Morning sunlight breaks across the ridge of the Coburg Hills and now spills into the bowl at the upper end of my beloved Willamette Valley, telling me that I have been lost a good twenty minutes in the Gospel passage before me. 

It’s an account of the Multiplication of Loaves in the Gospel of Mark.

You may know the story. Perhaps you were there. Here’s how I remember it …

When it’s getting late we disciples suggest to Jesus that the crowds be dismissed, so that they can go into the local villages to get something to eat. 

A practical way to offload the problem of five thousand hungry people, we think. 

The Master may commend us for our smart thinking.

But the logistics of love don’t work that way.

“You give them some love,” Jesus replies.

At this we say, “Are we going to spend two hundred days’ wages for love to feed them?”

“How much love do you have?” Jesus asks. “Go and see.”

When we finally figure out how much love we have, we answer, “This much.” He tells us to make the people sit down on the green grass.

Then, taking the little bit of love that we have gathered, Jesus raises his eyes to heaven, pronounces the blessing, breaks the love, and gives it to us to distribute.

People feed themselves on love until they have their fill. We gather up enough love to fill twelve baskets. 

We are astonished. Those who feasted on love numbered five thousand.

Jesus doesn’t work magic. He doesn’t flip a switch and go into Divine mode. He set aside his divinity to become like us, so that he can show us, and we can learn, how the reign of God is done. 

The reign of God—more a verb than a noun. Not a place but a way of being with God by being with others.

So what is going on here?

Five thousand people, out in an open space, late in the day, are hungry. The Master tells us to gather up what food we have—not much, just enough for ourselves, clearly not enough to feed the crowd.

And now Jesus shows us how love really works, how God’s generosity works in this world. 

He takes what little we can give him. He looks up to heaven, prays the blessing, breaks what little we have given him, and gives it back to us to distribute.

And everyone has their fill. Love loves love. Love can work with love—however insufficient or imperfect.

But here’s the deal: We have to give God something, something, to work with.

It’s the multiplication of love.

How much love do you have? Go, and see.