Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read Luke 9:11–17
Life lately has felt like feeding the five thousand. In other words, it has felt impossible. Appliances and people are breaking all around me, the weather has not been cooperating with outdoor events, and writing has felt like sprinting through quicksand. On top of all this, people I have been entrusted to care for continue to ask me, “What’s for dinner?”
Fun fact: Not only do I have nothing left to give, but I also have no idea what’s for dinner.
When life’s circumstances feel overwhelming, the temptation to send everyone away runs deep. Just look at the disciples in Luke’s gospel. As soon as they notice the night drawing near, they remind Jesus that they have little to offer a crowd of five thousand, and so would He please dismiss them before it is too late. They said this to the Jesus who healed the hemorrhaging woman (Luke 8:43–48), raised a young girl from the dead (Luke 8:49–56), exorcised a man from demons (Luke 8:26–39), calmed the storm on the sea (Luke 8:22–25) and gave them the power to preach and heal everywhere (Luke 9:6). As if to say, “Sure, we know You did all these things, but this—feeding a multitude—is too much, even for You.” But Jesus comes back at them with a curious response: “Give them some food yourselves” (Luke 9:13). Of course, we know how the story ends. With just five loaves and two fish, Jesus blesses and breaks them, and gives them to the disciples to set before the crowd. Everyone eats and is satisfied, with leftovers to spare.
But let’s not miss what happened here, ladies. It was Jesus who worked the miracle. The disciples simply shared it.
With our curse of perfectionism and ungodly self-reliance, how often do we get this wrong?
We all have a “crowd,” that thing, or person, or situation that we see as a problem we need to solve. With our own strength and grasping hands, we search for the cure, healing, and remedy, forgetting that it’s not all up to us. God has the miracle covered. Our task is not to do the impossible, but to stay close to the One who can. He blesses. He breaks. He gives. Our job is to receive and pass on.
Sounds easy enough, and yet, I know from experience that it is impossible to give what I have not first received. Nothing confirms this better than when daily Mass falls through the cracks. Why? Because without the Eucharist, I live as if it’s all up to me. Everything requires more effort, nothing is inspired, faith weakens, I grow indifferent, I get accustomed to sin, and I’m more likely to eat all the guacamole. And here’s the thing: God did not create me to eat all the guacamole—He created me to consume all of Him.
Can you relate?
When we hear, “Take this and eat this … this is my body … take this and drink this … this is my blood,” Jesus is offering Himself, whole and entire, in the consecrated host. Let that sink in for a moment. When we receive Him into ourselves, it is His blood that runs through our veins. His heart that beats within ours. With Him, living and breathing inside of us, we not only find the impossible possible, but we pass on the hope of the miracle. We not only eat this bread, we become this bread—bread for others, food for someone else’s journey. It’s the most incredible thing, the ultimate gift, and so I ask, why are we not racing to Mass every single day? Why are we not knocking people over in the streets to get to our God? Why are we eating all of the guacamole when what we are truly hungering for is Jesus? And when I say “we,” I mean “me.”
When I skip Mass to meet a deadline or clean the bathroom, am I really surprised by how overwhelmed and difficult everything suddenly feels? Taking God off my plate has never made it easier to carry. And what about you?
When life feels overwhelming ...
When everything around you is breaking ...
When you find yourself grasping ...
When your circumstances are just too much ...
When you believe the miracle is up to you ...
Where do you go?
If your answer is anything other than Jesus, today is a great day to change that—to run to receive Him in the Eucharist, which by the way, is not a symbol, but the Real Presence of Jesus—the ever-present reality of Emmanuel, God with us. Let us rejoice in our brokenness on this Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, knowing that the miracle always happens after the breaking, and nothing is impossible with God.
Food for thought or journaling …
What overwhelming or broken situation has you living like the miracle is up to you?
Are you trying to give what you have not yet received?
Where do you go when everything feels out of control?
Thank You, God, for the gift of Your most holy Body and Blood in the Eucharist. When life feels impossible, remind me that You do not ask me to perform the miracle, but to receive it and pass it on. Amen.
