The Miracle You Almost Missed

Think about your most recent, or maybe your favorite all-time vacation. What events stand out about it? What are the things you most remember? What are the stories you told to your friends and family when you got back?

You may have talked about the beaches, or the wondrous sites you saw.

But I'm pretty sure you didn't say, "Oh, wow! This vacation was amazing! The sun rose every single day and our toilets in the hotel reliably flushed! In fact, we had running water the whole time!"

I doubt you mentioned, when someone asked about your vacation, how your rental car happened to start every morning. If you had a problem with the car, you might have talked about that! But no, if it worked as expected, it probably didn't "make" your post-vacation rundown.

The spectacular things in life tend to crowd out the ordinary. We tend to focus on what's more dramatic over the dependable, regular, but arguably more important features of our day.

Matthew captures this precisely when he addresses his "second" account of Jesus feeing a mass of people. The feeding of the four thousand is often treated as the lesser sibling of the feeding of the five thousand. Almost as if Matthew could have just shrugged his shoulders and written "DITTO" instead.

But there's more about this latter, slightly "smaller" account, that signifies it as distinct from it's "bigger brother."

 

The Crowd That Came for Wonders

Matthew tells us, "Great crowds came to him, bringing with them the lame, the maimed, the blind, the mute, and many others. They put them at his feet, and he cured them, so that the crowd was amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the maimed whole, the lame walking, and the blind seeing. And they praised the God of Israel" (Matthew 15:30–31,.

Big stuff, right? These are the things we'd usually put on the headlines. But it just two verses he packs the healing of the lame, the maimed, the blind, the mute. He has them speaking, moving, walking, and seeing. Ultimately, they're praising, too.

But that's all prologue in this account. At least in the way Matthew writes it.

Because he spends about twice as long with what follows. It starts with a simple, semi-private conversation. Jesus calls His disciples aside. He pulls them apart from the crowd. It's like backroom strategy session of a kind. "I have compassion for the crowd, because they have been with me now three days and have nothing to eat; and I do not want to send them away hungry, for they might faint on the way" (Matthew 15:32).

Three days. The crowd had been fasting, whether by intention or circumstance, for three days.

I've fasted twenty-four hours before. I've fasted forty-eight hours several times. I've come close to three days but, honestly, I've never made it that far. Granted, in ancient cultures, people were more accustomed to fasting, probably by necessity as much as for devotional purposes.

Still, they'd come and were willing to go without food because they were seeking something sensational, hoping for a spiritual breakthrough, mostly healings we're told, hoping for a story they could take with them and tell their friends, family, and neighbors. And they got all of it. They saw the maimed made whole, the blind people who were there saw it too because they were now healed. They praised God!

But Matthew takes us behind the scenes. To something that most of the crowd didn't witness. And in a time when paper was pricy, and ink was also expensive, Matthew doesn't extend this part of the event longer than the former by accident. It's intentional.

 

The Miracle Behind the Curtain

Read the whole text. Most of what happens pertaining to the multiplication of the loaves and fishes happens in a kind of hidden way . Jesus gives thanks. He breaks the bread. He hands it to the disciples. The disciples distribute it to the people. The crowd sees bread appearing in baskets, sees themselves fed, sees seven baskets of leftovers collected.

But the actual moment of multiplication is invisible. It happens on account of the prayer and words of Jesus, passing through the hands of His disciples.

The crowd sees nothing that appears miraculous. But what they experienced was probably the biggest miracle of the three days they were out there. And they don't realize it. They eat their full and figure, most likely, that someone had arranged for some kind of caterer to bring in the food. There is nothing that suggests the crowd realized they were eating miracle food.

By spending nearly twice as many words on this as he did on the dramatic healings, Matthew is telling us something. He is saying: pay attention.: The louder miracle is not always the greater one. The one that draws the crowds is not always the one that reveals God's heart and character most clearly.

If you and I had been there, we would have gone home talking about the healings for weeks. And perhaps, if someone reminded us, we might have said, "Oh yes, and He fed us too, somehow." The feeding would have become a footnote to the fireworks.

But in the Gospel, it is the fireworks that are the footnote.

 

Why God Gives Signs to Beginners

Most of you know I have a real appreciation for Carmelite saints and their spirituality. Many of them, especially St. John of the Cross, write of what you might call a distinction between the gift and the giver. The consolations we often receive and God, Himself.

Consolations consist of things like the sweetness we feel in prayer, the moving experiences that make us feel closer to God, even visions or signs, the sense of the sacred that seems to almost elevate us God.

These consolations are real. The might even be from God. But they are not God.

They're like the candy grandpa offers a young grandchild just so he'll come sit on his lap.

Beginners in prayer often receive an abundance of these consolations. Newly converted hearts frequently report vivid experiences, dramatic answered prayers, overwhelming senses of divine presence. Miracles, it seems, are far more common in the Mission field, where people are hearing the Gospel for the first time, where conversions are frequent.

Sometimes we might be tempted to thing, "Why do the missionaries see all these extraordinary things while God is leaving us here on our churches with no such signs and wonders?" We might be tempted to think, "Is God no longer interested in us, is he angry with us, is He more interested in the people over there on the other side of the world? Has he abandoned our church?"

None of that. Because such consolations, signs, and miracles, are often intended precisely for the new believers, the young in faith. You might love Pixy Stix when you're five. When you're thirty-five you'd much prefer a steak, lobster, or even a salad. No, the steak might not be as "sweet." But sometimes sweetness isn't the point. Too much of it and, well, we'll get nothing but a little hyperactivity and a crash.

The same applies to consolations in prayer, to "emotionalism" in earlier less-mature expressions of our faith.

Because there's a real danger if we get too attached to the sweets. If we are too focused on consolations.

If we focus too much on the signs, we can forget about the Giver. We can, like the crowd, come home raving about the healings and forget about the compassion of Jesus who quietly fed four-thousad people with just a few unglamorous fishes and loaves.

We can spend our whole spiritual life chasing the next consolation, the next spiritual high, the next confirmation or miracle, and never notice that Jesus has called us aside and wants to simply invite us to his table to eat.

There comes a time, as we progress and mature in the faith, when God intentionally withdraws these signs and wonders, these consolations and "spiritual highs."

St. John of the Cross these seasons of withdrawal "dark nights." The soul that has grown accustomed to consolations suddenly finds them gone. Prayer feels dry. The old techniques that used to get us excited no longer seem to work. Reading the Bible used to be exhilarating, but now it feels like you can barely focus as you try to get through a text. The music at Church no longer moves it like it used to.

Many souls at this stage conclude that God has abandoned them, or worse, that He was never really there in the first place.

But the truth is nearly opposite.

The withdrawal of consolations is often the sign that God is inviting us into a more mature love. He is saying, in effect, "You have grown large enough to be fed the real stuff, the solid stuff, the gourmet stuff. You do not need the candy anymore. Come, let me show you my compassion. Come, let me show you my heart."

 

The Compassion the Crowd Did Not See

Look again at what Jesus says to His disciples: "I have compassion for the crowd" (Matthew 15:32). The Greek word here is splagchnizomai. It literally refers to the inward parts, the guts, which in that culture was the "seat" of emotion in the human. When the Gospels say Jesus was "moved with compassion," they are saying that something in Him, in the core of his gut, his very being, was stirred.

This is what the disciples saw. They'd actually seen a miracle like this before, and that time, he'd fed a thousand more. This time, well, it's almost like a step back in terms of the impressiveness of the feat itself. But Jesus is showing them something else this time. He's showing them His heart. He's exposing the interior movement of divine love. That's why this miracle happened.

The crowd received the bread. The disciples much more. They got a glimpse at God's love, which is to say, God's very essence. After all, God is Love.

This is the movement of every serious spiritual life. We begin by receiving what God does for us. We mature by beginning to perceive who God is in Himself. We begin by taking the gifts. We mature by loving the Giver. And finally, we begin to participate in the life of God Himself, loved into Love.

 

The Greater Miracles Hidden in Plain Sight

Interestingly, St. John of the Cross says at one point that the season of dryness, the "dark night" really isn't dark at all. It's just the opposite. It's so bright, so flooded, that to our maladjusted eyes it only seems dark. It takes time to adjust, to grow into the dark night so that the light that's been there all along can finally be seen and apprehended without squinting.

When we have new eyes ready to see, we start to realize that most of our lives are chalk full of miracles. We've just grown so accustomed to them that we take them for granted. The greatest miracles are not rare and dramatic interventions. The fact that food somehow grows out of dirt, that we've got enough on our plate. What about the fact that we exist at all? Do you take that for granted or do you see the miracle in it? The fact that despite all our flaws, we still find ourselves capable of loving and being loved. What of the fact the sun rises, that our lungs draw breath, that our hearts beat without our command.

The mature Christian looks at a loaf of bread on the table and sees the same miracle the four thousand experienced, only extended over years and decades. Who has been feeding us all this time? Who has been providing this daily bread? The One who has compassion. The One whose is moved in the deepest places of his very being, his gut, for us.

And once we have His heart, once we have caught a glimpse of that splagchnizomai, that inner movement of love toward us, we discover that we lack nothing.

To have His heart is to have Him whole. To have Him whole is to have everything.

 

Living This Truth

How do we apply this to what feel like mundane, ordinary, and common lives?

First, when consolations come, receive them with gratitude, but do not cling to them. They are gifts, not the Giver. Enjoy them the way you would enjoy a good meal, but remember, we usually fix good meals because we're welcoming a friend. If it were just us, would we really bother? Let the feast serve the friendship. If you find yourself measuring your spiritual life by how good prayer or worship feels, and if you feel "disappointed" when the feelings fade, you may be entering the dark n ight which is, in truth, the most blessed part of the Christian life. Provided we continue to pursue Him in the darkness, in the desolation, out of love alone. For when we don't have the "feeling" we can only persist in faith that our actions given in love are received by Love. Prayer is not primarily about feeling. It is about presence.

Second, when consolations are withdrawn, do not fall into a kind of spiritual panic. Don't think for even a second that you've done something wrong, that you offended God somehow, or that He abandoned you. Very often, the opposite is true. He is drawing you closer, but by a road that requires trust rather than sight. Keep showing up. Keep praying. Keep loving. The apparent absence is often the deeper presence.

Third, open your eyes to smaller, quieter, miracles. At the end of each day, before sleep, name three ordinary graces you experienced. The unexpected kindness of a stranger. The taste of the first coffee. The way the light fell through your window. Train your soul to see the multiplication of loaves happening constantly in your life, hidden in plain sight. If you can't think of anything, then take a deep breath. Then thank God for it. Because if He wasn't loving you into existence still, he never would have given you that breath.

Fourth, when you read the Gospels, pay attention to the moments Jesus draws His disciples aside. Ask what He might be drawing you aside to see. He still calls His friends closer. He still shares His heart with those willing to leave the crowd.

Finally, remember that spiritual maturity is not measured by the intensity of your experiences but by the depth of your love. The crowd went home talking about healings. The disciples went home changed by having glimpsed the compassion of God. Which do you want to be?

Bread was multiplied that day. Amazing, yes. Impressive, of course. But it was Jesus' love that was the heart of the story. It's why Matthew spent more time looking at how, out of compassion, He took care of a common need more than He focused on how He helped people with their extraordinary needs.

Do you have eyes to see the true miracles in front of you? Are you more consumed with consolations, feelings, and the shiny things, that you miss the plain, simple, expressions that come from the depth of Jesus' love for you?

Come aside. Listen to Him. Let Him show you His heart. And you will find that you lack nothing.