Mark 8, 1-10

18th Sunday after Trinity - Harvest Thanksgiving

Pastorin Kornelia Schauf

Mark 8, 1-10

During those days another large crowd gathered. Since they had nothing to eat, Jesus called his disciples to him and said, “I have compassion for these people; they have already been with me three days and have nothing to eat. If I send them home hungry, they will collapse on the way, because some of them have come a long distance.” His disciples answered, “But where in this remote place can anyone get enough bread to feed them?” “How many loaves do you have?” Jesus asked. “Seven,” they replied. He told the crowd to sit down on the ground. When he had taken the seven loaves and given thanks, he broke them and gave them to his disciples to distribute to the people, and they did so. They had a few small fish as well; he gave thanks for them also and told the disciples to distribute them. The people ate and were satisfied. Afterward the disciples picked up seven basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. About four thousand were present.

Dear congregation,

You have heard the passage from the Gospel of Mark. Did you pause for a moment? Was it all just as you remember the story? Seven loaves? And seven baskets left over? Or did you get the impression that something wasn't quite right—that, somehow, we know the story differently: five loaves and two fish? A little boy with his lunch? Five thousand men? And twelve baskets left over?

During our seniors' retreat, we held a Bible study on this narrative. Horst Müller pointed out to us that this story appears in every one of the Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. And each one tells it slightly differently. It is worth taking a close look—just as the story itself invites us to do—at what we have before us here.

So, today we turn to Mark: 

Seven loaves of bread. A few fish. 4,000 people. And seven baskets. And the people had already been with Jesus for three days. 

I really like this passage in the context of our Harvest Thanksgiving service. 

For Harvest Thanksgiving also means taking a closer look: What do we actually have? What is available to us? 

The bread is on the table. The water flows from the tap. The electricity works.

The fridge is full. And we hardly give it a second thought.

Until, suddenly, one of these things can no longer be taken for granted. Just like in today’s reading from Mark, which tells how the bread began to run out.

We can manage without electricity for a while. We can get by with less for a while. Many things keep working for a while. We adapt to the situation. 

But eventually, we reach a point where almost everyone says, "Now things are getting difficult." Some say it sooner, others later, depending on their strength and their circumstances.

It is at a point like this—when things get difficult—that Mark tells his story.

Mark recounts: The people have been with Jesus for three days. For three days, they listened to him. For three days, they stayed together. For three days, they have held out.

Perhaps they had made provisions for this time. Perhaps some still had a bit of food for the journey with them. But now, Mark says, they have nothing left.

Yes, eventually, supplies run out.

And Jesus sees this. He says, “I have compassion for these people.”

I like this sentence; it moves me. Jesus looks closely. He sees their weariness. He sees their hunger. And he thinks of the journey that still lies ahead of them. “If I send them home hungry now,” Jesus says, “some of them will collapse along the way.”

A journey can be long—even too long. Sometimes the distance is physical; sometimes it is an inner journey. At times, we simply do not know how we will manage the next stage of our lives. Perhaps we have all known such times: at the beginning, things are manageable. We have strength. We have ideas. We have provisions. We are not alone; we are with others. We are convinced that everything will turn out well—that we can handle it.

But eventually, doubts creep in. We realize that things cannot simply go on like before.

Bread runs low. Strength runs low. Patience runs low. Perhaps even hope does, too.

At this point, Jesus acts. He takes what is available, gives thanks, blesses it, and distributes it.

The disciples take longer to grasp the situation. They see only a massive problem.

They see 4,000 people who have nothing—or at least far too little. And they realize: we are in a remote, uninhabited area.

Their question and their concern are entirely valid and understandable: "Where can we get enough bread here to satisfy them all?" It is a very sensible question.

When we face a major task, we tend to think and act in similar ways. We calculate. How much do we need? How much do we have? How big is the problem? What will it cost? And sometimes, we calculate until all we can see is what we lack. The more we calculate, the greater the problem seems, and our mind tells us: We can’t pull this off.

In moments like these, what we lack becomes so vast and overwhelming.

The disciples see 4,000 people. And they see seven loaves of bread. Surely, that could never be enough.

Jesus asks a surprising question. He doesn’t ask, "How many loaves are you missing?"

He asks, "How many loaves of bread do you have?"

For me, this is one of the pivotal moments in the story.

What do you have?

This is a question that fits the occasion of Thanksgiving: What do we have? We can start listing things right away: our food, our homes, our families, our friends, our community, our health—insofar as it has been granted to us.

Our experiences. People who have walked alongside us. People to whom we can pass something on.

As soon as we start listing what we have, we realize: it is actually quite a lot. Everyone can name something. There is no one who would say, "I have nothing."

It is not necessarily what we wished for or what we desire. In that situation, the disciples surely would have preferred to have seven hundred loaves of bread.

They do not possess something that can be guaranteed with absolute certainty to be enough.

Mark begins with seven loaves. No well-stocked cellar or full granary.

No abundance—just what is there at the moment.

And then a miracle occurs. Jesus takes these seven loaves. He gives thanks to God. He breaks them. And he gives them to the disciples. And the disciples distribute them. And suddenly, something happens that no one could have calculated beforehand. The people eat. And they are satisfied. And in the end, the leftover pieces are gathered up. Seven baskets. Seven, of all numbers.

Seven is a number that appears frequently in the Bible and is often associated with abundance and completeness. We hear "seven loaves" and think: That is too little. Yet, as Mark tells the story, that number itself already carries a sense of abundance. A miracle takes place: We realize that the little we have does go further than we expected.

I do not believe that Mark wants to tell us: “If only you believe strongly enough, all problems will vanish.” That would be too simple. We know that hunger exists. We know that people suffer. We see that illnesses do not simply disappear just because we believe.

Mark tells another miracle: that a little is enough.

The disciples see seven loaves of bread. And they witness God bringing forth from them more than they had expected.

As Christians, we do not have a master plan for saving the world. We do not always know how we will manage. Yet we have stories in the Bible and in our hearts that we can share—stories that give people hope and provide them with strength for the path that lies ahead.

And that is why this story is so fitting for our Thanksgiving service. Just like the photo exhibition which illustrates the cycle of transience. Thanksgiving is a celebration that makes me realize just how far a little can go. I learn to marvel at it—and to share it.

Many of you are familiar with the organization "Bread for the World" (*Brot für die Welt*). It was founded on December 12, 1959, out of compassion. A severe famine was gripping India, and a number of Christians felt deeply moved by compassion. They realized that the path facing the people there was long—far too long. Several Protestant churches joined forces and made donations; it was originally intended to be a one-time initiative.

But it did not remain a one-time event; it became a miracle: the funds and the compassion multiplied, and over the past 67 years, "Bread for the World" has alleviated so much suffering.

Anyone would have understood—and indeed understands—if people were to say: "We cannot overcome the famine in India."

But Mark describes a different movement: seeing, feeling compassion, giving thanks, and sharing.

Perhaps faith does not mean always knowing how everything will turn out for the best.

Perhaps faith sometimes simply means not taking what we have for granted. Give thanks and share. Take the next step, even when you cannot yet see the whole path.

A journey can be long. Mark tells us that Jesus sends no one on a path where they will collapse along the way. Jesus shares what is available, gives new strength, and makes hope grow.

Amen.