Consecration and the Miracle of Multiplication
The day Jesus learned that his cousin John the Baptist died he went away into the desert, as he often did when He wanted to talk to God. And, as they often did when they wanted to talk to God, everyone followed him. He was tired and sad, maybe thinking fondly of the days when no one knew who he was, but he didn’t tell them to go, not even when his disciples came up and said, “They should head back. It’s late, and they’ll want to buy food somewhere” (Matthew 14:15).
“No,” Jesus said. “They can stay. We’ll feed them” (Matthew 14:16).
“We only have five loaves of bread and two fish,” the disciples said (Matthew 14:17).
I wonder if they said and did not record or did not say what they really thought: five loaves and two fishes is not only not enough for five thousand people, it’s not enough for the thirteen of us. We have spent all day in the sun, on the sea and in the desert. We are hungry, and this food split among this crowd will satisfy no one.
“Bring it to me,” Jesus said (Matthew 14:18). He blessed the food, thanked God for it, and had his disciples pass it among all of those who’d followed them. We can see the ending coming: there were two baskets left over (Matthew 14:20).
This is the only miracle (other than the resurrection, and even that is technically debatable) that appears in all four gospels, and I’ve been wondering why. I’ve been wondering if it’s because it was the first one that happened under their hands. Jesus healed the blind and the lame, he raised the dead and calmed the seas, and they witnessed all of that—but this time, they were the ones passing the bread as it multiplied.
Those of you who have been around for a while know that hope is one of my favorite principles and Joe Spencer is my favorite scholar of hope. Spencer says that theological hope is different from the regular kind because of its object: theological hope is pointed towards getting to be a part of God’s work. Not at things going well for you, not full stomachs, a promotion, a lot of leisure time or prestige. Just getting to be part of God’s work. The miracle of the fishes and bread was the most directly involved the disciples had ever been in the workings of a miracle up to that point. They were there, in the thick of it as it happened, and I think that’s why they could never forget it. I think that’s why every one of them wrote it down.
I started thinking about this story last December when Austin was called into the bishopric. LDS Christian clergy is all lay, which means they work on a volunteer basis and keep their jobs. Austin was being asked to be part of it for the next four to seven years. On top of his job, which is regularly eleven hours a day, he would have to give up time at least twice a week for church meetings, and when I heard he was being asked I went to our bedroom and cried.
I don’t know if we can, I told God, and he told me the story of the disciples. How tired they were and hungry—how often they were hungry and tired. How they gave anyway when asked. About Jesus too—who was tired and sad, and probably just wanted to be alone, but let people come to him and stay with him anyway. And, gently, God reminded me that I have covenanted to give everything I have to Him, and this isn’t anything close to everything.
We are not asked to run faster than we have strength, and boundaries are important. But as Nephi says (1 Nephi 3:7), God doesn’t ask us for things we can’t give. If He asks us to feed His sheep, then there will be enough, if not enough and to spare. What we give to God, He makes more. That’s part of why hope is directed at being part of God’s work—because when we give ourselves to God, He makes us more.