Eating Leftovers:

Ezra had encountered his body throughout his whole life as an entity with a mind of its own. Today we would call it cerebral palsy, or CP but in Ezra’s time he was simply identified as a cripple. It wasn’t so much of an identification, as it was a marginalization. Everyone in the community pushed Ezra to the edges to the places where he could remain unseen. His body brought to everyone’s attention the vulnerability we each know intimately from the simply being human. 

Spasms came without request … making him appear unpredictable. Pushing him to the edges, hiding him away - allowed the community consciousness to freely proceed on the auto pilot of strength and independence. 

But Ezra was also a son, an uncle and a brother. And the relationships with his sister, Martha, and his nephew, Jack, were wellsprings of joy and delight in Ezra‘s life. Times spent with Martha and Jack were an oasis for Ezra - places of community, company, conversation and of course - food. The meals shared with Martha and Jack were a welcome change from the food given as acts of charity, by those trying to earn their way into God’s grace.

Like so many other Gentile families who were, quite frankly, just poor, pork was the common meat - a cheap source of protein which added to their marginalization in a countryside dotted with the law-observing faithful. The pig was seen as a dirty animal, those who ate it dirty too. 

Usually, every few days Martha took a break from the cheaper pork - and she would make fish. Those were Ezra’s favourite days to share in a meal. Martha made a special bread to go with the fish meal - using the choicest flour she had, adding a few grains of spices and some olive oil - the flavors tasted like a celebration of abundance on the tongue.

The last time they came Martha had promised to send Jack around with fish and bread today. She usually cooked around mid-morning. Everything would be packed in a nice basket, and given to Jack. 

Jack would make the journey from their house past the long fields, down into the little valley and then up to the mountain, a hilltop really,  from which the land laid out all around, as far as the eyes could see was like a buffet table from God on which, in the fall a Thanksgiving feast would be ready for the harvest. 

A harvest so abundant in fields where the labourers were so sparse. 

Ezra wondered whether Jack would pause at the mountain, and he imagined it - he pictured it in his mind’s eye:

Jack, standing at the top of the hill, and looking around as a young boy, amazed at the wonder of the glory of God‘s handiwork.

When Ezra was younger, his twisted body still small enough to be carried by his loving father, he remembered being carried up to the mountain to see, with wonder, all that God has made. So he imagined Jack, heading up that mountain, and then down again, making his way to Ezra’s house - en route having the opportunity to notice God’s handiwork. 

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Martha carefully packed everything into the basket, five loaves wrapped in a clean cotton linen - gently fragranced with spices and still warm from the stove. Two choice fish, deep fried, everything crispy such that even bones could be crunched up. She included in the basket a small clay jug of wine too. A special drink to go with a special meal. 

“No idling, no time-wasting along the way … you have one job and it is to go from our house past the long fields, down into the little valley and then up to the mountain, a hilltop really,  from which the land laid out all around, as far as the eyes could see was like a buffet table from God on which, in the fall a Thanksgiving feast would be ready for the harvest. 

A harvest so abundant in fields where the labourers were so sparse.

From that vantage point, head straight to Uncle Ezra’s so he can have the food while it is still nice and warm” 

She told Jack this every week. And he nodded like he did every week - a normal young boy, preoccupied with his own notions of adventure for the afternoon that lay ahead of him. 

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Jack left the house and made his way with the basket …  past the long fields, down into the little valley and then up to the mountain, a hilltop really,  from which the land laid out all around, as far as the eyes could see was like a buffet table from God on which, in the fall a Thanksgiving feast would be ready for the harvest. 

A harvest so abundant in fields where the labourers were so sparse.

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Noon-hour came and went and Ezra was waiting with anticipation for the food, imagining the steps of Jack’s journey. What in the cat’s pyjamas was taking that nephew of his so long? Jack was usually a prompt boy. Ezra began to get worried. If it were the era of of the Internet or the cell phone, Ezra would definitely have texted Martha to say where is the boy? Is he bringing lunch? Or am I have to going to have to order Skip the dishes?

But in this ancient time, Ezra sat waiting, watching as shadows lengthened, annoyance holding hands with anxiety, a growing emptiness in the centre of his being. 

Finally, he heard the steps coming up to his door.

“Where have you been?” he asked Jack, “I was worried about you. Plus I’m starving!”

Jack came in, leaving his sandals at the door as was the custom, stomping his feet on the mat, to get the dust off of them.

“Uncle, you’ll never believe what I saw you’ll never believe what just happened.” 

“Never mind all that”, said Ezra, “just pass me that basket. Open it up. I’m hungry. I’m an old man in a crippled body, and I cannot stand being empty for too long. ”

With gestures, punctuated by spastic muscle movements, Ezra summoned Jack to the place where the basket could be unpacked, and the food laid out in such a way that Ezra could pick it up, his stiffened fingers like the pinchers of a crab, bringing the food to his mouth for sustenance.

Jack was impatient to tell the story, but he knew his uncle well enough to know his ears would not be opened until his stomach was filled. 

So, itching to just blurt out the incredible description of what had just happened, Jack settled down to the mundane task of setting a table. 

Out of the basket came a plate wrapped over and from that plate when the wrapping was removed there was laid out pieces big pieces of fish, broken and bread broken. 

“What is this?” Ezra asked, “what happened to my lunch? It is fish supper day, the day I most look forward to …  Why did why did you break these? Look at them, they are all in pieces.” 

Jack said “Uncle, you have to taste this fish, taste this bread. It’s like nothing mom ever made. And she didn’t send pieces for you. She sent a nice package of whole fish and a whole loaves like she always does on fish supper day.”

“And I left the house with them still warm in the basket, and I came from house past the long fields, down into the little valley and then up to the mountain, a hilltop really,  from which the land laid out all around, as far as the eyes could see was like a buffet table from God on which, in the fall a Thanksgiving feast would be ready for the harvest. 

A harvest so abundant in fields where the labourers were so sparse

As I started up the valley towards the mountain, I saw a huge crowd was gathered there, Uncle.

There seem to be some kind of commotion because the crowd of people were hungry now, but you know that mountain - so far away from where they could get some food. 

There was a guy in the middle of the gathering … he was like a centre of calm in the midst of a whole group of anxious disciples, gathered around him, like an inner circle. The disciples, that inner circle, they were agitated and worried, wondering about where the things that were needed would come from. Wondering how the next little bit of time would play out.” 

I got closer to hear what was going on. It’s always easy for me to do that because I’m small. I heard them saying to him in feverish voices, almost getting annoyed and angry at the calm guy “send the people home it’s lunchtime. If you don’t send them home they’re going to expect us to feed them. We don’t have anything to feed them. We don’t have money to feed this kind of crowd, besides, there isn’t even any food nearby how would we find the food to feed them? Send them home otherwise they’re going to get hungry! They’re going to mob us.”

The guy in the middle replies, all ZEN-like, and he said “You feed them.”

Then, one of the disciples got really mad! “Feed them with what?”

This same angry disciple must have caught sight of me with my basket, he grabbed it and said, “All we have is this basket this boy has brought along” (as though I had volunteered your lunch, Uncle).

And this angry disciple, he reached into YOUR lunch basket! He said “All we have here is two fish and five loaves, and a little jug of wine. How do you expect this little bit to feed all these people?”

Well, the rabbi in the middle of the circle, not the least bit ruffled by this violent stream of anxiety that was coming at him, said “Give them to me. Give me the food and wine you have there.”

Then he took the food, and blessed it, and broke it, and gave it to the disciples. “Take this. Share it, and remember me”, he said. 

In the same way, he took the little jug of wine, and blessed it and gave it to the disciples and said, “Take this. Share it, and remember me”, he said. 

The disciples took the plate with the broken pieces of food, and the jug and started passing it around - looking at each other like their leader was mad - but it seemed they knew better than to ask questions. One of them muttered to another, something about “remember the wine at the wedding feast” and another one said “remember how he raised the girl from the dead.” 

Uncle, all I could think was “There goes Uncle’s supper, and I’m gonna have some ‘splaining to do.” 

But the plate passed through all those hands. So did the jug. They finally came around to me … and when I looked in it - lo - it was full of bread, and fish, good size pieces too, so I took some fish and bread and passed it on. 

Same with the jug, I shook it and it almost splashed out! So full even though most of the crowd had already had a drink. I drank some. It was the tastiest wine I have ever had. I took another sip, and passed it on. 

Three more times the plate and jug made their way around the crowd.

Each time just as full as the last.

Each bite just as fresh and flavourful …

Each sip just as refreshing. 

When everyone had finished, some empty baskets were laying around and a dozen baskets were filled with pieces of bread and fish. And the plate came back to me as you see it here - and the jug as full as you see it here. 

Uncle, all this from my one little basket that had just the two fish and five loaves.

Uncle Ezra, as he laid into the succulent fish and flavourful bread, more tasty than anything sister Martha had ever sent him before, he could picture all of this! Everything that Jack was saying he could see it through that filter of his innocent, hopeful, crippled, eight year old self, who could still be carried to the top of that mountain. He could see it through that lens. From the lens of his memory, he saw a mountain full of people, but it felt like it was just him and God. And he pictured his healed body, reaching into that basket, reaching for the most satisfying and healing of bread and fish. He felt like he was eating from God’s own hand. 

And he could picture the man in the middle, the one who took the love of a mother, and multiplied it so that it could be shared far and wide amongst people, tired and hungry people, too numerous to count.

And Ezra thought to himself, glory to God, whose power working amongst us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine … glory to God from generation to generation … (in the church and in Christ Jesus … Amen).