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When I was growing up, church picnics were a big thing. I can still see it… long tables with white cloths strung out end to end. Plastic forks and knives, napkins and paper plates on this end. Pitchers of lemonade and iced tea on that end. In between assortments of meat dishes and vegetables down here; various salads and desserts down there. Plenty of rolls and butter. Makes me hungry just thinking about it. In some rural churches they were an all-day affair. People came to church early and left late. They ate and played and sang together -- true Christian fellowship. There always seemed to be plenty of food left over.

Looks like our story of the feeding of the 5,000 is no different. Just another church picnic only a little bigger. No one announced ahead of time that on a certain hill at 4:00 in the afternoon "we will gather together with Jesus to eat." No one announced what to bring. A-H bring vegetables. No one even organized it the way our church finally did. We had to. For a while everyone would bring the same thing. Everyone would bring dessert, and the children would be sick for two days. Or they would all bring salads and the dieticians would smile -- all that good roughage, great for regularity. No. At the feeding of the multitude, no one was expected. The whole thing was impromptu. It just happened.

There they were listening to Jesus' sermon, enthralled with Jesus' words, and some stomachs started grumbling. So Jesus, deciding that he had talked long enough, began to be concerned about the people's hunger. He stopped and said, "Let's feed them." You see, our religion is not merely a spiritual, but a physical matter as well. Our faith is not in a God who remains mysterious in some heaven we can't see. Our faith is in a God who became a man, who got hungry and thirsty even as we do today. In Buttrick's words, "Not a marionette dropped heaven or angel come slumming." He was very man of very man who knew our hurts. When he cut his finger it bled. He asked for water from the woman at the well and on the cross he said "I thirst." So Jesus took compassion. He always has since it's his nature. It's the nature of God. "They don't need to go away. You give them something to eat."

In the wilderness God provided manna for the Israelites who escaped from Egypt. God told pouting Elijah to get up and eat. In an upper room, he sat at a table, not too different from the one in every church, and says to each of us, his poor, dear children, broken and hungry, "take, eat." All of the stories reveal a very simple fact -- that God Almighty is concerned about lunch. And because of that, Christ believed in feeding the hungry. He knew what real missionaries have always known -- that an empty stomach rarely leads to a soul redeemed for Christ, even before Maslow created his hierachy of needs. Christ takes compassion on us in our human predicament.

But the compassionate thing to do is not always the practical thing to do. The practical thing to do in this case is to send the people away. So the disciples did the only thing left for them to do: they met and reported to Jesus. "We have looked at the budget, taken a tally and concluded that there's not enough here to feed all these people. Even if we send out, the closest fried chicken place is 10 miles away. Not even Dominos can handle a crowd like this. Let's send them home." Good practical advice.

Well, Jesus didn't even put it to a vote. He seems to have made up his mind ahead of time. "Come now. You can do better than that. Work with what you've got." No matter how poor you think your resources are. No matter how deep the trouble, work with what you've got. "How many loaves have you? Work with what you've got." You are in some deep trouble. There seems to be no way out. You are at the lowest point and Christ turns to you and asks, "How many loaves have you? Examine your resources."

He says to the disciples, "Work with what you've got." By the way, what have you got anyway? They replied, "five loaves and two fishes." It's not much by any standard. Not for 5,000 people. People of lesser faith in the power of God would have said, "Well, I see your point." But Jesus isn't put off by anyone, least of all you and me scurrying about worrying whether or not we will raise the budget this year. Christ is not interested in budgets. He is interested in people growing in the faith and trusting in his power. Budgets are only a barometer of how people are growing in the faith and trusting in his power. I sometimes wonder if those who started the Stewpot here at First Church read this passage every morning. The hungry faces were about the door peering in as they are in every town in every age. Some with good reason said, "We'll never be able to do it on $300." Others heard the voice of God echoing through the ages. "You provide the bread. Let me take care of the miracle." And by God's grace, $300 has grown to nearly $500,000 and a few loaves have grown into hundreds of thousands of loaves as folks all over the city continue to provide the bread which God blesses and spreads to the poor and hungry of downtown Dallas. You send your money in and God does something with it.

As a practical, reasonable Presbyterian, I have trouble with this idea. Even though I know it is right. As a practical, reasonable Presbyterian, I have trouble with Jesus. Jesus seems to believe too much in the power of God. I would rather hold back. Be realistic. I am much more like the 42-year-old president of the successful computer software company whose sign on his desk reads, "Never promise them pie in the sky until you see the bakery truck coming down the street." But that sign is too safe for Jesus. He would knock it off the desk just as surely as he challenged his disciples that day. He is much more than entrepreneur, the risk taker. He is always out ahead of us, calling us forward challenging us to be more than we think we can by the grace of God.

Or perhaps, he gives us such outlandish promises because he can in fact see the bakery truck way out in the distance. Because he knows the power of almighty God when it is unleashed in the midst of a giving people, a congregation that means to take the lead, a congregation that means to show its community, yea, even this country, what it is to sacrifice in the name of Christ. "How many have you?" says the Lord. "Not many" is our reply. "More than you think," says Jesus. "You don't have to send them away. Give them something to eat. You provide the bread, let me take care of the miracle. How many loaves have you? Work with what you've got." Do you see the risk involved when you follow this Christ? We all want to be one-talent people holding on for dear life to the few chips we have, while all the time Jesus wants us to make like the five-talent man. He wants us to bet the whole ranch on Beautiful Dreamer to show in the third. "You provide the bread. Let me take care of the miracle."

Perhaps William Barclay is right, an explanation that even a good post-Kantian, post-Newtonian, scientific secularist could buy. Perhaps he is right when he says that the focus of this story should not be on the loaves and the fishes, but on the hearts and souls of the people gathered. Perhaps the focus should not be on the miracle of the physical multiplication of loaves, but the miracle of selfish people becoming generous people. Maybe what happened was that the 5,000 did have some food and in the presence of Christ they opened up and began to share.

There was once a missionary in the Philippines who worked in the gold-mining communities of Bagio. He led many worship services in little huts that had been put up on stilts because of the monsoon rains. One Sunday he went up into a little hut only to find it packed with people. It was communion Sunday. In the front was a little table covered to the floor with white cloth. On it were a little piece of bread and a tiny Dixie cup filled with grape juice. He wondered whether these elements would be enough for this large group huddled together. But he forged ahead. He said the words over the bread and passed it around. Somehow, miraculously, a small corner of it came back. Then he took the little cup in his hand as he had held that silver chalice many times back in the states and said, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Drink ye all of it." He passed it around. It made it through the first two rows and came back. It was set on the table in front of him, empty. They looked at him smiling as if to say, "Produce some more now." He looked about frantically for a bottle of grape juice. There was none in sight. He prayed, "Lord, help me" and suddenly a little brown arm came up from under the table and snatched the cup off. The missionary smiled at the people nervously and then pulled up the cloth only to see a little Filipino man with a pitcher of water and four packages of grape fizzies! Dropping the cloth quickly, the missionary looked back at the crowd smiling confidently. Pretty soon a little brown arm came up and placed a full cup of grape juice on top of the table. And off they went with the rest of the service. "You provide the bread; let me take care of the miracle."

What little thing can you do -- a word of hope? A helping hand? Though it may seem useless to you against the vast needs of the world, do it. Whatever the deed, God will bless it and spread it. You and I are called to bring our tiny field to God's great sky, "our filament of wire to God's electric power. Thus the scientist brings his labored search, and God gives the flash that leads to new discovery. Thus the (composer) brings his pen and seeming poverty of thought and -- suddenly the inspiration. Thus the saint brings" (her) own humble life and the world is somehow changed (George Buttrick, Interpreter's Bible, vol. 7, Nashville, Abingdon Press, 1951, p. 432).

What preacher who has spent a lifetime preaching in a pulpit has not known the frustration of a sermon that seemed limp on Saturday night, but soared Sunday morning by the power of the Spirit? "You provide the bread. Let me take care of the miracle," says the Lord.

And so it happened with a little man in North Carolina named Mr. Beam. He was a minister for a while in small country churches. Oh, how he loved to preach the Word, to stand before a little huddle of God's people and preach the Word from the Book. He considered it the greatest honor and privilege a person could ever have. But then he developed a problem with his throat. And that was the end of his preaching. It nearly broke his heart -- the man who loved preaching so much.

When he died, he left all he had to a church in Charlotte for "purposes of evangelism" he said. What he left grew and grew and now, single-handedly supports the weekly television ministry. And it is said around Charlotte that in a single service on any given Sunday, more people hear the message of Christ than Mr. Beam ever preached to in a whole lifetime. "You provide the bread. Let God take care of the miracle."

Worry not about what little you have to give. Whatever it is, God will bless it and spread it to the glory of God's kingdom.

Don't worry about the future anymore. You provide the bread. Let God take care of the miracle.