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Printer Friendly VersionThe summer of 1999 was among the most memorable of my life.
On a bright June Sunday morning as our group turned off the comfortable paved
road of cosmopolitan Nairobi we immediately encountered a contrasting world
of tin-roofed shacks, rutted dirt roads, and a multitude of people living
in poverty, eking out a living, full of busyness but going nowhere. It was
as if with a single turn of the road we had gone back in time. Kawangwara
is but one of several “ghetto cities” in Nairobi. I remember feeling
overwhelmed by the need and thinking, “Somebody ought to do something!”
Two weeks later we were driving on the superhighways around
Johannesburg, South Africa when I noticed a similar phenomenon. Adjacent to
a modern housing subdivision was what appeared to be a squatter’s village
built with discarded cardboard, plywood, and paper. The glow of open fires
and smoky pillars wafting toward the sky revealed the absence of electricity.
Portable toilets and public water spigots on the outer edge of the village
were the full extent of the “conventional” plumbing. This village
was one of several around the city. My host explained that these communities
were populated with persons who had come to South Africa from neighboring
countries in hopes of finding a prosperous future for their families. Instead
they found high unemployment and, in some cases, social rejection. I remember
feeling overwhelmed by their plight and thinking, “Somebody ought to
do something!”
Not many days following I was in Western Europe visiting with
family. We experienced the sights and sounds of ancient cities and quaint
villages. Among our “must-see” stops was Dachau, one of the notorious
Nazi concentration camps where Jews and European dissidents were interred
and, in some cases, exterminated during World War II. It was sobering to walk
the same ground as the prisoners did, to imagine the despair of their existence,
to shudder at the horror of the callous cruelty of their captors, and to realize
that such evil exists today, no matter how much we say “never again”.
I remember being overwhelmed by that reality and thinking, “Somebody
ought to do something!”
Not long afterwards I was in Toronto attending a denominational
youth congress with all of the energy and excitement inherent in such events
where Christian youth gather to consider seriously the call to authentic faith
in Jesus Christ. But I was particularly struck by the contrasting image of
the myriad of run-away and homeless adolescents who gathered in tribes on
the downtown street corners. Some bore the “Goth” look with its
characteristic jet-black hair and clothing. Others sported spikes in their
hair and on their dog-collar necklaces and bracelets. Many had body piercing
in places unimaginable to most conventional adults. Most bore the marks of
rebellion, abuse, or rejection. All lived an existence of discontent. Even
in the euphoria of a Christian youth congress, I remember being overwhelmed
by the sense of hopelessness embodied in these street kids and thinking, “Somebody
ought to do something!”
In another week I attended a retreat in Colorado Springs. I
anticipated this time of quiet away from the frenetic pace of the prior months
and before the rush of a new school year. Yet, even here I encountered the
need. Over dinner one evening one of the retreat participants shared about
his ministry to teenagers in Hollywood, California. It was gratifying to hear
the “success” stories of kids who had been redeemed from the streets
and had a hope-filled future in Christ. Yet his reality is that for every
teenager he helps to rescue, three or four take her place. A few redemptions
barely make a dent in the needs of hundreds of run-away, throw-away kids who
wander up and down Hollywood Boulevard. It is enough to overwhelm you. Somebody
ought to do something!
Persons who are in the trenches of ministry in contexts I have
just described speak about a phenomenon known a “compassion fatigue”.
The constant encounter with need and the continual expenditure of material
and emotional resource in service of the need brings about a physical, emotional
and spiritual exhaustion that sometime causes one to grow weary in well-doing
and skeptical about most everything, including God. I’ve known a few
of Christ’s servants who’ve come close to compassion fatigue.
Frankly, most of us are a long way from compassion fatigue.
Like those suffer from fatigue, we are not blind to the need of those around
us. Even if we do not travel to the world’s urban centers, we see enough
need to be overwhelmed. It may be the material poverty in our own community.
It may be the spiritual poverty in our own workplace. It may be the emotional
or relational poverty in our own neighborhood. Yet, our problem is not fatigue.
Our problem is more like “compassion paralysis”. We see the need,
but we are paralyzed by its magnitude compared to our measly resources. So
we, like many others, passionately cry, “Somebody ought to do something!”
By that we mean somebody else. We are not without heart, we simply do not
believe in the adequacy of our resources. Do you know what I am talking about?
Our text describes Jesus desiring a solitary place to rest and
mourn the death of John the Baptist. He needed space and time to grieve and
be renewed in body and spirit. He needed a break from the pressing cries of
the crowd who craved a miraculous sign, a healing touch, or a hope-filled
word. There had been no shortage of ministry opportunities, but now was a
time for rest and renewal. Yet it was not to be. When he arrived at his solitary
place, he was met by a crowd who yearned for more of Jesus’ time and
energy. And Jesus “had compassion on them and healed their sick”
(v. 14).
Matthew’s attention in the text then turns to the disciples. They, like Jesus, saw the need. Here was a multitude that needed to be fed. So they admonished Jesus to “send the crowds away” (v. 15) so their need could be met. Can you hear them cry?
“Somebody ought to do something!”
But Jesus forces the issue back to them. He confronts their
compassion paralysis head on. “They do not need to go away. You give
them something to eat” (v.16). Yes, Jesus responded, somebody ought to
do something, and that somebody is you!
So the disciples conducted a needs assessment that determined
the magnitude of the problem (5,000 hungry men plus women and children) and
a very brief resource inventory since all they had was five loaves of bread
and two fish. They came to a very reasonable conclusion. There was no possible
way the resources met the challenge of the problem. It would take a miracle.
Little did they know.
Matthew’s description here is so brief and to the point
that it almost betrays the spiritual and interpersonal dynamics of this incredible
moment. The text reads from verse 18,
“Bring them here to me,” he said. And he directed
the people to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish
and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave
them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people. They all
ate and were satisfied …”
Just like that? Jesus asked for what they had. They gave it
to him. Jesus offered a prayer of thanks, broke the bread (which, from what
we can gather from the Matthew’s description, still totaled five loaves)
and then gave it back to the disciples to distribute. The disciples handed
it out and everyone was had their fill. So there you are; 1-2-3-4, as if meals
like that happen everyday.
So what was the miracle? Most would say the miracle was in the multiplication of the bread and fish, and it was spectacular. But I am coming to believe that the greater miracle was that the disciples actually passed out the loaves and fish knowing it was futile. And yet they obeyed! Even though their reasonable assessment of the situation revealed their resources were ridiculously short, still they passed them out. I wonder when the revelation that their five loaves and two fish would feed the multitude struck them. They must have had to make several trips back and forth between Jesus and the crowd to distribute the food. I wonder on which trip they began to believe there would be enough. I wonder on which trip they stopped saying “Somebody ought to do something” and started saying “Don’t worry; there will be enough for everyone”.
Perhaps the real miracle was not the multiplication of food
but the multiplication of the disciple’s faith! Perhaps the most powerful
healing that took place that day was not a divine cure for blindness or palsy,
but for “compassion paralysis”.
Tomorrow we will encounter need. Most of us won’t go looking
for it. We won’t need to. It will find us. The need will not be convenient.
It may be in the midst of our search for solitude. It may be late in the day.
It will likely be overwhelming, layered with complexity, more than we can
satisfy with a little money or a religious word or two. It will not be a new
experience for us since we’ve seen the need before and been paralyzed
by our inadequate resources. Will we sing the familiar song of compassion
paralysis, “somebody ought to do something” and return to our routines
or will we hear the voice of Jesus ask “what do you have, give it to
me” and respond with what we have, as meager as it may be?
If we choose to obey we should not be surprised if the miracle
of the multiplication of faith happens again as it did along the shores of
the Sea of Galilee. God is no stranger to such miracles …
… with a shepherd’s staff God separated the sea,
… with a band of 300 God struck down an evil army,
… with five smooth stones God slew a giant,
… with pots of water God provided the wedding wine,
… with a widow’s mite God filled the storehouse of
faith,
… with five loaves and two fish God fed a multitude,
… just imagine what God can do with our meager resources.
Yes, somebody ought to do something. Maybe that somebody is me and you.