Years ago, I took a group of youth to St. Louis for an immersion program. We participated in a simulation, a sort of role playing game, that sought to give us a sense of what it feels like to live in poverty. It was an uncomfortably realistic experience. As we moved through our week, folks lost healthcare, had their stuff stolen, and got evicted. One group was awoken in the middle of the night and told their house was on fire. And we were hungry. We had to share a scarce supply of packaged food. We went to bed each night with grumbling stomachs. During the day when we were working, I felt faint, anxious and unable to concentrate. One of the major learnings for all of us, I think, was how stressful it is to be hungry all the time, how hunger magnifies tough emotions and clouds decision-making and steals hope.

It’s the hunger in today’s Gospel text that grabs me. This familiar story has a lead-in that’s less well-known. The previous chapter closes with Jesus’ rejection in his hometown. The crowd in Nazareth knew Jesus and his family well. To them, he was nobody special; they were offended by his claim to be a prophet, healer, and teacher. And today’s passage opens with news of tragedy: King Herod has executed Jesus’ cousin and co-conspirator, John the Baptist. At Herod’s birthday bash, John’s head was served up to the guests on a platter.

So I imagine that when Jesus withdrew to be alone, he was hurting and grieving, yearning for rest, care and justice. He was hungry, hungry for a different kind of world—one in which everyone could eat and be filled, and people were not continually sick and weak for lack of nourishment; a world in which leaders respected and supported their people rather than abusing and exploiting them; a world of expansive imagination and practical innovation, where we live differently, knowing it is possible to feast together on God’s abundance. When Jesus saw that a huge crowd of sick and needy people had walked a great distance to seek healing, he recognized kindred spirits, people who shared his hunger. So despite his exhaustion, and his desire for solitude, he chose to act with compassion. In Greek, compassion is splagchnizomai. It’s rooted in a word that literally means “internal organs” or “bowels”. So this compassion of Jesus was a deep, visceral, whole body experience. He got it, he felt it in his gut, how they hungered (as he did) for something better.

Jesus’ impromptu picnic is a clear critique of Herod’s barbaric feast. Herod’s party echoed the way empire runs the world—wining and dining the elites while the masses remain hungry, scared and sick, manipulating and controlling everyone with threat of violence. Jesus’ meal channeled God’s ways instead. It all started with compassion, with that shared hunger. The disciples wanted to send the people away to buy food; Jesus insisted his followers stay in relationship with their hungry neighbors. “You give them something to eat.” The disciples were not supposed to be bystanders, admiring Jesus’ ministry; they were called to share in his hunger, share in his compassion, and share in his power to channel divine abundance. “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” Clearly the disciples thought that was indeed nothing. Jesus knew it was something; it would be enough; it might become plenty.

Jesus looked up to heaven, blessing, breaking and sharing… Because he knew that all food is free, that everyone’s life is sustained by abundant gifts of our Creator’s generous supply. Because he was clear that he was a mere conduit; he was not in charge of divine power. Because he belonged to a people formed by their muscle memory of extravagant, yet humble grace—over generations, they came to trust God responds to our hunger with food for body and soul, with enough for each day. Eating as much as they wanted, being full, having leftovers, that must have been an unusual experience for oppressed people living with the constant threat of starvation. A taste of heaven for sure.

I’m fascinated by a phenomenon called “trail magic” that happens on long distance hiking trails. It might be that a trail angel appears beside the path with a cooler of cold drinks or a stack of pizzas. It could be the offer of a ride or an invitation to do a load of laundry in someone’s home. Trail magic is a free gift, unforeseen help that comes to a weary or discouraged, hungry or thirsty hiker, often at a moment of great need. There are all sorts of stories thru-hikers tell about the kindness of strangers. Here’s one, narrated by a guy named Chris who hiked the Appalachian Trail: “Just as the temperature dropped and snow began to fall in the afternoon I came across a hunting dog that had been separated from his pack. He was friendly and began to follow me as I trudged up the trail. The sight of him ambling along ahead of me wagging his tail was welcome distraction—I called him “Gus.” I thought I’d bring him to the shelter with me, help him stay warm through the bitter cold night that was forecast, but I couldn’t help worrying over the fact that I was down to my last dinner and had no surplus food to share. The day’s hike ended with a terrible climb … The wind was blowing away all of my resolve and endurance, and the climb seemed to have no end. I’d saved half of my last Snicker’s bar to feed to Gus when we reached the shelter, but I was so hungry that when we reached the top I waited until the dog was not looking and guiltily scarfed my snack. We made the cold descent down the backside of the knob as the afternoon light dwindled—I prayed there would be someone at the shelter who might have extra food for Gus. When we came to the sign pointing us to Deep Gap Shelter there on the post we found a couple of bags zipped tied with a note: “For the Northbound Hiker and Puppy Dog—Woof Woof!” It was a handful of candy (Skittles and Starburst) and a bag of dog treats.” [from “Appalachian Trail Dispach: Trail Magic” by Chris Gallaway via Blue Ridge Outdoors]

Friends, reading this familiar text, one message that stands out for me: our hunger is important. Pay attention to your hunger and the hungers of the world around us; don’t ignore it, or numb it or run from it. Discomfort and dissatisfaction, deep, gut-level need, is our guide. It’s only when filled with longings and yearnings that we are ready to encounter God’s trail magic, offered by God’s trail angels Our deep desire for a different kind of world connects us with others, activating our gut-level compassion and our spirit-led imagination. “People are hungry,” the poet says What are you hungry for? What does that hunger have to teach you? Amid the daily deluge of information, lies, news, entertainment and outrage, it’s our hunger that we can trust. It’s our hunger that will lead us to the loaves and fishes. It’s our shared hunger and shared compassion for this beautiful, hurting world that allows us to receive God’s feast of free food—blessed and broken and shared; nourishing, substantial, and satisfying. Amen.