Gracious Plenty

When he looked up and saw a large crowd coming toward him, Jesus said to Philip, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he was going to do.

Philip answered him, “Two hundred denarii would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.”

One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?”

Jesus said, “Make the people sit down.” Now there was a great deal of grass in the place, so they sat down, about five thousand in all [John 6:5-10].

One of my most cherished childhood memories springs from the sumptuous meals our family shared many Sundays after church—and always on Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Day—at Grandmother Lib’s. Ham, fried chicken, rice with lavish gravy, four or five vegetable sides, homemade rolls, and three kinds of dessert would be set out on a buffet of sorts. Gallons of sweet ice tea or coffee would round out the feast. We’d take a plate from the table, wander down the line, and fill them to overflowing.

“Miss Lib,” as she was generally called by her sons (Mother’s two younger brothers), would always be last in line. While there was sufficient food for more than one healthy helping for each of us, she’d place a few spoonfuls on her plate, retrieve one of the less desirable pieces of chicken, and sit down with us. Invariably, Uncle Jack or Uncle Harold—sometimes it was our dad—would say, “Miss Lib, you prepared most of this feast; you should put more of it on your plate.”

Her response was always the same. She’d quietly smile, look around the table, and say, “Oh, this is gracious plenty.”

Miss Lib’s “gracious plenty” was more than a charming Southern expression. Like the other parts of her life, it embodied a profound spiritual truth that Jesus had demonstrated in His feeding of the 5,000, as told by John, the Gospel writer, in a reading appointed for this Sunday [John 6:1-21, the Season after Pentecost, Proper 12(17), RCL, Year B]. The familiar story is one of the most beloved in all the New Testament. In fact, the feeding of the multitude is the only miracle story found in all four Gospels.

In John’s version, the Gospel writer makes the important point that Jesus doesn’t confer with Philip and the others in order to determine if the people should be fed. His inquiry is into how they will be fed. Philip prudently points out that it would cost half a year’s wages just to give the crowd a less than adequate supper. John reminds us, however, that Jesus isn’t just asking Philip about the crowd’s possible eating arrangements. He has already made up His mind as to what will happen. Jesus is testing Philip and the others.

Philip and the other disciples are steeped in the real world, or at least what they suppose to be the real world. Those among the Twelve who had fished for a living knew all too well that sometimes one casts nets all night and catches nothing. The real world teaches that precious resources are scarce. Lord knows Jesus doesn’t carry around any folding money. But Jesus is interested in continuing His introduction to the truly real world—to His world and His kingdom. Our Lord’s world doesn’t abide by the rules of human scarcity. In Christ, there is always gracious plenty.

In Mark’s version of the story, Jesus tells the disciples to canvas the crowd to determine how many loaves they might be able to uncover. Here, in John’s narrative, we only see the paucity of their reconnoitering: five small loaves and two fish. And yet, in the face of such meagre resources, Jesus announces, “Dinner is served!”

In all four Gospel stories, Jesus says to His disciples to have the people sit down [John 6:10]. The action offers tremendous symbolism. It represents a discernible pause, a moment of reflection between the anxiety of scarcity and the miracle of abundance. It also points to Grace and to the preparation necessary for receiving something significant, both physically and spiritually.

I’ve often wondered what my reaction would have been had I been one of the disciples. If told to seat the crowd in preparation of a meal, I think I likely would have thought to myself, or perhaps even said out loud, “Just who does this guy think He is?” But that, of course, is exactly the question that Jesus answers. He isn’t just feeding a crowd. He’s giving the disciples (and us) a clear glimpse into his identity. He isn’t just some charismatic young rabbi with a gift. He is the Anointed One! Jesus confirms this near the end of this week’s reading, when He offers them one of his powerful “I am” pronouncements [June 6:20]. With His words, Jesus echoes Yahweh’s own “I am” pronouncement to Moses [Exodus 3:14].

After Jesus acts, after He feeds the crowd with the young lad’s few loaves and fishes, after the disciples have collected 12 baskets of left-overs, had I been there, I hope the scales would have fallen from my eyes, that I could see the epiphanic significance of this miracle, that sometimes—no, often—the seeds of miraculous change come from unexpected sources.

Gracious plenty—elsewhere, Jesus teaches us about the mustard seed that grows into a great shrub. He gives us His vivid parable of the leaven “hidden” inside three measures of flour [Matthew 13:3]. From such small beginnings, there is sufficient force to create enough bread to feed 100 people. Elsewhere, He challenges us to consider the widow’s mite [Mark 12:41-44, Luke 21:1-4], for her gift is greater than those of the rich who fill the treasury’s coffers.

God, it seems, has a delightful and unusual propensity: to work through the small, the weak, or the overlooked. Sadly, I think that if I had been there that day, I would have been consumed by the vastness of the need and the apparent scarcity of resources. Jesus—and I suspect also the young lad—realized that when the Son of Man is present, there is always enough. There is always gracious plenty.

Jesus' miracle of feeding the 5,000 isn't confined to history; it’s a blueprint for God’s ongoing work in our lives. Just as He provided physical nourishment from seemingly meager resources, Christ continues to offer spiritual sustenance that far exceeds our expectations.

Often, it's in the small, seemingly insignificant spiritual practices that we encounter God’s gracious plenty. In my own journey, As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I’ve found this truth particularly evident in the practice of Lectio Divina—the slow, thoughtful reading and rereading of Scripture, interspersed with moments of prayer and reflection. Time and again, I've discovered profound insights and spiritual nourishment from just a few verses, much like the multitude fed from a handful of loaves and fish.

These modest practices, akin to the boy’s humble offering, become conduits for God's abundant grace. Perhaps nowhere is this principle more powerfully manifested than in the Eucharist itself. As I approach the altar, I'm always struck by the apparent simplicity of the elements—a morsel of bread, a drop of wine or juice. Yet in this sacrament, we participate in the ultimate expression of “gracious plenty.”