Author: Ryan Hoffer

There’s an interesting detail in the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000 that often gets overlooked—but it’s worth pointing out that three of the four Gospel authors include it: there was rich, green grass in the area. Now, if you’re reading the narrative in isolation, the detail may seem insignificant. But when you compare it to the other accounts, the repetition helps to paint the scenery. Take a look:

• Matthew 14:19 – Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass, and taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and said a blessing.

• John 6:10 – Jesus said, “Have the people sit down.” Now there was much grass in the place.

• Mark 6:39 – Then he commanded them all to sit down in groups on the green grass.

Another interesting detail is the verb sit down (Greek: anaklinó). A better translation might be “recline” or “lie down,” as it’s rendered in more literal translations. Now, you may begin to see where all of this is headed.

Jesus, the Good Shepherd (Mark even alludes to Him as a shepherd in his account—6:34), makes the people lie down in the green grass beside the water (they are, in fact, beside the Sea of Galilee), where they eat their fill, wanting for nothing.

By now, an image should be coming to mind. Psalm 23:1–3 says:

“The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that Psalm 23 was painting a prophetic picture of this miraculous moment when Jesus feeds the multitude. And that’s really the miracle. Don’t get me wrong—the multiplication of the food is definitively miraculous—but seeing beyond the feeding and realizing that Jesus is the Good Shepherd… that’s the lesson here.

Take time today to picture the scene and to see the Good Shepherd of Psalm 23 in the feeding of the 5,000.

Christian author and apologist Greg Koukl frequently passes along this shocking tip for the growing believer: “Never read a Bible verse.” Wait—that can’t be right! Surely, he doesn’t mean that we should avoid consuming the Word of God. On the contrary, he completes this jarring declaration by suggesting, “Instead, always read a paragraph at least.” In essence, he is stressing the important role context plays in interpretation. I was reminded of this lesson this week while reading about the feeding of the 5,000 in the book of Mark.

In Mark 6:34–43, we have the account of Jesus’ multiplication miracle. After feeding the multitude with five loaves and two fish, the result is twelve baskets of leftover bread and fish! In other words, they end up with more than they started with—even after distributing the food to thousands! And don’t skip over the detail that the leftover quantity matches the number of disciples—revealing personal implications for the twelve. Truly marvelous!

Mark quickly follows this moment by narrating another miracle in which Jesus walks on water (6:45–52). However, pay close attention to how this scene ends:

Then he climbed into the boat, and the wind stopped. They were totally amazed, for they still didn’t understand the significance of the miracle of the loaves. Their hearts were too hard to take it in. (vv. 51–52, NLT)

It’s easy to read the feeding of the 5,000 and stop short—never venturing beyond the passage, and therefore missing out on details that inform the story. At least, that has been my experience. When I came across this verse ten verses later, it helped reframe the earlier miracle: the disciples hadn’t learned from it. Despite their proximity to Jesus and their witness of His power, their hearts were not attuned to what they should have been learning about the Savior.

Can you imagine seeing Jesus do something truly supernatural right before your eyes, and then later doubting His power when another testing circumstance arrives? We do this all the time! Yet Jesus is patient with us—constantly reassuring us and remaining with us through our dullness.

See how such a passing remark—ten verses and one story later—adds important contextual insight that helps us better interpret and apply the Word to our own lives? For an even greater example, relating to the same story, jump ahead two chapters and read Mark 8:14–21!

In Mark’s account of the feeding of the 5,000, the disciples start to get nervous around suppertime. They tell the Master, “Send [these people] away to go into the surrounding countryside and villages and buy themselves something to eat” (Mark 6:36). Jesus responds rather succinctly, saying, “You feed them” (v. 37, NLT). And He’s not joking! I can only imagine the look on their faces.

Quickly, the immediacy and helplessness of the disciples become the backdrop for the greatness of the miracle. Note that Jesus doesn’t abandon them to accomplish an impossible task, but rather He employs them in His service to bring about what He wants to accomplish. He has them “go and see” how many loaves they have (Mark 6:38). He instructs them to “have the people sit down” (John 6:10). They distribute the food among the groups (Mark 6:41). Thus, the miracle proceeds, and the disciples become co-laborers in the work.

Jesus doesn’t need our help to accomplish His work. He created the world (Col. 1:16), He has command of the heavenly host (Matthew 26:53), and He performed many miracles—including healing people who weren’t even physically present (see Mark 7:24–30). Yet He has chosen to allow us to participate in the advancement of His Kingdom. He could have fed the multitude instantaneously through supernatural means, but instead He says to the disciples, “You feed them.”

The great byproduct is that we are changed in the process, knowing Him more as we make Him known to others.

Take a moment today to thank God that He says, “You feed them,” and graciously employs us in Kingdom service.

John’s Gospel is the only account to mention that the five loaves and two fish Jesus multiplied were provided by a young boy—a detail not in contradiction, but one of added distinction (the other accounts simply do not disclose the origin of the food). In verse 9, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, says, “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish.” Of course, we are not privy to the negotiation that took place between the disciples and the boy, but one can only imagine that the miracle was initiated with a charitable spirit on his part. The boy was willing to part with his food.

The story brings me back to a day when I was shopping with my 9-year-old son. As we walked through the toy aisle, he was contemplating buying something with his own money but vacillating on whether or not to do it. Knowing that he is generally conservative with his spending, I encouraged him—just this once—to go ahead and buy it. Suddenly, worry crept in, and he confessed that he wanted to, but didn’t want to lose his money. I recall telling him, “That money came from me, and I’m capable of giving you more.”

Now, I have found on more than one occasion that the Lord activates the principles of His Word in the parenting relationship with my children. Instantly, I was struck with deep conviction. My son cheerfully grabbed his toy, while I stood recovering from the existential moment in the aisle of Wal-Mart. Lesson learned.

Today, remember the boy who gave up his lunch in John 6. Not only did 5,000 people eat “as much as they wanted” (v. 11), but there were twelve baskets of food left over. Maybe it’s time we give the Lord our resources—whatever they may be—and let Him put them to work to do immeasurably more than they are currently doing.

I always find it pleasantly ironic when Jesus asks questions. How could He, who is omniscient, gain new understanding from our response? The fact is, He does not—and it is a grace, even, that the Creator would bend His ear to consider the suggestion of the created.

Such is the case in John 6:5, when Jesus asks Philip, “Where are we to buy bread, so that these people may eat?” The author of the Gospel subsequently discloses our Savior’s motive in verse 6: “He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he would do.” Therefore, the disciples are prompted to take inventory—which always seems to be the result when the Lord asks questions of us.

Philip, almost scoffing at the challenge, responds with an incredulous, “Two hundred denarii worth of bread would not be enough for each of them to get a little.” To put it in perspective, a denarius was a day’s wage for a worker in Jesus’ day (Matthew 20:2). In other words, “Lord, over half a year’s salary wouldn’t be enough!”

Going one step further, Andrew finds a boy with five barley loaves and two fish, but—like Philip—remains unconvinced that anything can be done. It is after this inventory, when the disciples have noted the distance between what Jesus wants to accomplish and what they lack, that He is able to demonstrate His super-abundance.

Has the Lord asked you a question recently? In a sense, He’s asking you to take inventory—perhaps of your resources or your spiritual condition. Not that He needs to know how little or how much you have; He doesn’t. He needs you to know. In the knowing, the conditions will be met for Him to work the miracle.

Remember, “he himself knew what he would do” (v. 6).

Lord willing, this May, I will celebrate ten years of sobriety. The beginning was tough. I was in outpatient rehab for 18 months while also participating in support groups and submitting to weekly drug tests. There was work to be done, habits to be undone, and accountability to be established. It was a process—often tedious—but something happened along the way. My heart started to follow my body into those rooms as I continued to comply with the process. A miracle was rendered in me—I was made well.

Was it instantaneous? No. Does that make it any less miraculous? Again, no. I guess you could call it a slow miracle.

In Luke 17, we see another slow miracle (albeit much faster than mine!). Jesus tells the ten lepers to go and present themselves to the priests, at which point they will presumably be cleansed. Note that He does not heal them and then tell them to go. On the contrary, they depart in faith, hoping that by the time they reach the priests, they will be cleansed. They have “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Verse 14 tells us, “As they went, they were cleansed.”

We don’t know how long it took; any guess would be purely speculative. But we do know that it happened along the way.

What is Jesus doing in you along the way? Has He asked you to go out in obedience, giving you everything needed for faith—except the results themselves? Are you in the middle of a slow miracle?

The Christian philosopher and father of existential thought, Søren Kierkegaard, said something fascinating that, at face value, seems false. In his book Concluding Unscientific Postscript, he makes the statement, “Christianity is subjective.” Now, typically, a statement like this would raise all sorts of red flags. After all, we know that truth is absolute, and we believe Christianity to be objectively true. But the tongue-in-cheek philosopher has often been misunderstood.

What he is not saying is that there is no objective truth or that Christianity might not be true. Quite the contrary! What he means is that the truth of Christianity is worked out in the particularity of the subject. Thus, following Christ is not a matter of impersonal maxims or rote memorization—it is personal devotion worked out in one’s own experience. This is the subjectivity he speaks of.

By now, you’re probably thinking, “You’ve lost me, Ryan.” Hang in there. I noticed something this week in my reading of Luke 17 about the manner in which Jesus heals the lepers. In Luke 5, He heals one leper immediately by touching him. In Luke 17, He heals ten men gradually, without even making contact! As I read these contrasting accounts, a thought struck me: Why doesn’t Jesus heal the same maladies in the same manner?

But the answer goes back to Kierkegaard’s observation. It is because Jesus is deeply personal. He works faith through the relative experiences of our lives. This is the subjective truth of Christian practice. It is why physical touch works for one man while a spoken word works for others. It is also why, out of ten men healed in the same manner, only one returns in gratitude.

Jesus wants a personal relationship with you. Even in the way He performs miracles, He demonstrates this. Ask Him today to work in the experiences of your own life, that you may know Him and be known by Him.

The title Master (Greek epistates) is unique to the phraseology of Luke. He is the only New Testament writer to use this specific Greek word and frequently substitutes it where others use Rabbi—possibly an indication that he was writing for a Gentile audience. The word was used in the Greco-Roman world to denote someone who is “set over” others, such as a supervisor, owner, or magistrate.

Of interest is the fact that in every New Testament occurrence—except for one—it is always the disciples who address Jesus with this title:

• Luke 5:5 – But Simon responded, saying, “Master…”
• Luke 8:24 – They went to Jesus and woke Him up, saying, “Master, Master…”
• Luke 8:45 – Peter said, “Master, the crowds are pressing in…”
• Luke 9:33 – Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here.”
• Luke 9:49 – Answering, John said, “Master…”

In the story of the ten lepers, we see the title used again:

“And as He entered a village, He was met by ten lepers, who stood at a distance and lifted up their voices, saying, ‘Jesus, Master, have mercy on us’” (Luke 17:12-13).

These lepers, unlike the privileged twelve, are not speaking from a teacher-disciple relationship. Nevertheless, they bestow upon Jesus the title Master. In doing so, they acknowledge His authority—authority great enough that they implore Him to heal them, believing even disease to be subordinate to His command. As a result, they are healed.

We also serve the Master. Remember today that He is “set over” all things in your life—work, health, friends, family, finances, trials, blessings, and everything in between—and thank Him for His mastery.

Leprosy has a well-documented history in the writings of the ancients. Of course, the Old Testament offers a thorough discourse on the purification laws of the Israelites (see Leviticus 13 and 14), but many other sources also record descriptions of the severity of the disease. The historian Josephus, recalling the history of the Jews, states, “And for the lepers, [Moses] suffered them not to come into the city at all, nor to live with any others, as if they were in effect dead persons.” The church father Gregory of Nyssa refers to those infected as a “terrible… spectacle of men who are living corpses.” The celebrated Greek physician Aretaeus describes how leprous family members would be exiled to the desert or mountains in the hope that they would soon perish. Therefore, leprosy was essentially a death sentence.

Jesus, however, is able to break the sentence of death and alienation—both in a physical and spiritual sense. It is, in fact, for this very reason that He came. He alone performed miracles that none but the Son of God could do, proving His Lordship, as is the case with the ten lepers He healed in Luke 17. When John the Baptist was imprisoned, he inquired of Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?” (Matthew 11:3). Jesus’ reply to this question has always struck me. He chooses not to answer in a straightforward manner but rather to appeal to the effects of His work—which is, perhaps, a more enduring affirmation to counter persistent doubt. He says, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have the good news preached to them” (Mt. 11:4-5).

This week, as you reflect on the story of the ten lepers, know that Jesus is “the one who is to come” and has demonstrated this by His miraculous power—both then and now.

En route to Jerusalem, Jesus encounters ten lepers on the passage “between Samaria and Galilee” (v. 11). They maintain their distance—as required by Mosaic law—and entreat the Savior to have pity on them. The law literally required diseased persons outside the camp to cry out, “Unclean, unclean,” as a warning to those approaching, lest they come into contact and become defiled. The text says that they “lifted up their voices,” or, as the NLT puts it, “they cried out.” The verb is not to be overlooked, for after they are cleansed, the grateful leper returns to Jesus and again cries out, this time “praising God with a loud voice” (Lk 17:15). Thus, there is a parallel structure to the story—crying out in the beginning and crying out in the end—albeit from very different affections.

But isn’t that always the case? When we cry out, our Lord hears and has compassion on us. This idea is presented repeatedly throughout Scripture, most notably (and personally) in the Psalms. Psalm 30 says:

O LORD my God, I cried to you for help,
and you restored my health… (v. 2, NLT);

…that I might sing praises to you and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever! (v. 12, NLT)

God has the power to transform our deepest sorrows into profound joy—if only we would cry out to Him. But let there be a corresponding cry as well, an expression of praise. Whichever side of the crying out you’re on, know this: You can take comfort in the fact that He hears you, or you can take joy in the fact that He heard you.