“Give them some food yourselves.” Luke 9:12-17
How often do we hesitate to offer help, because we think: what good will it do? I can’t solve this. I don’t have anything to offer. Or my small gift won’t make any difference? That hesitation, that fear seems to me, to be at the heart of this past Sunday’s gospel reading from Luke (Corpus Christi Sunday). It was the story of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes, feeding 5000 people with only 5 loaves and 2 fish. A story of not enough becoming all that’s needed.
Too often we might find ourselves listening to these stories and saying: That’s all well and good, but they had Jesus standing right there. I have to go home and deal with sick kids, a clogged sink, the check-engine light in my car and a neighbor who never mows his lawn. I don’t even have enough left in me to have not enough. I’m all used up. I was feeling a bit like that myself yesterday, but let me tell you of a little gift I received—something that seemed—at the moment-- like hardly anything, but which is still feeding me today.
There was a bit of rain Sunday. It started after mass. A series of downpours blew through, each one seeming pretty heavy while it lasted, but followed each time by sunshine and clear skies. Anyway, at some point I thought the rain was done and I realized we had a couple of prescriptions that needed to get picked up, so I headed to Walgreens. As I was leaving, my wife asked me if I would also go next door to Randalls and get her some Kozy Shack Tapioca pudding. It was Sunday, after all.
So, off I went. A few gray clouds and a few drops of rain on my windshield should have let me know what to expect. But I didn’t. I was looking forward to waiting in a long line at Walgreens so I could have some reading time. And I’d brought my copy of Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom, along with me for just such an occasion. So, imagine my disappointment when there was literally no line. No one at the counter except the bored young clerk waiting just for me. As she was finding my medicine, I heard one of the pharmacists asking: Were we expecting this much rain? And I looked out the drive-thru window. The sky was dark and a gray sheet of rain was pouring down.
And yet, by the time I paid and got to the front door, the rain was slowing down again. The cashier at the front counter was looking for an umbrella. He laughed and made some comment about thinking he left his car window down. But, my main concern was my book. No one wants a wet copy of Absalom, Absalom. I stuck it into the bag with the medicine, folded the bag like an envelope and headed out the door, pretty sure I could make it to Randalls without too much harm coming to me or the book. As my wife likes to say, I won’t melt.
Coming out of the store, I noticed a woman walking up with an umbrella, a solemn, distracted –maybe even annoyed—look on her face. And then I heard a man’s voice, and turned to see an older man hunched over his grocery cart, looking quite anxious that he might be forced to stand there a while or risk getting soaked if he tried to get to his car. He was speaking to the woman—something I would have been quite hesitant to do—and asking her if he could borrow her umbrella to get his groceries into his car. He gestured toward a car parked just feet away at the curb. My gut instinct told me this woman was going to either ignore the man, pretend she never even heard him and just keep going. But to my surprise, she said, Sure. And handed her umbrella to a complete stranger. It was then I noticed a group of people were there, huddled against the wall watching the rain and waiting for it to stop. And suddenly I had the bittersweet feeling that I wished I could have done that. I wished I could have been that woman. Why hadn’t I brought an umbrella? if only…
Then I realized, I’m driving my mother-in-law’s old car. And she always kept an umbrella (or two) in the little cubby between the front seats. So, instead of rushing into Randalls to get my pudding I turned mid stride and headed to the car. Dropping off my bag (and book) I found an umbrella right where I expected. Bright pink. Okay… A guy has to work with what he’s got. Anyway, I popped it open and headed back toward the store.
Standing there, outside Randalls was a woman with her adult son, a man with mental disabilities. The two of them were huddled close together near the carts, both of them looking distressed. So, I offered to help them get to their car—me and my mother-in-law’s dainty pink umbrella. The woman hesitated, but her son looked at her and made an anxious sound. Shaking her head, she gestured: I’m parked way out there.
I said, That’s okay, and raised my umbrella over her son’s head and tried to cover her as well. Before we could take a second step, there was suddenly another a young man walking with us, opening another umbrella, and saying: Now you’ll have two.
And the four of us walked as one to their car, he and I holding our umbrellas over the mother and the son and both of us getting good and wet. At the car the son seemed to get more nervous about getting wet, and about letting go of his mother’s arm. Opening his door, she helped him inside, as we stood there with our umbrellas bumping into each other, water dripping from our hair and down our necks.
The woman said: We didn’t expect this, and she held up a little bag that I recognized. And I said: The pharmacy? And the young man getting buckled into the car looked at her and said: Yes. We have to pick up our medicine. There was something slightly comical in his droning voice, as if he was repeating something he had heard –maybe once too often.
Anyway, with a little care we got them into their car (mostly dry) and wished them well and the young man and I headed back toward the store. The rain was letting up even more—just drips mostly. And he, as young men will do, lowered his umbrella and began closing up. I turned to him and said, Thank you so much. And he, giving his umbrella a shake, looked me in the eye and said:
No –Thank you.
And suddenly I could feel my old chin trembling and my eyes filling with tears. Suddenly I was thinking of that Gospel passage: Feed them yourselves, Jesus tells us. Don’t wait for someone else to do it. Don’t hesitate because you don’t have enough. Suddenly the lesson of the Gospel was quite clear. Just try. Offer. Give. Share. Whatever you have; God will do the rest.
Sunday morning, the rain, the anxiety, the simple need for help. It was all there. In the Gospels the Apostles tell Jesus, This is a lonely place, send the people away so they can find food and shelter. But Jesus says: Don’t send them away. Take care of them yourselves.
Yes.
And for me it all became clear because an old man afraid of the rain asked a stranger: Can I borrow your umbrella? And she said: Yes.
I must admit I envied her willingness to share, to simply say: yes, to someone in need. But I also envied that she was prepared, ready for that grace-filled moment. Not just by carrying an umbrella, but despite whatever was going on in her life, by having a heart open to saying, Yes! Sure. Here you go; take mine. Her generosity planted a seed in me that quite literally got soaked by the rain. Which means that the young man with his umbrella and his graciousness, was –in some sense—an apple falling from the tree. You see, our little gift may not be much, but we don’t know what God will do with it. We don’t know how God will use it, to change hearts, to inspire others, to feed a hunger in someone’s soul, or to just help a worried mother get her worried son safely back to their car.
Open your eyes, and you will see: Miracles happening all around you. Open your ears and you will hear: the voice of God whispering His love, everywhere. It wasn’t the multiplication of the loaves and fishes this time, just the multiplication of the umbrellas, and the willingness to say: Yes!
It may not sound like much, but for this soul in need on a rainy Sunday, it was more than enough.
