Delivered via YouTube on 8/2/2020.
Matthew 14:13-21
1
A familiar story, eh? Jesus feeds 5,000 hungry men—and however many women and children happened to be present! Probably some dogs too.
But what’s the point here? That Jesus can do miracles? That God has abundant compassion on people who follow Jesus? What do you think Matthew is trying to teach us through the story of this miracle?
So . . . it follows right on the heels of two other stories.
In the first, which completes Chapter 13, Jesus went to his patris, his hometown; and there was rejected. “Is this not the carpenter’s son?” his homies asked, as if to justify their rejection.
And in the second, which begins Chapter 14, John the Baptist was beheaded for rebuking Herod Antipas, that figurehead of Rome.
The first thing we hear in today’s Gospel is that Jesus withdraws from Nazareth to a deserted place in order to be alone.
Jesus was probably feeling inadequate: he’d been rejected by his hometown.
Jesus was probably grieving too: over the execution of his cousin.
But a sizable crowd followed him; a crowd hoping to hear more of his teachings.
Are you seeing any contrasts here? From Nazareth, a town buzzing with people, to a deserted, lonely place? Rejected by one crowd but followed by another? Jesus grieving while Herod rejoices? Herod throwing a lavish banquet, yet today’s crowd has no food whatsoever?
Let’s not lose sight of this context of contrast because of the fantastic account of the miracle.
Why does the story of the miracle follow on the heels of these other two stories?
2
For the answer, we go back one more story, to the beginning of Chapter 13.
There, before JB’s execution and before Nazareth rejected Jesus, we find another boat in which Jesus sat. Jesus got into that boat, Matthew says, pushed out a little from the shore, and began to teach the gathered crowd.
Now it’s not a contrast but a parallel. Do you see it?
Today, again, Jesus gets into a boat; and today, again, a great crowd has gathered to hear him.
It’s as if Matthew is telling us—ding! ding! ding!—that was Part 1; this is Part 2. Pay attention!
The first time Jesus got into a boat, he taught the crowd about the kingdom of heaven. Today, Jesus sees the gathered crowd and, forgetting about his own grief; forgetting about his own feelings of inadequacy, has compassion on the people—such abundant compassion, in fact, that twelve basketfuls are left over.
KoH taught; KoH enacted; and rejection and violence in between.
It seems pretty clear to me—I hope it does to you too:
- From that first boat, Jesus taught what the KoH was like—a mustard seed, yeast in a batch of dough, and so on;
- Followed by a picture of how the kingdom of this world operates—rejection and violence from the established social hierarchy;
- And now, today, from a second boat, Matthew returns to the KoH.
But today, in this story of the feeding of the 5,000, rather than teaching about it again Jesus shows us what the KoH is like:
It stands in stark contrast to the earthly realm.
3
Now, allow me to bring this comparison-and-contrast between the KoH and the earthly realm into our time and space.
I’ve been doing a good deal of personal anti-racism work over the last decade. Some of it has been intentional—active work—and some passive.
This work began in earnest in Sewanee, while I was a graduate student. One of the deans, a self-proclaimed angry Black man, told me I was racist.
“But I grew up on the west coast,” I protested, “in southern California. Southern U. S. history has never been on my radar. In fact, I grew up with several Black and Mexican friends. I like to think of myself as colorblind.”
“O Timothy,” he countered, “the fact that you are so unaware of racism and its effects in our country proves that you come from a place of privilege.”
A moment’s reflection and I knew he was right. “Okay, then,” I said, “I am unaware; and I don’t want to be. Teach me.”
Some years later I became the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Yuma, where I inherited a fledgling Latino Congregation, Iglesia San Pablo.
In the beginning, admittedly, I approached this out of the goodness of my heart, as a service to those special people. However—thank God!—after three years of working alongside my Latino brothers and sisters, listening to what they had to say, and otherwise seeing life through their eyes, I became a part of “those special people.”
Incidentally, over those three years the ASA in the Latino congregation went from 8 to 35, with fully half of that number being under 18 years of age. All the baptisms and confirmations happened there—new life!
Anyway, to return to my point, while in Yuma what I saw with respect to White supremacy over the Latinx world would make your skin crawl.
And, to be honest, I’m seeing the same thing now, in Tucson.
That’s what the people who talk about it mean when they say systemic racism.
4
I have a friend named Tweedy. We know each other from my time in Yuma. She’s a Methodist minister who also happens to be Navajo.
Presently, Tweedy lives in Shiprock, New Mexico, where she is a pastor to the Navajo Nation. She and I shared a phone conversation this week about her new ministry.
Sadly, after being granted land in 1868, the Navajo Nation has been largely forgotten or ignored by our government. The roads are in poor condition. Trash litters the towns, highways, and byways. Internet service, where it exists at all, is still mostly dial-up (if you can believe it). Medical resources are few and far between (felt especially keenly during this pandemic). Many who live on the reservation do not have running water in their homes.
So, Tweedy tells me that birth defects in Tuba City, Arizona are especially high per capita and have been so for the past few decades. When pressed by me as to why, she surmised that it likely has to do with the abandoned uranium mines in the area, the tailings of which have never been properly abated since the mining companies closed up and moved away some years ago.
Somewhat shocked, I did a personal web search to follow up; and I learned—well, let me read just the first paragraph of an EPA report from September, 2018 (https://www.epa.gov/sites/production/files/2018-09/documents/western_aum_regional_fact_sheet-2018-09-18.pdf):
USEPA, in partnership with Navajo Nation EPA (NNEPA), has identified 523 AUMs [Abandoned Uranium Mines] on the Navajo Nation. Of these 523 AUMs, 46 mines were identified as “priority mines” based on radiation levels, proximity to homes, and potential for water contamination.
The Navajo Nation—like Latinxs (especially near the Mexican border) and Black Lives (especially in the south)—has been treated unjustly by our nation’s socioeconomic system; a system that has made it very difficult to get ahead in this world, or even to break out of cycles of poverty.
Plain and simple: whether we see it or not, systemic racism is real.
5
Well, as we know already, systemic racism is only one of many social injustices that abound in today’s world.
They abounded in Jesus’ world too—in the established hierarchical Roman system of government; and in the established social pecking order of hometowns.
All social injustices, whether obvious or hidden, are based upon domination: one group of people establishing and maintaining superiority over all other groups, because of race, gender, social status, or some other difference.
KoH stands in stark contrast to these.
Jesus saw the vast crowd. All of them were hungry.
Jesus then had compassion upon them all. Equally.
And he called his disciples to act on that compassion.
We are called today to act on Jesus’ compassion, to work towards bringing an end to social injustices like systemic racism; to work towards equity.
Oh, but where do we start? It feels so overwhelming!
Yes, it is overwhelming. Systemic racism is, well, uh, systemic. But look once more to the Gospel.
Called to act, Jesus’ disciples looked out at the vast crowd and said, “Ugh! We have nothing, only some bread crumbs and a few sardines. We’ll never be able to feed so many people!”
And, called to act today, we look out at the injustices around us; and we pray, “But what can we do, Jesus, with so little?”
The good news is that, when we take a stand against the overwhelming established social order, our small actions spread like yeast throughout a large batch of dough, imperceptibly at first, so slowly we don’t even notice, until one day we do, in little ways at first, then bigger, bit by bit, until, at last, there’s leaven enough for a lavish feast.
Society has been fed and satisfied. We look around, smiling. Amazingly, twelve basketfuls are left over!
Christ’s compassion acted upon yields abundance.
Vivens in sacerdotium 