Now it is to be observed that this is the only incident before our
Lord's last journey to Jerusalem which is recorded by all four
Evangelists; therefore the variations between the narratives are of
especial interest, and these variations are very considerable. We find,
for instance, that in John's account the question as to how the bread
was to be provided came from Christ; in the other Evangelists' accounts
that question is discussed first amongst the Apostles privately. We
find from John's narrative that the question was suggested even before
the multitudes had come to Jesus. We find in the Synoptic Gospels that
it arose at the close of a long day of teaching and of healing.
Now it is possible that this diversity of time may be the solution of
the diversity of the person proposing. That is to say, it is quite
legitimate to conclude that John's account takes up the incident at an
earlier period than the other Evangelists do, and that the full order
of events was this; that, privately, at the beginning of the day,
whilst the people were yet flocking to our Lord, He, to one of the
disciples alone, suggests the question, 'Whence shall we buy bread that
these may eat?' and that the answer, 'Two hundred pennyworth of bread
is not sufficient that every one of them may take a little,' explains
for us the suggestion of the same amount at a subsequent part of the
day, by the Apostles when they asked our Lord the question, 'Shall we
go and buy two hundred pennyworth of bread that these may eat?'
Be that as it may, we may pause for a moment upon this question of our
Lord's, 'Whence shall we buy bread that these may eat?'
Now notice what a lovely glimpse we get there into the quick-rising
sympathy of the Saviour with all forms of human necessity. He had gone
away to snatch a brief moment of rest. The rest is denied Him; the
hurrying crowds come pressing with their vulgar curiosity—for it was
nothing better—after Him. No movement of impatience passes across His
mind; no reluctance as He turns away from the vanishing prospect of a
quiet afternoon with His friends. He looks upon them, and the first
thought is a quick, instinctive movement of a divine and yet most human
sympathy. The question rises in His mind of how He was to provide for
them; they were not hungry yet; they had not thought where their bread
was to come from. But He cared for the careless, and His heart was
prophetic of their necessities, and quick to determine 'what He should
do' to supply them. So is it ever. Before we call, He answers. Thy
mercy, O loving Christ! needs no more than the sight of human
necessities, or even the anticipation of them, swiftly to bestir itself
for their satisfaction and their supply.
But, farther, He selects for the question Philip, a man who seems to
have been what is called—as if it were the highest praise—an 'intensely
practical person'; who seems to have had little faith in anything that
he could not get hold of by his senses, and who lived upon the low
level of 'common sense.' He always lays stress upon 'seeing.' His
answer to Nathanael when he said, 'Can any good thing come out of
Nazareth?' was, 'Come and see.' A very good answer, and yet one that
relies only on the external manifestation of Christ to the senses.
Then, on another occasion, he breaks in upon the lofty spiritualities
of our Lord's final discourse to His disciples, with the _malapropos_
request, 'Lord, show us the Father, and it sufficeth us.' And so here,
to the man who believed in his eyesight, and did not easily apprehend
much else, Jesus puts this question, 'Where is the bread to come from
for all these people? This He said to prove him.' He hoped that the
question might have shaped itself in the hearer's mind into a promise,
and that he might have been able to say in answer, 'Thou canst supply;
we need not buy.'
So Christ does still. He puts problems before us, too, to settle; takes
us, as it were, into His confidence with interrogations that try us,
whether we can rise above the level of the material and visible, or
whether all our conceptions of possibilities are bounded by these. And
sometimes, even though the question at first sight seems to evoke only
such a response as it did here, it works more deeply down below
afterwards, and we are helped by the very difficulty to rise to a clear
faith.
Philip's answer is very significant. 'Two hundred pennyworth of bread
are not sufficient.' He casts his eye over the multitude, he makes a
rough, rapid calculation, one does not exactly see the data on which it
was based; and he comes to the conclusion, 'Two hundred pennyworth' (in
our English money some L. 7 or L. 8 worth) would give them each a
morsel. And no doubt he thought himself very practical. He was a man of
figures; he believed in what could be put into tables and statistics.
Yes; and like a great many other people of his sort, he left out one
small element in his calculation, and that was Jesus Christ, and so his
answer went creeping along the low levels, dragging itself like a
half-wounded snake, when it might have risen on the wings of faith into
the empyrean, and soared and sung.
So learn that when we have to deal with Christ's working—and when have
we not to deal with Christ's working?—perhaps probabilities that can be
tabulated are not altogether the best bases upon which to rest our
calculations. Learn that the audacity of a faith that expects great
things, though there be nothing visible upon which to build, is wiser
and more prudent than the creeping common-sense that adheres to facts
which are shadows, and forgets that the chief fact is that we have an
Almighty Helper and Friend at our sides.
Still further, among these preliminaries, let us point to the
exhibition of the inadequate resources which Christ, according to the
fuller narrative in the other Evangelists, desired to know. 'There is a
little lad here with five barley loaves'—one per thousand—'and two
small fishes'—insufficient in quantity and very, very common in
quality, for barley bread was the food of the poorest. 'But what are
they among so many?' And Christ says, 'Bring them to Me.'
Christ's preparation for making our poor resources adequate for
anything is to drive home into our hearts the consciousness of their
insufficiency. We need, first of all, to be brought to this, 'All that
I have is this wretched little stock; and what is that measured against
the work that I have to do, and the claims upon me?' Only when we are
brought to that can His great power pour itself into us and fill us
with rejoicing and overcoming strength. The old mystics used to say,
and they said truly: 'You must be emptied of yourself before you can be
filled by God.' And the first thing for any man to learn, in
preparation for receiving a mightier power than his own into his
opening heart, is to know that all his own strength is utter and
absolute weakness. 'What are they among so many?' When we have once
gone right down into the depths of felt impotence, and when our work
has risen before us, as if it were far too great for our poor strengths
which are weaknesses, then we are brought, and only then, into the
position in which we may begin to hope that power equal to our desire
will be poured into our souls.
And so the last of the preparations that I will touch upon is that
majestic preparation for blessing by obedience. 'And Jesus said, Make
the men sit down.' And there they sat themselves, as Mark puts it in
his picturesque way, like so many garden plots—the rectangular oblongs
in a garden in which pot-herbs are grown—on the green grass, below the
blue sky, by the side of the quiet lake. Cannot you fancy how some of
them seated themselves with a scoff, and some with a quiet smile of
incredulity; and some half sheepishly and reluctantly; and some in mute
expectancy; and some in foolish wonder; and yet all of them with a
partial obedience? And says John in the true translation: 'So the men
sat down, therefore Jesus took the loaves.' Sit you down where He bids
you, and your mouths will not be long empty. Do the things He tells
you, and you will get the food that you need. Our business is to obey
and to wait, and His business is, when we are seated, to open His hand
and let the mercy drop. So much for the preparations for this great
miracle.