Transformed by Blessing
Homily for the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)
Then Jesus took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed them to those who were reclining, and also as much of the fish as they wanted. When they had had their fill, he said to his disciples, “Gather the fragments left over, so that nothing will be wasted.” So they collected them, and filled twelve wicker baskets with fragments from the five barley loaves that had been more than they could eat (Jn 6:11–13).
The first thing I want to say about the gospel reading is this: it describes a miracle. There are those who want to explain away all the signs and wonders Jesus performs in the gospels as natural events. In this case, they claim this was a “miracle” of sharing — that the people in the crowd had more than enough food but they were being selfish. What Jesus did was inspire them to be generous and share what they had with each other.
That’s nice. We all should be generous, but we don’t need the Messiah to teach us this. We just need to listen to our mothers. The problem is that this is not what the gospels say happened. And we know this isn’t what happened because of how the people reacted. “When people saw the sign he had done, they said, ‘This is truly the Prophet, the one who is to come into the world.’” They want to make Him a king (Jn 6:14–15). You don’t do that just because someone convinces you to share your lunch.
The details of this event as recorded in all four gospels are clear and specific. There are over five thousand people that need to be fed. They have exactly five loaves and two fish. That is clearly not enough. But Jesus takes their offering, blesses it, and gives it back to them. They eat their fill, and what is left over fills twelve wicker baskets — more than they had to begin with. (Twelve, by the way, is a number that signifies perfection in the scriptures). That is not the result of sharing. That is the result of a miracle; of God intervening in the normal operation of His creation to show His sovereignty and His love for us.
The second thing I want to say about today’s gospel relates to a part of the Mass we often overlook. When the Liturgy of Word concludes, we begin the Liturgy of the Eucharist with the offertory. The ushers pass the collection basket around and we each contribute what we can. We may be tempted to think of the collection as a practical necessity without a lot of spiritual meaning. But it’s for more than the upkeep of the church and the funding of our ministries. Those things are important. But the offertory is also an act of worship. The Eucharist is a sacrifice, and while it is principally the sacrifice of Christ, we are invited to participate in that sacrifice. Historically, you worship God by offering something. So we bring our gifts to the altar. This was done by the Jewish people who tithed a tenth of their produce to the Temple. It was done by the early Christians. And it is part of Christian worship still today. It’s not just about keeping the lights on. It’s part of the sacrifice we make to God.
Now when the ushers bring the basket to the altar, they are joined by others, chosen out of the congregation, bearing other gifts — a little bread, and a little wine, the fruit of the earth and work of human hands. When they come forward, they are like St. Andrew, coming to Jesus, saying, “There is a boy here with five loaves and two fish. But what good are these for so many?” (Jn 6:9). It’s true. Five loaves and two fish are not enough to feed five thousand, just as the twenty loaves Elisha had were not enough to feed one hundred (2 Kgs 4:42–44). And the money we put in the basket is not enough to feed the poor. And the bread and wine we place on the altar is not enough to satisfy our true hunger. It cannot feed our soul. It cannot forgive our sins. It cannot reconcile us to the Father. It is not enough.
The real offering Jesus wants from us is ourselves, and we all know intimately that we are not enough. You know this. I know this. We are not sufficient for what Jesus says we need to do. “Be perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect,” He says (Mt 5:48). Oh, is that all? I thought this was going to be hard! And he says, “Take up your cross daily” (Lk 9:23). Take up your cross? Have you met me, Lord? I struggle to put away my laundry the same day that I wash it and you’re talking about taking up my cross? We are all called to greatness, brothers and sisters. We are called to be holy. We are called to be saints. That’s what we were made for. But we don’t have what it takes. We look into our own hearts, our own brokenness, and say, “I’ve only got five barley loaves and two fish. And some days I don’t even have that.”
So instead of offering Jesus what we have, we offer Him excuses. We say, “I’m not enough, Lord. Call someone else.” But if we listen to Jesus in the gospel, we never hear Him say that what we have to offer isn’t enough. Instead, Jesus says, “Give me what you have, and watch what I can do.” Jesus takes what we give Him, as small as it is, and by His blessing, it becomes enough. He multiplies it and gives it back to us. He feeds us, and we are satisfied. And we leave here with more than what we arrived with. Don’t ever think you don’t have enough for Jesus to work miracles.
This brings me to my third point about today’s gospel, which has to do with the Eucharist. The miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes is so significant that it is recorded in all four gospel accounts. But only John tells us what happened the day after. The next day the crowd comes back in even greater number. Why? Not because Jesus taught them how to share, but because Jesus fed them, and they are looking for more.
Jesus knows they came back because he filled their bellies, but now he tells them about a different kind of food, the bread from heaven, which they can eat and never be hungry again. They say, “Give us this bread to eat,” and Jesus tells them, “The bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.” Thus begins what we call the Bread of Life discourse, where Jesus says repeatedly and emphatically that we must eat his flesh and drink his blood to have eternal life. We will be reading from the Bread of Life discourse over the next few Sundays, so I will leave it to Fr. Paul to preach more about that.
But I will say this. You can go to the spot in Capernaum where Jesus spoke those words. You can go across the Sea of Galilee to the place where the multitudes reclined on the grass and Jesus fed the five thousand. It’s near a village called Tabgha. There is a church there; it is a modern church, built over the ruins of an ancient church, preserving the original floor with its tile mosaics. They were created, I want to say, in the fourth century by an artisan from Egypt. He was a Christian convert who came to the Holy Land to help construct this church, bringing his gifts of time and talent to be multiplied by the Lord.
The most famous part of that mosaic lies directly beneath the altar in the sanctuary. It’s a depiction of two fish and a basket containing four loaves of bread. Wait. Four loaves? I thought in the gospel it said there were five loaves. Indeed it does. So did our Egyptian artist make a mistake? No. He depicted only four loaves in the basket because the fifth loaf is not part of the mosaic beneath the altar, but is on the altar itself during the sacrifice of the Mass. It is the bread of the offering; bread that will be blessed, broken, and given by Christ through the hands of His priest. It is the bread that will be brought to this altar in a few moments. It is the Eucharist.
And while you are there in the Holy Land you can travel south to Jerusalem and visit a place called the Upper Room where exactly one year after the events we read in today’s gospel took place, Jesus took bread at Passover, blessed it, broke it, and gave it, saying, “This is my body.”
This is the Mass. This is what we do in our worship. We bring what we have to the altar, as insufficient as it is, to be received and transformed by Jesus into something that is not only sufficient but super-abundant to satisfy our hungry hearts. He transforms simple bread and wine, believe it or not, into Himself, and then gives Himself to us in the Eucharist, so that we might be transformed to be like Him; to be transformed into gifts. And that, my friends, is the greatest miracle.
