by Donna Poole
Ideas taken from a sermon by Dan Poole
I wasn’t one of the Fantastic Four, Peter and Andrew, James and John, that double duo of brothers everyone remembers. I certainly didn’t make the Terrific Three, that inner circle who were closest to Jesus: Peter, James, and John. So, even if you grew up going to Sunday school every week, you probably don’t know much about me.
This story isn’t about just me, but it might help if you have some idea of who I was. Let me fill in a few blanks. Like Peter and Andrew, I came from Bethsaida, a town in Galilee. Before I became a disciple of Jesus I followed John the Baptist. As soon as I found Jesus, I told my friend Nathanael to come see him, and he became a disciple too. One other time I introduced some Gentiles from my hometown to Jesus. No big deal. I never did anything big. I didn’t write any of the gospels or stand out in any way. I was just your ordinary Joe.
Even my name was ordinary, Philip. I was one of four guys in the Bible named Philip. I don’t care if you confuse me with Philip the evangelist, but I’d rather you didn’t mix me up with those two sons named Philip that King Herod the Great had by two different wives! At this point in time, I guess it doesn’t really matter though.
Here’s something that does matter. Our story, the story of the Twelve. The story of what it was really like to be a disciple of Jesus from someone who’s been there done that. A lot of the time we had to be something Jews really hated—dirty, dusty, and stinky. We had blisters on our blisters. You may wonder, when you read the gospels, how we twelve could have bickered about such little things when we were with Jesus. Well let me ask you, how do you act when you’re overworked and exhausted day in and day out with no letup in sight?
Let me give you an example. It was the day we almost quit. To a man. No, I should be more accurate. I doubt John would have ever left Jesus. Judas though, he was always up for walking out at the drop of a broken sandal strap, and we broke plenty.
This one time, we were even more tired than usual. We’d just returned from our first mission trip, and even though we’d seen fantastic things happen, that trip was as far from a vacation as you can begin to imagine. Then we found out King Herod, that weak, wicked, worthless piece of garbage, had beheaded our beloved John the Baptist. On top of all that there were multitudes coming and going, a steady stream to see Jesus. We didn’t even have time to eat. So many people! Not all of us disciples were extroverts either. Me personally? I was about ready to become a hermit.
Did you ever get to that place where your body will hardly keep going, your soul is sick, and you’re barely keeping it together? That’s where we twelve were. Jesus understood.
He said; I’ll never forget the words, “Come apart by yourselves to a deserted place and rest awhile.”
By ourselves? Deserted place with no people? Rest? It was about time! Maybe this wouldn’t be an actual vacation, though I felt like we’d earned one and needed it, but hey! Even one day off sounded pretty good at this point!
We heaved a collective sigh of relief. We’d seen so many faces, so many hands grasping at Jesus for healing, so many voices shouting for him.
A quiet place alone sounded too good to be true. Jesus gave directions and we headed for our sanctuary.
Were we disgusted when we got there and found out thousands of people had anticipated our destination and beat us there? Disgusted isn’t the right word. Horrified is more like it. Everyone but Jesus that is. Ever compassionate, he saw their spiritual hunger and taught them. All. Day. Long.
We kept looking at the sun. Surely, Jesus would send them home soon, so we’d have our quiet time to rest. But no. Noon. Three. The hours crept by.
It was time for an intervention.
“Jesus,” we said, “send this crowd home. They haven’t eaten all day. It’s time for them to go into the nearby villages and buy some food to eat on the way home.”
Jesus looked at us and didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he smiled. “You feed them.”
We heard the words, but our brains couldn’t comprehend. Surely, Jesus didn’t mean literally feed them. Was this the beginning of another of his parables? I did some quick math in my head.
“Jesus,” I said, “It would take a half a year’s wages, maybe two-thirds, to buy enough bread to give everyone in this crowd a piece. Where do we get that kind of money?”
“Does anyone here have any food?” Jesus asked. “Go find out.”
Out into that sea of humanity we went. If anyone had food, and I’m sure they did, they weren’t saying. Only one person was willing to share, a little boy who had five rolls and two small fish. Someone had packed him a snack for the day. Don’t tell me no one else had brought a snack. People always bring food on outings, but no one else was about to hand over their stash. Take good care of number one and all that. I gave a few people a dirty look, but it did no good. We took the little bit we had to Jesus. It was a laughable amount.
“Now go back into the crowd and make them sit down,” Jesus said.
That may sound simple to you reading this, but there were at least 5,000 men, and who knows how many women and children? Out into the crowd we went for the second time.
Did you ever try to get a big crowd to shut up, listen, and sit? We twelve were so exhausted by then we could hardly see straight. We finally got the people to sit on the grass in groups of fifty and one hundred. But they definitely didn’t quiet down. Not until Jesus looked up to heaven.
A stillness fell over the crowd, and Jesus did an amazing miracle. He started breaking up that tiny lunch and handing it to us. “Go feed the people,” he said. “Give them as much as they want.”
Sure. It was a fantastic miracle. But Jesus could do anything. We twelve knew that by then; this was the nineteenth miracle we’d seen him do. Jesus knew we were exhausted. Why didn’t he just have the food drop into their laps? Or why not serve it buffet style and have the people come get it?
And that’s when we almost quit. We couldn’t take another step. Our strength was gone. Not only that; we didn’t want to take another step. The hungry crowd be hanged! We needed rest!
And then another miracle happened. We obeyed in spite of feelings. We took the food from Jesus, and, even though we didn’t want to, we began moving among the crowd for the third time, handing out the food, seeing the smiles of joy, hearing the thank yous. Oh, sure, people will be people. Not everyone was grateful. Some grabbed and never expressed gratitude. Some actually complained there wasn’t more variety. But we twelve? We who’d used up every ounce of energy? Somehow, we had the strength to do this one last thing. And joy replaced bitterness. We were getting to be part of heaven’s work on earth.
Actually, we only thought it was one last thing. When the people finished eating, Jesus sent us back out into the crowd for the fourth time to gather up the leftovers, the food no one had touched. Guess how many baskets we filled? Twelve! What do you suppose we did with those?
That day, I decided if I lived long enough to have grandchildren, I’d tell them to always be willing to give God whatever they had in their picnic baskets. I’d tell them about two miracles. Jesus fed 5,000 people with a little boy’s snack. And Jesus showed us discipled God can do his work without human hands, but sometimes he uses ours. And that’s pretty amazing.
I didn’t learn my lesson all in one day, but gradually I got it. God wants us to pull people out of ditches, and they seldom fall into them when it’s convenient for us. People need us when we’re too exhausted to go one more mile. They need us when we’re on our way to a quiet sanctuary. But Jesus will never leave us, and he’ll give us the strength and joy to reach out. One more time.
The end
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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:
Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
