Quick Bible trivia question: remember that story – it’s in all four of the Gospels – of the day Jesus spoke, apparently at some length, to a gathering of more than 5,000 people? What did He talk about that day?
What extraordinary insight did He offer into the mind of God? What discerning observations about the hearts of men? What pithy parable to illustrate the enduring foibles of human behavior?
Mm. I don’t know, either. In fact, His subject(s) that day aren’t noted in any of the four accounts.
You know what is recorded? What they ate.
Fish and biscuits. Two thousand years later, we can’t recall anything of that wonderful sermon, but we know what they gave out for snacks.
What does this tell us about church people?
That we haven’t changed a bit.
My wife and I are active in a Bible study class at our church. If you’re involved in one of those – or a small group, or probably even a non-church civics or social club or professional gathering – you know that the coming-togethers of the gang are only partly about exploring Scripture or doing good deeds or playing cards or sharing personal expertise. It’s also about the food. Maybe mostly about the food.
About who’s bringing the snacks. About what snacks are being provided. About how many snacks there are to go around. Etc. Any place, any era, people take their munchies seriously.
So seriously that most of these kinds of groups have designated someone to organize things and pass around the sign-up sheets and keep week-to-week track of who’s doing doughnuts or bringing sandwiches or toting in an extra bottle of juice, “‘cuz we didn’t have enough last time and you know how that goes.”
In our group, my wife keeps track of the catering. She double-checks every week to make sure who’s up to culinary bat and that they remember signing up a couple of months ago for the coming occasion. She also takes up any slack in the line. Last Sunday, remembering that the folks on refreshments call were going out of town, she stepped in to cover the bite-to-eat base.
I am of mixed mind on this. On the one hand, I support my wonderful wife in all things, and am quietly proud of the considerable efforts she goes to set an inviting table for our Bible-and-bagels crew.
On the other hand, her conscience nags her, quietly insisting that all of us really should eat better, or at least endure better (i.e.: low calorie) treats for the sake of those trying hard to walk the nutritional straight-and-narrow. That means I can’t look forward, on her turn, to things like Chrissy or Jan’s maple doughnuts, or Kathy’s miniature orange cupcakes, or Sasha’s pineapple upside-down treats.
Nah, if my wife is on, it’s usually going to be something tasty but (sigh) healthy – read: not especially filling – and my mind is going to be less engaged with, say, 1 John than with the lunch way out there on the far side of Chapter Two.
So, came last Sunday, and on our way out to the car, my beloved was reminding me to fetch from the fridge the plate of fresh fruit she’d so carefully sliced, diced, peeled, and sorted the night before. Suddenly, she whirled to face the calendar. “Today’s the 24th?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, pulling out and surveying the tray, mentally reserving the more tasty-looking pineapple chunks and grapes for myself.
“They’re not gone this week. They’re gone next week,” she said. “Sasha is on for this week.”
Again: two minds: a) “Bless your heart” (out loud), for my wife had put quite a lot of effort into the (now unnecessary) preparations, and b) “Sasha!” (in my head), for Sasha is one who knows how much better New Testament insights go down with something sweet and doughy on the side.
“Can you take the fruit tray to work tomorrow?” my wife suggested. "Sure," I said.
Monday morning, I saw the yellow Post-It on the front door marked, “Fruit Tray,” and knew that my wife had, as usual, made plans in advance for my early a.m. amnesia. I carted the tray to work, set it down in the break room, and dutifully sent around an email, announcing the presence of fresh produce in the community pantry. In the distance, I could make out the sound of the stampede that inevitably follows such announcements.
A little while later, I received a cheerful email from a co-worker I didn’t know I had.
“What a wonderful treat this morning,” she wrote. “I realized, as I was grabbing my lunch before I left, that our grapes had some mold on them. So, I cut into a new orange bell pepper I just bought and discovered mold inside that, too!
“I decided to just bring my sandwich and some nuts for lunch, disappointed at my lack of either some nice fruits or vegetables, but thinking: ‘God can provide,’ and ‘Thank you, Lord, for the good food you have provided.’
“And then, low and behold, you provide such a lovely array of fresh fruit and an answer to a seemingly unimportant prayer. Thank you, again.”
Well, a) great attitude on that young lady’s part. Hers is not the attitude I’d have come up with, sad to say, were I facing the day with naught but nuts and a sandwich.
And b) what a remarkable God. To use even our away-times, our misremembrances, our seemingly wasted efforts to accomplish His purposes, great and small. To convert even our Sabbath gluttony into an exceedingly personal intercession in the life of one of His faithful ones.
He sees us coming. He’s cleaning up behind us. Walking beside us. And way, way ahead of us – working small wonders of grace for His children.
Yes, an eternal God can be in so many places at once.
And always will be.
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