What Compassion Tastes Like
Reading the bible is always revelatory for me. I discovered something kind of mind-blowing while preparing this sermon that I had not put together in my 27 years of ordained ministry. Perhaps I knew it at one time and then forgot—that is entirely plausible at my age. I will get to that in a minute. First, you should know that the feeding of the 5000 is the only miracle story told in all four gospels. This fact means that it is a crucial event of Jesus’ ministry and points us to something we should not miss about who Jesus is and, as I will argue, illustrates how his response to evil can heal the world.
Now, the first clue to my own revelation lies in verse 14: “When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick.” Humm…Jesus has compassion for this particular crowd? Why is that? At this juncture in his ministry, many crowds wanted a piece of him. Was it because it was so late in the day and they had shown their devotion to him by hoofing it to the countryside without proper sustenance for the long journey home? Perhaps, but not quite.
I think the catalyst of his compassion for this crowd, the size of which could fill a football stadium, is what Jesus learned right before he got in the boat. In the same chapter, a few verses before these, Jesus receives word that John the Baptist has been beheaded, summarily executed by Herod Antipas. Matthew tells us, “His disciples came and took the body and buried it; then they went and told Jesus. Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place” (vs. 12-13).
My own experience tells me that Jesus is distraught, probably in shock, so getting in that boat and floating away is the only way he can escape the weight of the emotional despair of the disciples and the crowds closing in on him. Think about it—Jesus is as flesh and blood as we are; he desperately needs time to grieve and process the wanton evil inflicted on his prophet, his messenger and forerunner. John’s death is heart-rending because more than all of these titles, John is family. And, of course, the truth—the inconvenient truth of what it means to be the Son of God—settles in his gut, and Jesus knows it’s only a matter of time before they come after him, too.
To place all of this drama in context, you must remember that Herod arrested the Baptizer, put him in chains, and imprisoned him “to placate Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife. John had provoked Herod by naming his relationship with Herodias as “adultery.” Herod wanted him dead, but he was afraid because so many people revered John as a prophet of God” (14:3-5 The Message trans).
But at his birthday celebration, Herod got his chance. Herodias’s daughter danced for the guests, sweeping Herod away. In his drunken enthusiasm, he promised her on oath to give her anything she wanted. Already coached by her mother, she was ready: “Give me, served up on a platter, the head of John the Baptizer.” That request sobered the king up fast. Unwilling to lose face with his guests, he ordered John’s head to be cut off and presented to the girl on a platter (vs. 6-12 The Message). You see, in a few powerful sentences Matthew shows us the insecurity of a man desperate to convince himself and his subjects that his power is absolute. The theologian Stanley Hauerwas put it this way, “The powerful lack the power to be powerful, which means that they live lives of destructive desperation. This desperation often results in others paying the price for their insecurity.”1
Jesus stands in such stark contrast to Herod. He too is a ruler. He too is surrounded by those attracted to his power. But her never wields his power in a way that betrays any kind of insecurity. He is king, but he does not kill. He is the Prince of Peace, so he turns the other cheek. Instead of making threats, he “alives” people who are invited to eat of his body, the bread of life, and drink of his blood, the source of living water. By insisting that his disciples feed the crowd, Jesus models a form of charity that does not seek to gain power over those it serves. History has revealed there are violent and nonviolent ways to feed the hungry. Jesus’ way will always be a threat to the Herods of the world and their pretensions to power.
And now to my revelation: I hadn’t put two and two together until this week. The beheading of John the Baptist and the feeding of the 5000 are connected. The reason Jesus got into the boat was to grieve and process John’s murder, and then “he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick.” What this means is that his response to evil is not to exact revenge; his response to evil is to show compassion. That’s it! And what a lesson for us. Jesus doesn’t round up his posse of disciples to storm Herod’s compound in a bloody insurrection. No, his anger, his grief are transformed into empathy for humanity; there’s no threat to burn it all down. He doesn’t fight fire with fire. He extinguishes it with water, food, and miraculous healings. There is no revenge tour.
Instead, evil exposes his capacity for love. His taking bread, holding it up to the Father, and blessing it is an eternal peace offering to heal the world. This very act means that evil will never prevail. We come to his table forgiven, healed, renewed. And we come day after day, week after week, seeking this nourishment to reorient our lives. In God’s providence there is always something coming out of nothing. And always enough to go around.
The difference between the Herods of history and today is that true power and authority are earned when leaders genuinely care for those they govern through generosity and humility, not corruption, self-interest, or threats. Remember, “God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong” (1 Cor 1:27).
I also wonder about the miracle at the heart of this scripture. Is it the way Jesus feeds well over 5,000 souls with five loaves of bread and two fish? Or might it be what happens among the crowd in Jesus’ presence? Could it be that Jesus’ compassion and generosity evokes their generosity? The Episcopal Priest and writer Barbara Brown Taylor has proposed that when a whole crowd of people move from a sense of scarcity to a sense of plenty, “overcoming their fear of going hungry, giving up their need to protect themselves…refusing to play what-is-mine-is-mine and what-is -yours-is-yours, turning their pockets inside out for one another, this is truly miraculous.2
Jesus’ compassion tends to unmask our selfishness and greed, doesn’t it? I recently experienced this first-hand, and still feel guilty and shameful over the incident. Let me explain. A few weeks ago, while in Colorado on my summer vacation, my son and I drove into the small mountain town of Buena Vista to get gas and groceries. Earlier that week I bought two lottery tickets. Believe it not, I couldn’t figure out if I had won this crossword puzzle game, so I scratched off the bar codes and decided to take them back and ask the clerk to scan them to see if I had won anything. It’s also important to know that my family thinks it’s ridiculous and a waste that I buy scratch-offs. It’s a character flaw. I can’t help it, okay? But a bigger character flaw of mine was revealed by what happened next. The clerk scanned the first one and it was a dud; she scanned the second and the cash register played a little victory jingle. Yay! I won 30 bucks! I felt ecstatic. I felt vindicated! (Never mind how much I spent to win that $30.) Well, as all of this was taking place, I overheard the two clerks talking about a young couple outside with a flat tire.
With $30 in my fat hand, I walked outside and saw how distraught this couple was. The man was on his phone imploring someone for help. I could see the pain in his face—maybe even tears. And the woman in the car looked like life had gotten the best of her. It was a sad, sad scene. I actually said a prayer for them; I felt compassion for them. But here’s the thing: I didn’t act on it, and it still pains me. I knew even then that I should have handed over my winnings. I didn’t need the money to get by. The truth is, that $30 bucks could have been my widow’s mite. Scripture tells us to give out of our poverty, not out of our abundance.
Sure, $30 might not have gotten them a new tire, but it could have helped with a repair or got them a ride somewhere or fed them while they waited. That’s not the point. The point is that they were in need. I could have made a small offering toward it, but I caved to my own greed. I could have shown them compassion in real time. My pain over this still proves that I know I missed the mark. I’m not blabbing this confession to you to convince you to hand over a dollar bill to every panhandler you come across—I am telling you this because it’s a lesson in how we can respond to pain, suffering and evil in the world.
Jesus shows us that the antidote to pain, suffering and evil is compassion. We’re called to be a soft landing spot for someone in need. We can be the reason why one life breathes easier. And it’s not always about money. Coveting and hoarding our prayers, our time, even that smashed protein bar in the bottom of your purse, well, those can be multiplied and shared. Don’t hesitate to share what is good, what is right, what may not get noticed. All of this goodness, selflessness will come back to you. It always does. All we need to know is that even the smallest and insignificant-seeming acts of kindness have the capacity to heal the world. Amen.
1 Brazos Commentary of Matthew’s Gospel by The Rev. Dr. Stanley Hauerwas, P. 138
2 Belief: A Theological Commentary on the Bible, Matthew, Anna Case-winters, p, 191.