[The following is an excerpt from Chapter 4 of LUCKY: How the Kingdom Comes to Unlikely People.]
To hunger for God is more than a longing for an experience. We often use words like hunger and thirst in our modern expressions of worship. What we often mean by that, though, is that we are longing for an emotional jolt, an experiential, music-driven euphoria on a mass scale. Even though God does frequently make His presence felt, to hunger for God is much deeper than a craving for an experience. It is to meditate on Him, on His life and His words. It is to take Him into us so that we become what we eat.
But hungering for God and His righteousness also means that we long—as He longs—to see things set right. When we embrace a hunger that comes from resisting what the world offers and feast instead on Jesus, we become more aware of those who are hungry now—in their bellies and in their souls. We begin to notice those who are dissatisfied with what they’ve been consuming even though they may not know why. And we notice those who literally need something to eat.
When Jesus heard the news of his cousin’s gruesome beheading, He wanted to be alone. But the crowd that followed Him that day was hungry. Jesus had retreated by boat, attempting to find a solitary place. The crowd somehow anticipated where He was going and ran around the Sea of Galilee so quickly they beat Him there. They were hungry, hungry for something only Jesus could give them. Hungry enough to take the journey on foot. When His boat arrived at the shore and the crowd was there to greet Him with their longing eyes, Jesus didn’t get back in and sail away. Their hunger stirred His compassion. Moved by their need, Jesus healed those who were sick among them.
By the time evening came, He must have been tired and hungry. At least the disciples were. They came to Jesus and suggested He dismiss the people. Look, we’re in the middle of nowhere. They were crazy enough to follow You here. But enough’s enough. They got what they wanted. Send them off. Let them head to the villages and buy their own food.
Jesus saw their spiritual longing and had compassion; the disciples saw their physical hunger and wanted to dismiss them. This was the perfect moment to teach His disciples something about the kingdom of God. You give them something to eat, He told them.
What? How? We only have five loaves of bread and two fish!
Give it to Me, Jesus said. He calmly seated them on the grass. Looking to heaven, Jesus blessed the food, broke it, and gave it to them. And they ate. And ate. And ate. And still, there were twelve baskets of leftovers.
Few things appear in all four gospels. The death and resurrection are in all accounts, for they are the pinnacle of what Christ came to do. His birth, on the other hand, is not in all accounts. Mark’s gospel races us to the cross; John chooses the poetic “big picture” language to begin his story. The feeding of the five thousand, though, is in every gospel. There is something about this act that is significant. It is a Messiah act. As Moses fed the people who followed him in the desert with manna from heaven, Jesus fed the crowd that followed Him into a remote area. But Jesus goes further than Moses. He doesn’t just bring bread from heaven; He himself is the Bread from heaven, a Bread that satisfies all hunger. Jesus said as much shortly after feeding the five thousand, which underscores the message of the miracle. This was no party trick; this was an announcement that He, the Messiah, had finally come to Israel. And feeding the crowd that day was merely a foreshadowing of the feast He would one day bring to all people. Earthly bread was pointing to Heavenly Manna. Temporary filling was a way of awakening hope for the final feast.
I think the same is true when we bring bread to the hungry. When we feed those who are empty on the world—literally and spiritually— we are helping them anticipate the fullness of who Christ is and what Christ is bringing. When we serve food to the homeless, when we invite a friend over for dinner, when we sit with our own family at dinner, it is never just a meal. It is a Messiah act, a way of pointing to the redemption and rescue that has already begun. Meals are, in a sense, sacred. This is why Jesus says to His disciples—then and now—“You give them something to eat.” Every time we feed the hungry, help an addict, encourage one another to refrain from filling up on the world, lead someone to feast on Christ and His word, we are reminding them of the luck that is now theirs, of the Feast of Messiah that is coming. We are echoing His announcement of blessing on those who are hungry now; we are telling them that they will be filled, truly filled, in the age to come.
Lucky are those who are empty on this world, for they will be filled with Jesus and feast with Him in the age to come.
