It has been a long time since I have posted here. I could say that this is a result of having been quite busy, and that would be true—but not the whole story. I have been suffering from a hesitation of the spirit, an unhappy awareness that a stranger might actually read what I write and have their own opinion of it. But wasn’t that, after all, the point at the outset? I would like to think I still have some of the quietly confident, perhaps foolish, certainly joyful hope with which I began this blog. Besides which, I would have had difficulty ignoring the crystallization of thought that occurred for me this morning as I contemplated the feeding of the five thousand. (My home parish, St. Margaret’s, opted to hold eucharist outside this Sunday, and rightfully found Luke 9 suitable for the occasion.)
I have often heard it argued that religion, and Christianity in particular, are detrimental to our sense of the here and now because of its focus on the afterlife. Indeed, some Christian rhetoric seems to frame life on earth as a test to determine one’s eternal fate, something we put up with in anticipation of a celestial reward. This perspective might lead us to see the day to day as profane, or even regard the suffering of others lightly. It might make us complacent. It might make us indifferent to injustice. But the feeding of the five thousand, framed quite serendipitously by the divine admonitions delivered through Isaiah, is one out of many passages which demonstrate Jesus’ great concern for the earthly lives of earthly people.
After all, the miracles which define Christianity, the Incarnation and the Resurrection, are all about fleshliness. God takes on human form in Jesus, and when other humans try to snuff out Jesus’ earthly life, he rises, bodily, and joins his human friends for a meal. While much of what Jesus does between these defining moments is preach of something beyond this life, much of his ministry is centered on improving people’s earthly experience. Jesus never dismisses human pain simply because it is temporary. He is moved by and responds to the suffering of the sick, the poor, and the outcast, and admonishes us to do the same. The advice he gives—from trading worry for awe and gratitude to loving even our enemies—is not just about attaining eternal life, but about living a better earthly life. Acting in such a way as to please God has the uncanny effect of pleasing the souls God gave us. When we walk in love, we are happier here, now. We are fed.
When God tells us our sacrifices and ceremonies ring hollow unless we “learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow” (Isaiah 1:17), and when Jesus denies his disciples’ request to send his hungry audience away, opting to feed them instead, we are reminded of the divine presence in this world. We are reminded that God cares not just about what happens in our sanctuaries or after we die, but what happens today in a park across the street from St. Margaret’s, and everywhere else in this messily magnificent Creation. God cares how we take care of each other and ourselves. God calls us, God’s own beloved creations, to act, to rejoice, and be fulfilled in this life. I hope we come to know what that’s worth.
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