Down from the Mountain, then Back Up on the Mountain

AM Psalm 119:145-176 • PM Psalm 128, 129, 130
Judges 18:16-31 • Acts 8:14-25 • John 6:1-15

I’ve always loved the story of Jesus’ feeding the five thousand, told in today’s gospel passage from John. Of course, one need not search too far to identify the metaphors that this tale embodies. Jesus sees a huge throng gathering to hear him, the “new guy” they have been hearing about, the one who’s been producing these “signs” by healing the sick, and his first instinct is to ask “how am I going to feed all these people?” The people hunger for Jesus; Jesus knows he must feed them—and he even knows how he’s going to do so, his “gee, I already know the answer” question to Philip notwithstanding.

Then suddenly Andrew, another disciple, spies a small boy who has five barley loaves and two fishes. A little child, a symbol of innocence and charity, possesses the rudiments of what it’s going to take to feed his hungry crowd. Jesus takes the goods, blesses them, and instructs his disciples to feed the crowd, giving them as much food as they want. And not only are the loaves and fishes—the loving gifts generated by Jesus—sufficient to feed the assembly at hand, but there’s actually plenty left over once Jesus’ love has been distributed. (One wonders if Aramaic had a word for “to-go box.”)

I think about this story every time the Tippy McMichael Committee prepares the buffet for a reception preceding a Tippy talk. We rarely know for sure who’s going to bring what and how much food we’ll have, but somehow we always have enough, and there’s usually a bit left over at the end.

As comforting and reassuring as this tale is, I’m always curious about Jesus’ stance at the beginning and end of it. When he sees the crowd gathering, Jesus’ first move is not toward them, but instead away from them—up the mountain with his disciples. And then, once the event is over, Jesus, suspecting that the crowd will “force” him to become their king, once again retreats—back up the mountain, this time alone. I’ve never quite understood what’s going on with Jesus in these moments: Did he want to pause a bit before he made a grand entrance? Did he want the crowd to be left alone to ponder the miracle? I don’t have answers for these questions, but isn’t it grand that holy scripture doesn’t simply provide us with easy answers but instead leaves us with queries to ponder—something to think about when we return to a favorite passage like this one?

Written by David Jolliffe

At St. Paul’s, David sings in the choir, assists with community meals, and helps to coordinate the Tippy McMichael Lecture Series.