A reflection from Dr. Susan Fleming McGurgan

Today, we read about a miracle—a miracle of bread and fish and of hungry people, fed by the providence of God.

Scholars have long tried to explain this miracle away. Most people of that era travelled with a bit of food tucked away in their cloak or pouch; the force of Jesus’ personality inspired people to share what they had saved for themselves alone. 

This story is a metaphor for the ways God provides for his children; we are not supposed to take it literally. We don’t really KNOW what happened on that hillside, but it doesn’t really matter whether it “happened” or not, the miracle is in the telling of the story.  

It’s ironic. We trust our lives to a technology that few of us understand. We believe in microbes and nanobots we cannot even see. We sneak a good luck charm into our son’s pocket on game day, and fear mythical demons that go bump in the night….. but when it comes to Biblical miracles, we wrap our sophistication around us like a shield  and tell each other that it really “doesn’t matter” if it happened or not.

Yes, it does.

That day, on a hillside in a remote corner of the world, thousands of people were fed from five little loaves and two small fish. Despite the size of the crowd and the doubts of the disciples, and the scarcity of the fish, everyone ate and was satisfied.

That miracle of the loaves and fishes was not simply effective pastoral care, or a dramatic way to grab people’s attention.

It was nothing less than a foretaste of heaven. That impromptu meal pointed to the time when our Lord’s body would be broken and shared and his blood would be poured out for our salvation. This miracle has been repeated every time God’s people gather to celebrate the Eucharist and remember God’s mercy.

This miracle lies at the very heart of our faith. It matters what we believe.

Yet, still, we have this urge to explain it away—to make it “less than”—to tame it and explain it and cut it down to size so that we can force it to fit into our world rather than expanding ourselves to fit into God’s.  

Maybe it’s because we have been duped by snake oil salesmen far too often. Maybe it’s because our woundedness makes it hard to trust in anything, let alone a miracle involving bread and fish. 

Maybe it’s because we fail to leave space for silence and time for awe. Maybe it’s because we are afraid—afraid that if we open ourselves up to miracles, we will be forced to admit we are not in control, and never have been. 

But the truth is,  this miracle of the bread still happens every day.

It happens right here and around the corner and across the ocean and anywhere hungry people gather in His name.

The Bread that comes down from heaven continues to be broken and shared. The Blood of our salvation continues to be poured out for us all. Like the hungry people on the hillside that day in Galilee, we are invited to eat our fill full measure, packed down, overflowing.

Like the hungry people on the hillside that day in Galilee, we are, quite simply, invited into a miracle.