[After Jesus had fed the five thousand men, his disciples saw him walking on the sea.] The next day, the crowd that remained across the sea saw that there had been only one boat there, and that Jesus had not gone along with his disciples in the boat, but only his disciples had left. Other boats came from Tiberias near the place where they had eaten the bread when the Lord gave thanks. When the crowd saw that neither Jesus nor his disciples were there, they themselves got into boats and came to Capernaum looking for Jesus. And when they found him across the sea they said to him, “Rabbi, when did you get here?” Jesus answered them and said, “Amen, amen, I say to you, you are looking for me not because you saw signs but because you ate the loaves and were filled. Do not work for food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For on him the Father, God, has set his seal.” So they said to him, “What can we do to accomplish the works of God?” Jesus answered and said to them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in the one he sent.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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Saint Augustine famously wrote, “Our hearts are restless, O LORD, until they rest in you.”
His words ring true throughout the centuries. Regardless of where a person is born or when, how much fame, fortune, or lack thereof they may have, there remains a restlessness within the human heart which the world cannot satisfy.
Another author described that restlessness as, “a piece of night inside, which can never be filled – not with all the good food or sunshine in the world.”
Christians seek to fill that “night” with the light of Christ.
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In today’s Gospel, thousands of people are looking for Jesus. The Lord just fed them with five loaves of bread and two fish. Now they’re hungry for more.
Peering into their hearts, the Lord gently rebukes them, saying, “Do not work for food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life.”
Otherwise, more bread – more of anything – will never be enough.
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Do we try satisfying the “night” within by indulging in the things of this world? Or do we seek something – Someone – more?
As the Psalmist prays, “Hear my voice, LORD, when I call; have mercy on me and answer me. ‘Come,’ says my heart, ‘seek his face’; your face, LORD, I seek.”
May Christ reveal himself to us in the warmth of intimacy with friends; in the still, silent moments of prayer; and, above all, in the Eucharist, “the bread of life,” our food for the journey.
Because our hearts will remain restless until they rest in Him.
That very day, the first day of the week, two of Jesus’ disciples were going to a village seven miles from Jerusalem called Emmaus, and they were conversing about all the things that had occurred. And it happened that while they were conversing and debating, Jesus himself drew near and walked with them, but their eyes were prevented from recognizing him. He asked them, “What are you discussing as you walk along?” They stopped, looking downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, said to him in reply, “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know of the things that have taken place there in these days?” And he replied to them, “What sort of things?” They said to him, “The things that happened to Jesus the Nazarene, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, how our chief priests and rulers both handed him over to a sentence of death and crucified him. But we were hoping that he would be the one to redeem Israel; and besides all this, it is now the third day since this took place. Some women from our group, however, have astounded us: they were at the tomb early in the morning and did not find his body; they came back and reported that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who announced that he was alive. Then some of those with us went to the tomb and found things just as the women had described, but him they did not see.” And he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are! How slow of heart to believe all that the prophets spoke! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them what referred to him in all the Scriptures. As they approached the village to which they were going, he gave the impression that he was going on farther. But they urged him, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over.” So he went in to stay with them. And it happened that, while he was with them at table, he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them. With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him, but he vanished from their sight. Then they said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way and opened the Scriptures to us?” So they set out at once and returned to Jerusalem where they found gathered together the eleven and those with them who were saying, “The Lord has truly been raised and has appeared to Simon!” Then the two recounted what had taken place on the way and how he was made known to them in the breaking of bread.
The Gospel of the Lord.
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Have you ever read the short story, Rip Van Winkle?
It’s a tale about a man who wanders off into the Catskill Mountains and takes a swig of a mysterious but powerful drink that makes him fall into a deep slumber, shortly before the start of the American Revolution.
Rip wakes up twenty years later, not with a headache, but with a flowing white beard and no recollection of what happened.
Finding his way back home, he discovers that his village is larger than he remembers. No one recognizes him, until he stumbles across his two children who’ve since grown up.
They share with him how the American Revolution came and went, and the sad news that some of his friends died in the war. Finding it to be all too much, Rip lives in denial, trying to live as if nothing ever happened.
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Something tells me the disciples in today’s Gospel want to be like Rip Van Winkle.
They yearn for whatever it takes to move beyond their pain, their disappointment, and their unrelenting grief that Jesus has been crucified, died, and was buried.
They thirst to take a swig of some mysterious ale, to pull the covers over their eyes, and to wake up twenty years later, well after life returned to normal and people forgot about Jesus of Nazareth or their association with him.
“We had hoped that he would have been the one to redeem Israel,” they say, unaware that they’re actually speaking with Jesus. Notice the disciples speak of him in the past tense; their hope has shriveled, drying up like a grape in the sun.
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Both physically and spiritually, the disciples are retreating into the sunset, away from Jerusalem, away from their past.
I imagine them looking downcast, kicking pebbles as they go – the pebbles being symbolic of how they themselves felt after being pushed out of town by the crowds, by the authorities, and by their own desperate desire to start over.
After listening to their sorrows, Jesus rebukes these two disciples. “How foolish you are!” he cries. “How slow of heart to believe!”
To believe what, exactly?
“That the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory.”
Let’s be clear here.
This is what we are called to believe – and celebrate. The fact that the Son of God lived and died among us. That he wasn’t a mighty king, but a Suffering Servant. That he didn’t avoid pain or death, rather he overcame it. That he still bears his scars after his resurrection.
That suffering leads to glory. That victory sometimes looks like defeat. That death – my death – leads to life.
Thus, pulling a Rip Van Winkle and sleeping through our Good Friday grief is not how we get to Easter Sunday. The only way to genuine healing and resurrection hope is through journeying with the Risen Lord.
Easter is not about abandoning Jerusalem; it’s about re-entering the city changed. It’s about becoming a wounded healer, teaching others how to churn their sorrow and disappointment into joy.
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The story of Emmaus is good news for us.
Jesus reveals that he does not only appear to the Mary Magdalenes of this world – those who are relentlessly faithful, who cling to Christ even after his death, who are not afraid to face their grief, or to return to the empty tomb in the dim light of Easter morning.
He also appears to people like the disciples in today’s Gospel, who don’t know their bibles, who cannot “see” Jesus, the Messiah, spoken of in the scriptures.
He appears to the lost and disappointed, to those with broken dreams, to those who seem to be walking away from “Jerusalem,” away from the Church, away from their faith, away from God.
Jesus appears to them in disguise – in the face of a loved one, a friend, a stranger.
Some may not find the Lord until the end of their lives, much like the author from that famous poem Footprints in the Sand, when they realize that Jesus had been walking with them all along – and in the most painful moments of their lives, it was then that he carried them.
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The story of Rip Van Winkle, while creative, is not the story of Easter. Christians cannot close their eyes and wish time – or grief – away. Rather, we must encounter the Risen Lord in the here and now at the altar.
It is here where our hearts begin burning within us as we discover that Jesus has been raised from the dead and journeys with us still. Alleluia!
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Image credits: (1) Adobe Stock (2) Storynory (3) The Disciples Running to the Empty Tomb, Eugene Burnand
Jesus went across the Sea of Galilee. A large crowd followed him, because they saw the signs he was performing on the sick. Jesus went up on the mountain, and there he sat down with his disciples. The Jewish feast of Passover was near. When Jesus raised his eyes and saw that a large crowd was coming to him, he said to Philip, “Where can we buy enough food for them to eat?” He said this to test him, because he himself knew what he was going to do. Philip answered him, “Two hundred days’ wages worth of food would not be enough for each of them to have a little.” One of his disciples, Andrew, the brother of Simon Peter, said to him, “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish; but what good are these for so many?” Jesus said, “Have the people recline.” Now there was a great deal of grass in that place. So the men reclined, about five thousand in number. Then Jesus took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed them to those who were reclining, and also as much of the fish as they wanted. When they had had their fill, he said to his disciples, “Gather the fragments left over, so that nothing will be wasted.” So they collected them, and filled twelve wicker baskets with fragments from the five barley loaves that had been more than they could eat. When the people saw the sign he had done, they said, “This is truly the Prophet, the one who is to come into the world.” Since Jesus knew that they were going to come and carry him off to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain alone.
The Gospel of the Lord.
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The multiplication of the loaves is the only miracle recorded in all four Gospels. Why did it make such an impression upon the disciples?
The answer can be lengthy – certainly too much for a morning reflection. But here’s one reason why this Gospel still matters today.
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The multiplication of the loaves reveals different reactions to human need.
When the disciples see the large crowd, they realize just how many are tired and hungry. Overwhelmed, they try to dismiss them. “Send them away,” they say to Jesus, as if they don’t have enough food, energy, or time to make a difference, even for a single person.
That needy, famished crowd was an overwhelming sight.
We might have a similar reaction today when turning on the news (or even looking around). We’re reminded of just how many are suffering from hunger, violence, hatred, loneliness, or discrimination in some form.
Like the disciples, we can be tempted to close our eyes or change the channel, subconsciously thinking, “send them away,” as if what we have is not enough to make a difference.
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But Jesus leads us to a different perspective. He urges us to acknowledge the needs of those around us, and to bear some sense of responsibility for helping them.
To take what little we have – five loaves and two fish, an hour out of our day – and start to feed them one at a time. When we all pitch in, it becomes enough.
This is not only true in solving problems like poverty, hunger, and loneliness; it’s also how we move the Church – even this little parish – forward. We all pitch in one loaf, one hour, at a time.
If all Christians were proactive in living out their faith, then we’d not only feed five thousand for a day; we’d feed them for life.
May the feast begin with us.
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Image credits: (1) Miracle of the Bread and Fish, Giovanni Lanfranco (2) Where Peter Is (3) Sunny 95
