Sorrow becomes compassion

The story of Jacob’s wrestling with a Man, an ‘angel’ or ‘messenger’. Well, what kind of a man was Jacob? He broke the rules of fair play from the start; at birth he held his brother’s ankle and then through deception, he took the blessing of the birthright. Not only does he escape his brother’s wrath for this, but he also uses an ancient form of ‘genetic engineering’ in his uncle’s house to produce robust, tabby sheep that will make him more wealthy than his uncle Laban.

And in today’s text, Jacob goes on his way to his hometown with his family and possessions, but he is greatly distressed with guilt and fear. He can’t figure out how to be reconciled with his brother. He hopes that his brother’s heart will be relieved if he sends him gifts.

Whether Jacob stayed up all night with his eyes open, or whether he fell asleep for a while, because he was exhausted from worrying, Jacob wrestled with a Man until daybreak. The Man saw he couldn’t get the better of Jacob though, so he deliberately threw Jacob’s hip out of joint. Even so, Jacob didn’t let him go until the angel blessed him. In the end, the angel said, ‘What’s your name?’ He answered, ‘Jacob’. The Man gave Jacob a new name of ‘Israel’ which means ‘God-Wrestler’.

We often think of Jacob in this Bible story as a man who is desperate for blessings. By the way, things change if we read this Bible story backwards. Jacob faced God, wrestled with God and got blessings, but ended up being a cripple. He had a huge injury to his hip bone and had to live with a limp for the rest of his life. He got his reward for trusting God, but life was still continually riddled with its ups and downs. What does this mean? Jacob got a new name along with the hurt. It was only through that hurt that he came face to face with God.

Let’s jump to the Gospel story. This is the famous miracle meal story of feeding over 5,000 adult men with just five loaves and two fish. Yet, the miracle story of five loaves and fishes in Matthew’s gospel is in a unique place.

‘Now when Jesus heard this…’

In Matthew 14, Jesus had just heard that John the Baptist had been beheaded in prison. When Jesus heard this, he went to a deserted place by himself. ‘The Feeding of the Five Thousand’ story is connected to this news about John the Baptist, whom Jesus loved dearly. John and Jesus had known each other from the womb and played together. John, the man who baptised Jesus, was a truly humble man in front of him. After John was arrested and thrown into prison, Jesus began his public ministry. Jesus honoured John the Baptist as the greatest prophet and greatest man in the world.

So, Jesus wanted to reflect on the brutal death of John, and he hoped to get away to a quiet place to mourn, to pray. But the people wouldn’t leave him alone. They brought the sick and a large crowd gathered around him. Jesus turns his attention from the loss of John the Baptist to them now. He looks out at a crowd of people – probably of all ages, all classes, all backgrounds – and he has compassion for them, and cures their sickness and their hunger – he feeds the crowd.

Where does compassion come from? It doesn’t come from a deep religious spirituality; it doesn’t come from any ethical or moral training; it doesn’t come from a comprehensive analysis of inequality in society. Compassion comes from your own grief, which can often turn into victimhood and anger. It can be a source of obsession, when you look only at yourself through it.

But when we look outwards through the lens of our own pain, sorrow becomes compassion. When we open ourselves up to our own deep grief, instead of keeping it inside, we begin to see through our tears to the other aches, wounds, and sorrows of the world. The new heart that arises here is compassion. The new name we get here is ‘Christian’ because we have Christ’s compassion.

Compassion does not stop at the heart. It moves into action. The disciples ask, ‘All we have are five loaves of bread and two fish. What are we going to do with these?’ Jesus simply told them to bring the little food; he took the bread and two fish, lifted his face to heaven in prayer, blessed, broke it and distributed it to the crowd.

As a result, more than 15,000 people – men and women, and children are fed and there are twelve baskets of leftovers. That’s an abundant meal. That’s how abundant the kingdom of God is.

The remaining twelve loaves are now in the hands of the disciples, who are commanded to take those loaves and go out into the world to feed and enrich others. This is the Eucharist. If you look at the Eucharist only as the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday, you are short-sighted and misunderstand.

The Eucharist we celebrate is the synthesis of all the miracle meals that Jesus showed us. The wedding at Cana, the story of feeding the hungry, the last meal shared on the evening before being arrested.

Moreover, the Eucharist is the meal of resurrection that Jesus shared with his disciples on the road to Emmaus when they were in despair after his death. It’s a resurrection meal when the disciples returned to their hometown, went back to fishing and Jesus had them catch a lot of fish. He then grilled the fish over the bonfire and prepared the meal.

All of this happened amid the discouragement and failure, hurt and sorrow of the past. This is the moment when new lives unfold in the compassion that grief produces. And through our grief and our wounds, we are called to see a new vision of reality; the grief of our neighbours, our friends, the world we live in.

We are called to be with them, to feed them, to care for them, to stand with them. We are called to stand in solidarity. Faith is not a way to get rid of pain, wounds, and sorrow; rather, it is a way to endure and walk together and so I invite you to this Eucharist of compassion and solidarity. Amen.