Lectionary Readings: Year A, Proper 13

I’d like to tell you a story about a young seminarian. Many seminaries around the country require a hospital chaplaincy to graduate. The hospital this seminarian ended up at was a large urban hospital – a Level 1 trauma center. It was the hospital that dealt with major accidents, gunshot wounds, and virtually every other form of trauma you can think of. In a city of millions, that meant a lot of trauma.

This hospital was also one of the major surgery centers in the area, and as is always the possibility, mistakes can be made. The long term care floor housed a lot of people who had had these complications with their surgeries, and were now confined to their beds. People who had lost mobility, or another bodily function through no fault of their own. People who often were dealing with the anger of a loss they did nothing to deserve. It wasn’t an easy floor to spend time on. This is the floor that the new chaplain’s mentor decided that it was time for them to quit shadowing, and to do their first solo visit – with a woman who had been there for over four months after a botched surgery. The mentor said, “Now you go. I will wait outside and listen in.”

They went in, introduced themselves as one of the chaplains and began talking with the woman. They offered to pray with her and her daughter, and then continued speaking with them about other things. Finally, their mentor came into the room, introduced himself to the woman and her daughter, and let them know that he had to take the new chaplain away.

When asked how they felt, the seminarian replied “Awkward. If you hadn’t come in there to get me, I do not know how I would have gotten out of the room without being totally rude and just suddenly walking out. But I couldn’t stop talking.” The mentor turned to the student chaplain and said, “Well, we need to work on your exit strategy, that’s true. But you need to realize what you did. You listened. You prayed with them. You helped them to feel heard. And you helped them feel like someone else understood their pain. Sure, you felt awkward. But you knew what to do, even if you didn’t know that you knew. Your doubts and awkward feelings were distracting you from knowing that you had everything you needed to get the job done.”

Today, the Gospel simply starts with “When he heard of this, Jesus withdrew from there in a boat.”

Which makes us ask, what did Jesus hear?

Well, in the previous passage, John the Baptist had been beheaded by King Herod, because the king had made a rash promise to his niece after she danced for him and his visitors. 

Jesus’ cousin John was dead, and Jesus was sad. He wanted to withdraw from the people and be alone to grieve John’s death. But the people followed him. 

And not just a few people.

When he came ashore, the people were waiting for him, and despite his own pain at the loss of John, it says that Jesus had compassion on them, and he cured their sick. As evening approached, the disciples told Jesus that he should send the people away so they could buy food in the neighboring towns.

But Jesus turns to them and says: “You give them something to eat.”

The disciples reply, “All we have is five loaves of bread, and two fish.” It’s as if they want to say, “You feeling alright, Jesus? Do you not see what’s going on? Lots and lots of people. Very little food.”

They’re staring at their hands, then at the crowd, then at Jesus, then back at the small amount of food in their hands, then back at the crowd. Most likely confused, and just a bit terrified. They feel awkward. They are full of doubt. And they think that they are not up to the task of feeding thousands. 

In the tenth chapter of Matthew, we find that Jesus had given the twelve disciples “power over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal all kinds of sickness and all kinds of disease” and sent them all on a trip. We find in Luke’s Gospel, in chapter nine, that the disciples returned from this trip and reported all the things they had done. They had in fact, cast out unclean spirits, and healed the sick of all sorts of diseases. In Luke’s Gospel, we immediately get the same story as we have in Matthew’s Gospel today – the feeding of the five thousand. Luke’s Gospel makes the contrast between what the disciples had just experienced on that trip, and what is about to happen. They had been sent out to heal the sick, to cast out demons, and to preach the good news. And they reported back to Jesus that they had, in fact, healed the sick, and cast out demons. In short, they had been performing miracles, they had been doing mighty acts in the name of Jesus. They already had what they needed. Jesus knew this. It was the disciples who just didn’t know that they knew.

And then, here they are. There are five thousand men, not including women and children, and they only have five loaves and two fish.

Jesus was asking the impossible.

You give them something to eat.

What were they supposed to do?

Like I said, Matthew’s gospel doesn’t make it as clear as Luke’s does, but these disciples had been performing miracles on the trip Jesus sent them on. They had seen the mighty power of God, and yet … here they were, feeling awkward and full of doubt.

Jesus knew that the disciples were already equipped, and he wanted to give them the opportunity to expand their faith. He wanted to teach them about the mighty acts of power that God could do in their midst if they only allowed themselves to believe that what seemed impossible really could be possible.

Jesus knew that the disciples already had what they needed to feed the people, but the disciples were overwhelmed by the numbers. The situation was enormous. It wasn’t just a person here, or a person there. There were a lot of people. Even though they had cast out demons, and had healed the sick, they failed to see how God could work in this situation because they were focused on the details. On the grass were five thousand people and in their hands they had five loaves and two fish. What they forgot was that they themselves had been doing miracles not too long ago. What they forgot was that they followed a God who does miracles and provides for his people.

Do we ever do the same thing?

The disciples could have gone out with the money in their pockets and bought food for people, but that would have meant taking matters into their own hands.  And by taking matters into their own hands they would have lost out on the opportunity to let God expand their view of what is possible. Not to mention all the stress and continued doubt if they had tried to do it their own way.

Twelve disciples returned from that trip where they had cast out demons and cured the sick. And then here, with five thousand people, they stood dumbfounded. And Jesus gave them the lesson of a lifetime. Not only did the small bits of food feed thousands of people, but the disciples picked up twelve baskets of leftovers. It’s almost as if Jesus was saying to each one of these disciples: “There is enough for everyone. And there is enough for you. There is, in fact, far more than you will ever need.”

Over twenty years ago now, after I had finished seminary, I was a deacon awaiting ordination to the priesthood. I was still recovering, you might say, from having spent so much money on my education, and was not at all flush with cash. There was a special event happening in my denomination, and one of the bishops from the Philippines was coming to the USA. God told me to put aside some money for this bishop. And not just “some,” but the very specific amount of one hundred dollars. I was dead broke. Giving away this hundred bucks would make me late on paying my bills. 

I tried to ignore it. I tried to bargain. But for some reason, God kept putting this on my heart, and I finally surrendered. As I gave the money to my local priest to give to the bishop, I was almost in tears, wondering how this could be what God wanted, seeing as how I didn’t have the money to pay my own bills.

When the bishop arrived, he was overjoyed to hear about the money, because he had left the Philippines with no hotel reservation, no place to stay, no way to get around, and only $30 in his pocket. He was scared as he got on that plane, because the details of the situation – a plane ticket and $30 – seemed so impossible. But God had told him that all would be provided, so he stepped onto that plane. When he arrived, people offered him a place to stay; others offered to drive him around; people offered to feed him; and my priest pushed the money I had unhappily donated into his hand. 

When I heard about the part that I played in how things all worked out for this bishop, I suddenly forgot about my own fears about the money I gave away. If I had ignored God, I would have missed out on the possibility of being a part of God’s work in this world. I would have missed out on hearing about a miracle. I would have missed out on seeing God’s amazing power in action.

Sometimes, it’s just about being patient enough to let God get the work done. Sometimes it’s not about getting creative with our own ideas, but allowing God to work in and through other people. Sometimes it’s about getting out of our own way so that God can work in and through us. Sometimes it’s just about having faith that the impossible can become possible. 

We may feel awkward and full of doubt, especially when we look at the details and think we know and understand the facts. We may think that something is impossible. But God knows that we already know what we need to know. We just need to be reminded of that fact: God can make the impossible possible. 

And… I think you already know this.

[This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on August 2, 2026.]