part0014

T he story I’m about to share qualifies me for admission into a diminishing population. Younger readers will quite possibly discount what I tell you as hyperbole. No one, they will reason, has been around that long. No one alive, they will surmise, still remembers those days. No one, they will tell their torn-jeans-wearing, tattoo-covered friends, is still alive who recalls the day that e-mail entered the world.

The last decade of the twentieth century was just getting underway. Clinton still had some dark hair. Cars still had cassette players. And I embraced the misconception that e-mail was a passing fancy. It would go the way of Slinkies and Slip ’N Slides. (I misjudged those two as well.) Who in their right mind, I reasoned with my friends, would exchange handwritten letters for electronic mail?

What I didn’t confess to them and am admitting publicly for the first time is that I was overwhelmed by the world of computers. It intimidated me. It was New York City, and I was a country hick. It was Beethoven’s Fifth, and I clunked playing “Chopsticks.” It was the Pacific Ocean, and I was a minnow. Still I got thrown in.

I went to sleep one night in a world of sticky notes. I awoke the next morning in a paperless society that the avant-garde thinkers on our church staff had been dreaming of for months. “Just think,” they would say, “move the cursor, click the mouse, and the message is sent.”

My computer illiteracy was so severe I thought a cursor was a person who used foul language, a modem was something you flushed, and a mouse was a rodent you trapped. As far as I knew, logging on was the job of a lumberjack. And a monitor? We had one named Norman in our college dormitory.

How was I to know that interface was a computer term? I thought it was basketball trash talk to be used after a slam dunk. (InterFACE, baby!) Forgive me for lagging behind (or is it “logging behind”?), but I was intimidated. I was as plugged in as a toaster in an Amish kitchen. I didn’t know where to start, how to act, or what questions to ask.

You know the word. You know the feeling. You know the paralyzing, deer-in-the-headlights fear that surfaces when the information is too much to learn, the change is too great to make, the decisions are too many to manage, the grief is too deep to survive, the mountain is too tall to climb, or the crowd is too numerous to feed.

After these things, Jesus went over to the other side of the Sea of Galilee (also called the Sea of Tiberias), and a huge crowd of people was following him because they had been seeing the signs (the significant things) he was doing with the sick. So Jesus went up into the mountain and was sitting there with his disciples. Now the Passover, the Festival of the Jewish people, was coming up. (John 6:1–4) 1

John does us a favor by mentioning the proximity of the Passover. He gives us our calendar bearings. Passover was a springtime celebration. The winter chill of January and February was giving way to the warm breezes and wildflowers of March and April. This is the first of three Passovers mentioned in John’s gospel. Jesus was just two springtimes away from his final Passover in the Upper Room.

For the Jews, Passover was a season of possibilities, a happy recollection of the exodus from Egyptian bondage that whet the appetite for a repeat performance. Would deliverance come in the form of the Nazarene miracle worker? Might he be their Moses and lead them to a promised land? They hoped so. They had seen the signs he had performed. They knew about the healings and the teachings. They followed him around the Sea of Galilee.

At a certain point Jesus realized that the multitude had nothing to eat. They had no more food in their sacks. They had no food trucks or stores in which to shop. These fifteen thousand-plus people (five thousand men plus women and children) were hungry.

“Where can we buy enough bread to feed all these people?” (Jesus was asking this to test Philip, because Jesus knew what he himself was going to do.) Philip responded, “Several thousand dollars’ worth of bread wouldn’t be enough to give even a tiny bite to all these people!” Then one of Jesus’ other disciples, Andrew, the brother of Simon Peter, said to Jesus, “There is a boy here with five loaves of barley bread and two fish. Oh, but what are these things when there are all these people?” (vv. 5–9) 2

Philip, a practical sort, looked out over the sea of faces. He heard the murmurs and imagined the grumbling stomachs and replied with no hesitation: “We ain’t got what it takes to face this challenge. Our purse hasn’t got the coins. Our budget hasn’t got the moola. Our capacity hasn’t got the ability. There are too many mouths and not enough dollars.”

2. Philip’s response: “Several thousand dollars’ worth of bread wouldn’t be enough to give even a tiny bite to all these people!” (v. 7)

3. Andrew’s idea to start with the boy’s lunch, but then: “What are these things [loaves and fishes] when there are all these people?” (v. 9)

Jesus acknowledged “all these people.” Philip saw no help for “all these people.” Andrew had an idea, but the suggestion wilted in the face (or faces) of “all these people.”

It might be something as pedestrian as “all these diapers” or “all this homework” or “all these long days.” Or it might be as disrupting as “all this dialysis,” “all this depression,” or “all these bills.”

We’d like to think the followers would respond with more faith. After all, they’d seen water turned into wine and a lame man walk. We’d like to see more spunk, more grit. More “We can’t, but you can, Jesus!” But they and the silent others showed no spark. They counted the hungry people, the money in their bag, and the amount of bread and fish. They did not, however, count on Christ.

And he was standing right there! He could not have been nearer. They could see, hear, touch, maybe even smell him. Yet the idea of soliciting his help did not dawn on them.

Jesus said, “Please get the people seated.” (There was a lot of grass there.) The people sat down; they numbered about five thousand men. So Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated, and as much fish as they were wanting, too. So when they were satisfied, he said to his disciples, “Please gather up the leftovers so that nothing will be lost.” Well, they gathered twelve whole baskets of leftovers from the overflow to those who had eaten the five barley loaves! (John 6:10–13) 3

I envision the people sprawled out on the green grass, so satisfied that they needed a nap. Those who didn’t sleep picked their teeth. No small amount of belching could be heard. Hungry bellies became happy bellies. There was so much food that twelve baskets of leftovers were gathered. (One souvenir for each doubting apostle?)

The impossible challenge of feeding “all these people” became the unforgettable miracle of all these people fed. The Galilean Gazette carried the headline “Banquet for Thousands!” and this lead sentence: “Christ did what no one imagined, just as he did at the wedding.” Isn’t that the lead sentence of the gospel message? What we cannot do, Christ does!

If you see your troubles as nothing more than isolated hassles and hurts, you’ll grow bitter and angry. But if you see your troubles as opportunities to trust God and his ability to multiply what you give him, then even the smallest incidents take on significance. Do you face fifteen thousand problems? Before you count your money, bread, or fish, and before you count yourself out, turn and look at the One standing next to you! Count first on Christ. He can help you do the impossible. You simply need to give him what you have and watch him work.

“Jesus took the loaves” (v. 11). He didn’t have to use them. He could have turned the nearby bushes into fruit trees. He could have caused the Galilean sea to spew out an abundance of fish. He made manna fall for the Israelites. He could have done it again. Instead, he chose to use the single basket of the small boy.

All you have is a wimpy prayer? Give it. All you have is a meager skill? Use it. All you have is an apology? Offer it. All you have is strength for one step? Take it. It’s not for you and me to tell Jesus our gift is too small. God can take a small thing and do a big thing. God used the whimper of baby Moses to move the heart of Pharaoh’s daughter. He used the faulty memory of an ex-con to deliver Joseph from the prison and send him to the palace. He used David’s sling and stone to overthrow the mighty Goliath. He used three nails and a crude cross to redeem humanity. 4 If God can turn a basket into a buffet with food to spare, don’t you think he can do something with your five loaves and two fishes of faith?

Biddy Chambers did. Had she given up, no one would have criticized her. Had she walked away, no one would have thought less of her. Her God-given assignment was to partner with her husband in teaching the Bible.

They met in 1908, and by 1910 they were married, living in London, and busy about their dream of starting a Bible college. They purchased a large home and made rooms available for students and missionaries on furlough. Biddy’s training was in stenography. She took careful notes of her husband’s lectures and turned them into correspondence courses.

At the outbreak of World War I, he felt a call to minister to soldiers stationed in Egypt. He and Biddy and their two-and-a-half-year-old daughter moved to the Middle East, where he took a position as a chaplain. Their ministry continued. He taught, she transcribed. He lectured; she captured his messages. It was a perfect partnership.

Then came the setback. Her husband’s complications from appendicitis rendered Biddy a widow. Her husband died at the age of forty-three. She buried him in Egypt and returned to London to face this question: How could she partner with her husband if her husband was gone? All dreams of a teaching ministry would need to be abandoned, right?

No. Biddy chose to give God her loaves and fishes. She set about the work of turning her husband’s notes into pamphlets and mailing them to friends and acquaintances. Eventually they were compiled into a book. My Utmost for His Highest was published in 1927. 5

No one could have predicted the impact that this volume would have upon its readers. Earliest devotees included Billy Graham, Bill Bright, and Henrietta Mears. Bill Wilson and Bob Smith, the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous, used to begin meetings with readings from its pages. George W. Bush turned to it for inspiration. 6 It has sold more than thirteen million copies and has been translated into more than thirty-five languages. The work of Oswald Chambers surely exceeded his fondest hopes. But it was the sincere faith of his wife, Biddy, that made the difference.

The next time you feel overwhelmed remind yourself of the One who is standing next to you. You aren’t alone. You aren’t without help. What bewilders you does not bewilder him. Your uphill is downhill for him. He is not stumped by your problem. When you present your needs to him, he never, ever turns to the angels and says, “Well, it finally happened. I’ve been handed a code I cannot crack. The demand is too great, even for me.”

You may feel outnumbered, but he does not. Give him what you have, offer thanks, and watch him go to work. Your list of blessings will be so long you’ll need to buy a new hard drive for your computer so you can store it.