Written on July 25, 2008

[For the August 3 2008 lectionary: Matthew 14:13-21]

NOTHING TO SOMETHING by Larry Patten

Only one miracle—count ‘em, one—unfolds in each of the four Gospels.

Matthew. Mark. Luke. John. You do your own laborious Biblical research, but you’ll come to the same conclusion as me (and everyone else). Only the feeding of the crowd has parallels in all four Gospels.

Was the feeding a miracle?

First answer: we don’t know. The Gospels are not neutral, facts-only-ma’am history books. The accounts were biased and written two or three generations after Jesus’ ministry. We have no idea what actually, precisely, happened.

Second answer: it’s all completely true. After all, darn it, it’s the Bible. And if it’s in the holy scriptures, every word explains all that’s necessary. ‘Nuff said.

I live between those two answers. And I have an imagination.

What happened?

#1. Crowds tramped around after Jesus, ignoring their growling tummies as their souls were fed. Finally, overcome by hunger, Jesus has pity on them and takes a bit of bread and a few fish and—miraculously—produces an immediate abundance of grub.

#2. Crowds tramped around after Jesus, ignoring their growling tummies as their souls were fed. The disciples, humbled by Jesus’ request to feed the folks, gave up the trail mix and beef jerky they’d been hiding in their knapsacks. Seeing their example, others shared.

#3. Crowds tramped around after Jesus, ignoring their growling tummies as their souls were fed (you’ve heard this part before, right?). As Jesus blessed the tiny amount of food given freely by a ruddy-faced youth, the crowds realized giving was better than receiving. The first church potluck was unleashed.

And what would your version #4 or #5 be? Or have I provided enough choices . . . Door #1, Door #2, Door #3?

As I think back to sermons I’ve preached or heard, Door #3 is probably the imaginative interpretation most used. In my theological tradition and training, I rarely take a miracle literally (Door #1). It’s one of my faults. And, not unlike other scenes in the Gospels, the disciples come across as dull-witted in all the feeding stories. It’s hard to view them as fast food heroes (Door #2).

Does emphasizing “giving is better than receiving” or perhaps “sharing is better than hoarding” make it less a miracle and more just a nice, safe moment? After all, who cares about nice moments?

Miracle or not, each time I read any of the Gospel accounts, I marvel at that “moment” when it’s clear people are hungry and located in a place where there is no obvious food. Something has to happen . . .

Perhaps the crowds will just wander away?

The disciples, or even Jesus, might decide to leave?

Which is to say, this is a “moment” where the very next choice may be doing nothing. No one will die . . . every account indicates that villages where food can be bought (or borrowed or bartered) are close enough.

And yet “something” happens. Nothing. Something. A miracle—literal or literary, sensed by one or seen by many—occurs between those two moments.

I just returned from a writer’s conference in Seattle. I had a goal: convince one or more of the literary agents attending the conference to read a sample of a novel I’ve written and consider representing me. Without an agent, an “unknown” novelist probably won’t get published.

Several agents asked to see more of my writing. Yahoo! But there was an agent I was interested in that wasn’t at the conference. I had done my homework and believed this particular agent might consider my work. However I discovered she wasn’t accepting “unsolicited queries.” She would only look at writing samples where someone she trusted recommended that unknown author.

One of her clients was a conference keynote speaker.

I had a choice. Ask him—her client and the keynote speaker—if he might recommend me to his agent. Or, out of fear or shyness or laziness, never approach him. After, he might say, “No.” Or he might laugh at me. Or he might turn away.

He said, “Yes.” Not knowing me, he said, “Use my name in your letter to the agent.”

I think of that author’s response as a miracle. A little one. A modest one. Perhaps even a selfish one.

In the Gospel stories there was a moment between doing nothing and doing something. Just as the disciples grumbled about not having enough denarii for dinner. Just after the ruddy-faced youth appeared. Just as someone in the crowd complained. Just when Jesus thanked and blessed God (and he always did). Before there was nothing. After, something.

If we do nothing, nothing likely happens. And a miracle, or even a moment of selfless sharing, never takes place.

in Peace,

Larry