My Last Meal?

(From John 6)

I knew I would get in trouble. But I had to do what I did. Well, I guess I didn’t actually have to, but at the time, it seemed like the thing to do. Let’s just say that I felt a strong urge to come forward and offer what I had, even though it wasn’t actually mine to give. I know it was wrong. It was. But please don’t judge me too harshly. My heart was in the right place. At least I think it was.

And to see what he did with my meager offering was worth whatever punishment I might receive. Because after all, what he did was a miracle and I still don’t know how he did it. 

Now let me back up and start from the beginning. Then maybe you will understand what happened and why I did what I did. 

We live out in the country, three families, all related. My parents are the oldest and I live with them. My older brother and sister both have their own families and their own houses on the property.  Together, we raise sheep. We also have a small vineyard on the side of one of the hills, plus a few olive trees. We raise bees and harvest their honey. Together, we work hard, very hard, and we do all right. And we honor our faith, following the practices of our forefathers.

I am the youngest and so naturally, I get all the chores that no one else wants. I suppose that’s the price I pay for being the youngest in the family. But I don’t mind too much, really.

One of those chores is to go to the local market. Market day is once a week and it’s kind of fun to go. You never know what you’ll see, from home-grown vegetables and fruits in season, to lambs and sometimes even a donkey or two. And it’s also a chance to visit with other families around the area. Sometimes we even see folks from Bethsaida, the nearest big town, spending the day out in the country at the market.

On this particular day, I had strict instructions from my mother. Strict instructions. And if you knew my mother, you’d know that there was never any other kind. I brought several items to sell at the market, including some lace that she had sewn, some herbs from our garden, and a tin of honey.

I was to sell these items and also buy some things. Bread, for sure, and if they looked fresh, some fish.

At the market, most transactions take place via a barter system. We’re all poor. None of us has any money to spend, so we trade. That’s what I did and sorry to brag, but I’m pretty good at it!

So, I proudly started for home with no less than five loaves of bread and two large fish! I walked briskly, anticipating the praise I would receive upon my arrival at home. I would be a hero and would, of course, receive all congratulations from the family with great modesty.

But I was detoured. Actually, I could tell, even at the market, that something unusual was going on. There were whispers about a new rabbi, a man named Jesus, who was in the neighborhood. People were hurrying through their shopping, anxious to go and see this new prophet.

I had never heard of Jesus. But others surely had, because on the way home, I was joined by hundreds of others, including residents of Bethsaida. They were converging on a hilltop location not far from my path home. And as I passed the hilltop, I could see many more people, more people than I’d ever seen. They must have been coming from all of the surrounding villages, farms and towns.

So, I asked myself: can I pass by this gathering? Don’t I want to find out what it’s all about? Don’t I want to be a witness to the largest crowd ever assembled in these parts? Don’t I wish to report back to my family about this man, Jesus?

Of course I did! It was so easy to create many good excuses to detour and stay to watch and listen. Just for a little, of course, just for a little, and then I’d proceed home exactly as my mother had instructed. I would just stay for a little while. The fish would still be fresh when I arrived at home! Of course, I told myself.

Well, it didn’t turn out that way. I stayed, all right, but not just for a little while. 

As the crowd assembled, people began to come forward. Mostly, you could tell that they were sick, or crippled or somehow infirm. One by one, old and young, they came to him and he spoke to them and touched them. Some, he laid his hands upon their heads. Some, he seemed to whisper to. They were all a bit different in how he treated them.

I watched and wondered at how they came away from their time with Jesus. Mostly, they came away happy, and all I can imagine is that they were healed of whatever disease or infirmity they had. It was wonderful to watch.

Then, the people hushed as Jesus began to speak. I was on the outskirts of the crowd, so I didn’t hear it all. But I could tell that he was talking about the kingdom of God and that it had come. The kingdom of God! And I could hear him talk about love and serving and freedom and the poor.

The crowd loved it! And from what I could hear, so did I! The longer he talked, the quieter the crowd grew, listening intently. And the later it became. Much, much later.

My short detour had turned into a long afternoon spent watching this amazing spectacle of healing and listening, as best I could, to this new rabbi called Jesus.

He was wrapping up and I began to get nervous, fearing my mother’s reaction to my late arrival. Yes, I would tell her why. And I would try to put into words what I had witnessed. Would she understand? Or would I be a victim of her wrath? Knowing my mother, I would need a really good story!

I started to leave, but as I did, I heard a cry from the crowd. It was getting late and people were hungry. There was no food around and no place to go for a meal. I protectively clutched my basket of bread and fish.

Then, I noticed that Jesus had helpers. Disciples, they were called, and they were agitated. They seemed to want the people to leave and leave quickly, lest there would be some kind of disturbance, since there was no food available.

But then I heard the voice of Jesus, loud and clear, telling his disciples to feed the people themselves. Well, that was ridiculous! The crowd was in the thousands. And there was no food within miles. Jesus’ disciples were beside themselves, becoming quite frantic, though he remained calm.

As agitated as they became, and as frustrated with Jesus, he was calm and in command. He did not raise his voice. He was patient and repeated to them to find the food themselves and feed the crowd. I understood that it sounded impossible to them, and I certainly agreed. But we had just witnessed healings that would defy belief. Perhaps with this man, the impossible was possible.

That’s when I spoke up. Honestly, I can’t say why I did. But I did and went forward, walking timidly through the crowd all the way up to the front, offering what I had. Of course, all I had was five loaves and two fish, all of it meant for my family at home and all paid for with the product of their labor.

One of Jesus’ disciples brought me to him. “This is all we have, Lord,” he said. “It’s nowhere near enough. Just send the people away.”

“No,” I heard Jesus say. “This is enough. It’s more than enough.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. How could this be? I thought others might also bring food to the front. We’d pool the food from many of us and there would be enough. But no one brought anything, only me. Only me.

Illustration by Elizabeth Drever

That’s when Jesus looked at me. He looked at me and smiled. At me! And I could feel a warmth unlike anything I’d ever felt before. His smile radiated into me like a summer sunrise.

And then he winked at me! “Just watch,” he said. “You have brought all we need. More, actually. Don’t you know how God fed the Israelites in the desert? How he literally made it rain food from heaven? Don’t you remember?”

Of course I did. It was the heart of our faith, how Yahweh led the people out of Egypt, feeding them as they traveled.

“And now,” he went on, “You, young man, will be a part of another miracle, to see how God feeds the multitude on this hillside. And you, with your gift of faith, your five loaves and two fish, you will be a part of his miracle.”

At that, Jesus looked up to heaven and blessed the food that I had brought. His disciples, standing near, could only watch him, helpless. I could tell that they were skeptical.

He told his disciples to quiet the crowd and sit them down. I thought, knowing that the crowd had come from near and far, that he’d serve only the Jewish folks. My parents, pious Jews that they were, would no doubt agree with that. In fact, they’d insist on it.

But he didn’t. Actually, Jesus made no distinction at all. Everyone would be fed, old and young, male and female, Jew and Gentile, slave and free, the infirm and the healthy. They would eat together, a remarkable feat in our strict Jewish culture.

No one left. Everyone sat down, as instructed. And Jesus’ disciples went among them, distributing the food. Each time, Jesus would reach into my basket, and each time there would be bread and fish. Each time, he would bless and break it, then pass it to a disciple to bring to the crowd.

I stood and watched in amazement. No one would ever believe this! Especially my mother!

And at the end, when all were fed, he instructed the disciples to gather the leftovers, as the crowd was leaving. There were twelve baskets, full of leftovers. Twelve baskets! A true miracle!

“And you, young man,” he asked me, “have you eaten yet?”

“No sir,” I responded. “I haven’t eaten and I dare not.”

“Why is that?” Jesus asked me. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yes, rabbi, I am,” I replied. “But what’s the point of eating now?  I’m going to get killed when I get home.”

At that, Jesus laughed.  

Illustration by Avery Drever