The profound feeding miracle had now taken place; the Five Thousand were fed by Jesus with a little boy’s gift of five barley loaves and two small fish. Jesus had “eucharized” the loaves, he gave thanks over them, and all the crowd had been satisfied. As the crowd had eaten their full, more than their full, they turned toward Jesus and wanted to make him their king. So the Lord fled away from that place and sought refuge upon a high mountain.
But the “chase scene” was not over. The crowd was joined by other small boats from Tiberias and they sought him back up at Capernaum. But Jesus had moved by boat away to the other side of the shore of the Lake. The intense “king makers” followed and soon they were back near where it had all started. The place where Jesus had provided the crowd with the eucharistic meal. It is there, after all the jostling around, back and forth across the Lake, that the crowd and Jesus come together again. Speaking as with one voice, the crowd asks Jesus, “Rabbi, when did you get here?” But that is a way of putting their question that is too packed with dailyness.
What they really ask Jesus, literally, is “When here have you come?” or When did you come to be here?” And that question cannot be answered by a tick-tock kind of response. We are here in the story of the Gospel of John, and such a
question needs a vast, even cosmic reply. In this Gospel, the answer to that
question is at the heart of the whole mystery of the Incarnation, of the Word
becoming flesh, of God’s eternal Word pitching its tent amid our habitation.
Remember?
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his
glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of
grace and truth. (John 1:14, NIV)
As one scholar commented, “the question asks Jesus about his relationship with
creation itself.” 1 And the depth of that question is answered in creeds and hymns,
in the homilies of the Church Fathers, and in the prayers of the Mass. In between
the Blessing of the Loaves and Fish and this new conversation between the crowd
and Jesus, the disciples attempted their own sea crossing. It did not go well. There
in the darkness, alone in their little boat, the storm had risen up against them and
they were terrified. Then they saw Jesus striding across the sea, coming towards
them. Now, even deeper fear filled them. It was one thing to drown in this storm;
it was another to even comprehend who their rabbi really was, as he come across
the waves, as the Lord of the cosmos. Then Jesus utters the name of the Most
High. Do not be afraid, he tells them. “It is I.” The Holy One, “I am.”
But the crowds had not been aboard during the night on that sea crossing. Instead, they were huddled in a bunch of small boats, keeping in to the shore. So they did not hear the Word, the revelation that Jesus is the I am. Maybe that is why they ask this question in such an odd way. Of course, we live on the midst of dear people who also have not been in the ship of the church with Jesus. And they, too, doubt, and even willfully disbelieve. (And what kind of joyful shock it will be as they come to inquiring faith and then to their own sea crossing in the waters of their baptism. They no longer ask, “When did you come to be here.” Instead, they confess Jesus as Lord and Savior of the world.
Again, there is a rather confused back and forth between Jesus and the crowd. The issue now is not as much when Jesus came to be here, but why the crowd was here. On one hand, Jesus insists that they were looking for him in order
to come about some more free food. Ironically, the crowd change its tune and
demands, “What sign can you do, that we may see and believe in you?” These
people want a sign so powerful that they can then decide to believe in Jesus. But
we become confused a bit. Isn’t this mostly the same crowd that followed Jesus to
the place where he “eucharized” the bread and fed them with the loaves and fishes, we ask? Wasn’t that a profound enough sign for most everyone present to now fully believe in him? Why would any further sign be needed, unless Jesus repeat the loaves and fishes meal a day later? But the only explanations that make sense are that this people, like their ancestors in the wilderness, have become terribly forgetful and even fractious. (Moses had to endure all their complaints after the God of Israel had led them forth out of slavery in Egypt!) But it seems that a chronic forgetfulness, even a kind of amnesia, can infect the children of God. Over and over, we tend to forget God’s promises and God’s grace.
Some may forget the abundant grace and present of Christ in the sacraments
and be drawn away by the purveyors of the prosperity gospel. “Name it; claim it,” they say.
Others move away from life together in Christ and seek their happiness in
some very personal “spiritual” quest. Our own wants and desires are now
the center around which all must orbit. And we forget the riches of
sacramental life in community.
There are others who gradually let the political ideologies of our day take the
place of Christian faith. Here, the spirit of the age decides what parts of
Catholic faith can be retained or easily let go. This form of forgetfulness is
perhaps the worse, since the world’s causes and programs oversee which
parts of the Apostolic faith we may retain or cancel.
(The preacher may want to add another example of such “amnesia” that is
tempting the parish.)
So the crowd comes up to Jesus, still full from the feast of the loaves and fishes,
and demands a sign in order for them to believe in him. You get the idea that,
really, no sign will be enough. It will be forgotten anyway, and then a new demand
for signs will be heard.
The conversation between the crowd and Jesus now shifts to a comparison
between that manna meal the Hebrews had in the Wilderness under Moses and the eucharistic meal most of them had just enjoyed with Jesus. “Our ancestors ate
manna in the desert,” they say. They are playing “Who’s the greatest? Moses or
Jesus?” The Lord responds, “It was not Moses who gave the bread from heaven.”
No, “my Father gives you the true bread from heaven.” While the tradition of
God’s provision of the people of Israel in the desert must never be forgotten, the
difference between the crowd and Jesus is all about whether a community will be
grounded solely in the past or be opened to the leading of the Spirit in the present and the future.
Pope Francis has spoken again and again about the need for the church to
become inculturated. “God’s gift becomes flesh in the culture of those who
receive it” 2 And we see video coverage of a Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica
celebrating, for example, the Catholic faithful in the Congo, with language
and vestments and song and even dance that are the face of Catholic faith for
the Congolese. We even might begin to feel the drum beat of the song in our
whole being, and we are blessed by the culture of those faithful people.
Here is the good news, for now and for all our futures. Jesus himself is the true
bread from heaven. “The bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” And this good news in Christ extends to all the world.
The crowd does responds to Jesus with a positive request. “Give us this bread always.” There is a request here that seems authentic. They want to receive
Jesus as the bread of heaven. But there is an interesting parallel with the story in
John’s Gospel about the Woman at the Well. There, the woman says, “Sir, give me
this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming back here to draw water.” In both, there is what seems to be a change in heart and understanding, requesting Jesus “living water” or his “bread from heaven.” Still, a question gnaws at us: Did both make the request based on such concerns as to draw or not to draw water or to continue or not to continue to receive free food in the wilderness?
Happily, we know that the woman at the well did drink of the living water that is
Jesus Christ. Many of the Samaritans, we are told, believed in Jesus because of her
testimony. But with the crowd asking for the bread of heaven, we are not so sure.
In fact, St. John seems to intentionally keep us in suspense. The problem is that
Kyrios in Greek can either mean “Sir” or “Lord.” If they meant “Sir” then they are
looking out for themselves and their real and felt needs. Bu if they are addressing
Jesus by his rightful name, “Lord,” then everything is about to change for them.
They will be called to provide bread for the poor themselves and they will eagerly
come to the Eucharist with glad and joyful hearts. For those still locked into a
“Sir” reality, it is more self-satisfaction that is sought. And the world knows how
to exploit those who live in this world. Almost every commercial on tv offers
individuals better styles of living, better health, better food and drink, the list goes
on. All are sold to us, day after day. But if we have been welcomed into the faith
of the church and know Jesus as Lord, everything changes. We are baptized into
one Body, the Body of Christ, and we are led on a faith journey as the people of
God. And we gather at this Feast to enjoy God’s peace and the feeding of our
Good Shepherd.
So we hear our Lord’s words once again. “I am the bread of life; whoever
comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.
Amen. Come Lord Jesus.
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