight. He isn’t concerned only with the spiritually poor, but the people who are materially poor. Like everything in Jesus’ ministry, our story today points not just to the physical world or the spiritual world, but both at the same time. It points to the communion feast that he would first share with his brothers and sisters in which he invites us again to feast in today, the spiritual Eucharist that is also real bread and the real fruit of the vine.
God came as Jesus in the fullness of demonstrating what his people always knew, that signs and symbols and spirit only come to fulfillment when they are grounded in the tangible, physical, flesh and bones world. Jesus is the bread of life not only as a metaphor, but because his people eat. And when there was leftover bread in those baskets after being passed around to thousands, it was not a simple lesson in miraculous physics or the virtues of sharing, but a different abundance.
This left such a mark on his disciples that it is one of the only stories that all four gospels tell. John tells us in his gospel that he doesn’t have time to tell you all the miracles and things Jesus did, but that he’s giving us a representative sample to show the different sides of who Jesus was: the man who transforms us, like water to wine; the man who heals us and restores us, who gives sight to the blind, who never saw a storm he couldn’t master, who raises us from the dead, and even though it is not a physical miracle, who challenged the self-righteous to cast a stone, and a woman condemned to death instead lived forgiven.
And then we hear this story, because if there are things you need to know about Jesus that you can count on two hands, reserve one of your fingers to remember that our God is a God of abundance. There is always more where that came from. God will not just provide the maximum physically possible, but life in Christ sometimes means that things happen that defy what “possible” even means.
That’s why this story has resonated far more than a man who beats monsters by his own strength and cunning. Even if we or our friends or family members doubt whether or not these miracles happened, they would not have been told had the disciples not been shaken deep in their soul that something happened with this Jesus man that changes everything we thought was possible. This was so much bigger than bread and fish. They didn’t have burning hearts to tell people about one weird afternoon. Their hearts burned to spread the good news: there is so much more than where this life came from. God is more than just a disembodied figure, he is a God who is really here. And because he is really here, he wants us to play a real part of his love in the world. And if you are afraid that there is just not enough to go around, that there is not enough to give, be not afraid, this is a kingdom that grows from the smallest seeds to cover the world until all eat and are filled.
Our actions are more than just our actions; our physical actions have spiritual consequences, and our spiritual life has physical manifestations. We learn the fullness of the relationship between flesh and spirit by learning who God is in Jesus Christ. In Jesus, our God revealed that he is more than a presence that lives in heaven, but a man who lives here. He’s more than a man who lived here, but a presence who reigns in heaven and our hearts through the Holy Spirit. Jesus is more than just a prophet, more than a king, more than a priest, more than any of these human categories. He is more than a brother, more than a friend, more than a rabbi. He’s more than the word “he” or any name you could put words to, but if you had to name him, it would be Yeshua, “God saves.”
In all this world that needs the love of God more than ever, we who call ourselves members of Christ’s body have been given the opportunity to show those who don’t know it: there is always more where that came from.
You think you are out of options? Nope—there is more where that came from.
You think you found the bottom of the basket? Nope—there’s more where that came from.
You think you found the bottom of God’s grace? Nope—there’s more where that came from.
Even in our darkest nights, when there are no words of comfort to be heard, there is still a quiet whisper of something more. I once saw a mother in a hospital late at night hear the news that her teenage son had been shot in a drive-by shooting, and her wail is still in my ears. Every day there are thousands if not millions of horrible things that there is nothing any of us humans can really say. It is only in faith that we can stand in the darkness where light has just been extinguished and say there is somehow more light that will come.
And this will be true when you find yourself going home like Odysseus, worn and weary at the end of your adventures. In Jesus Christ, you can look at the stories of your life like a collection of baskets, with whatever bread and fish you’ve got, and look to God. “Is that all there is, Lord?” No, beloved, there is even more where that came from. Amen.
