A proper title for the story should not be "The Feeding of the Five-thousand," of course—there were those women and children that have got to be accounted for. Who knows how many?

Conjure up a mental picture of I.U's Assembly Hall packed for one of those big games . . . at least that many people.

Now, picture this: Down at center court are thirteen men, one of them with a young boy in tow, and he's carrying a brown bag—perhaps his lunch or a snack.

Such an image is roughly equivalent to the setting Matthew describes in chapter 14 of his Gospel. A major difference would be that, in Matthew, all these are gathered out in a desert—with all the discomforts that would go with that.

We call this a "miracle story," and so it is; but it is so much more! We get a clue about that when we note that it's the only miracle story appearing in all four of the Gospels

and, in one version or another, with some variations, it's told six times—twice in Matthew and twice in Mark.

We think of Matthew's account as a "miracle story;" but it will be helpful for us to think of it more as a parable—an enactment of the way it is with Christ and of his followers . . . and so it's a visceral parable—

it reaches down inside where hunger for food meets a thirst for meaning. Feelings of yearning and compassion are mixed with discomfort and inconvenience.

Jesus, after all, is in mourning after hearing of the grisly death of his cousin and friend, John the Baptizer—that's why he sought to be alone with the Twelve out in a place apart.

Probably, in their childhood, John and Jesus had been occasional playmates during family visits. John had baptized him and proclaimed him the coming One—the Lamb of God. John had gone before him all along the way . . . could it be that John's violent death would be a precursor of his own?

All these kinds of thoughts and feelings must have been on Jesus' mind; but in his here and now he is suddenly confronted with a whole horde of needy folks.

They are a seeking people and want to be led and taught. And, as evening approaches, they need that very common thing, food for their stomachs.

Is it any wonder, then, that Jesus is a little bit short with his disciples? When they point out to him that the people need to be fed, he replies: "You give them something to eat!"

And, they are at a loss what to do . . . what are a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish in the face of so much need!

At this point in the story it's important to notice how detailed the account is . . . much more than in most of the miracle stories—little things that seem unnecessary to our understanding and could easily have been omitted.

First, Jesus ordered—the people to sit down. Why do we need to know that?

Actually, what we need to know that there is an unfortunate translation here: More accurately, they were ordered to recline. (Now we know why the existence of grass growing in the desert is even mentioned. Reclining on sand and rocks is not what people are apt to do!)

Recline, not sit . . . because this is going to be a royal meal!

When common folk eat an ordinary meal before going back to work, they sit.

When the privileged are served a sumptuous feast, they recline in cushioned comfort.

This was going to be that kind of a meal!

These huddled masses were going to receive royal treatment at the hand of the Master . . . all of them, all of them representing the population of the whole land!

They had done nothing to earn such lavish regard . . . had no reason to expect a reward of this sort. It was gift. Grace!

Beneath the simple words of the story we can almost hear Deutero-Isaiah shouting out to the world, (Today's First Lesson):

Ho! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! . . . Listen carefully to me and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food . . . Incline your ear and come to me, so that you may live. (Is. 55:1-2)

In the parable-drama, the gathered thousands may have received bread only, but the baskets of leftovers make clear that, symbolically, this is a rich banquet.

The feeding of the multitude: Without doubt a thinly-disguised sacramental action . . .

Jesus, the Holy, intermixing eternity's benefits with the common and the ordinary stuff of this life.

Bread? Yes. But, "One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God." (Mtt 4:4)

In eucharistic fashion where bread and body, wine and blood, comingle, the Great Feeding involves everything needful—the spiritual and the mundane:

The teaching and the promise, and the bread and a grassy patch to cushion the weary body,

The gift of Life in its fulness and grief and desert-like surroundings!

The singular Lordship of the Christ of God and the shaping of a community to be about holy work in the world.

And, all this, Matthew tells us, because Jesus "had compassion on the crowd." (14:4)

The Greek used here for "compassion" it's a wonderful word: Splanchna!

(When I hear that word I can still hear my old professor, Julius Igor Bella—with his great jowls, give it his full Slovak treatment: SPLANCHNA! Do you want to try it? Let's do . . .

Now, let's all of us declare aloud what it means: COMPASSION! . . . )

If you forget all the rest of my words this morning, remember Splanchna . . . Compassion

What it means, the scholars tell us, is "to have a yearning in one's bowels!" Wow!

God, in Jesus Christ, has a yearning that arises out of the very depths of being to save the people and hold them close forever!

There you have it: the sacrament of the Great and Miraculous Feeding . . . and, as it turns out, we are the ones who've been fed!

The gift of Life, the gift of plenty . . .

What remains is obedience to the gift.

There is a hungry world out there—hungry for food and for light in their lives . . .

people yearning from the depths of their being for compassion . . . yearning for health and for hope, food for the body and sustenance for the spirit.

In the story acted out by Jesus there is an abundance—a super-abundance—yet available and waiting for the people of God to respond to the need, to be obedient to the gift that we have received.