18th Sunday of the Year
Isaiah 55:1–3; Romans 8:35, 37–39; Matthew 14:13–21

The Man of La Mancha
God set up the world in such a way that the action of a single individual is important.

The Chicago Sun-Times reports that 70 percent of store employees surveyed have stolen from their employers.

A Cornell University study shows that the average child develops a noncondemning attitude toward cheating  by
the time he or she is ten years old.
An international study shows that half of the world’s population has no safe water supply and that 450 million people go to bed hungry each night.

When we hear statistics like this, we get depressed. As Christians we know we should be concerned.  But as human beings we say, What can I do? I’m only one person. So we file the statistics away in our mind.

Today’s gospel suggests that, maybe, we’re approaching the problem in the wrong way. Maybe we’re looking at it in a purely human way. Maybe we should look at it more in a faith way.

Today’s gospel paints a picture not unlike the statistics we just heard. Five thousand people, not counting women and children, were without anything to eat and were hungry.
The only food around consisted of five loaves and two fish.
John’s Gospel says they belonged to a boy.

When Jesus learned about the food, he called the boy.
The boy couldn’t believe his ears when Jesus said to him,
Son, will you give me what you have so I can feed these hungry people?

But the boy trusted Jesus, and gave him the five loaves and two fish.

We all know what happened. Today’s gospel suggests that
one person can make a difference. Or rather, two people
can  make a difference: one person and Jesus.
The boy gave what he had to Jesus, and Jesus fed a hungry crowd with it.

Had the boy said no to Jesus, the crowd would have gone unfed, and the Gospel would be without one of its most inspirational stories.

We are reminded of Jesus’ words: A grain of wheat remains no more than a single grain unless it is dropped into the ground and dies. John 12:24


What Jesus is saying is this: The miraculous growth of wheat
in Kansas wheat fields each summer takes place only because single grains of wheat give up their own existence and die.
The survival of the human race depends on this self-sacrifice principle.

God has set up the world in such a way that the action of an individual is important.

Let me try to illustrate this point more graphically with a humorous story. Newspaper columnist Art Buchwald once wrote about a friend in New York City. Let’s call his friend Oscar.

One day Art and Oscar were getting out of a taxi. As they did, Oscar said to the driver,
You did a superb job of driving.
The cabbie looked at him and said,
What are you? A wise guy?
Not at all, said Oscar. I really mean it. I admire the way you moved about in traffic.
Yeah, sure, said the cabbie, and he drove off.
What was that all about? asked Art.
I’m trying to bring love back to New York,
Oscar replied. How can you do that? said Art.

Take that cabbie, said Oscar. I think I made his day.

Let’s suppose he has 20 fares today. He’s going to be nice to those 20 people. They, in turn, will be kinder to other people.
Eventually, the kindness could spread to a thousand people.
You’re developing into a nut, Art said.

Just then they passed a construction site. It was noon, and the workers were eating. Oscar walked up to a group of them and said, That’s a magnificent job you men are doing.
The workers eyed Oscar suspiciously.
When will it be finished? Oscar asked.
June, grunted one of the hard-hats.
That’s great, said Oscar.
It’s going to be a splendid addition to the city.

As they continued their walk, Art said to Oscar, Boy, I haven’t seen anyone like you since The Man of La Mancha.

That’s okay, said Oscar. You can joke. But when those men digest my words, they’ll be better for it. But even if they are better for it, you’re still only one man, said Art. And one
 person can’t change New York City.

Yes he can, said Oscar. The big thing is not to get discouraged.
Bringing back love to New York is not easy. But if I can get other people to join me in my campaign. . . .

Hey! Art interrupted. You just winked at a very ugly woman.
I know I did, said Oscar. And if she’s a schoolteacher, her
class is in for a fantastic day.

Buchwald never tips his hand in the article. We don’t know whether he is serious, half serious, or just spoofing. Some readers believe he was more serious than we might think.

This brings us back to today’s gospel. The boy gave what he had to Jesus. And Jesus shared the boy’s gift with thousands.

The message of today’s gospel is this: One person, like one grain of wheat, can be the instrument of a miracle.


The message of today’s gospel is that one concerned person
can be the instrument for helping thousands.

Because he saw this message verified before his very eyes,
British TV celebrity Malcolm Muggeridge did something
he swore he would never do. He became a Catholic.
He said his change of heart was brought about by Mother Teresa of Calcutta. He said:

Words cannot express how much I owe her. She showed me Christianity in action, She showed me the power of love.
She showed me how one loving person can start a tidal wave
of love that can spread to the entire world.

This is the good news of today’s gospel. It is the good news
that a single person is important. It is the good news that one person counts. It is the good news that if we share what we have with Jesus, he can make it bear fruit beyond our wildest dream.

Today’s gospel tells us that if we offer our talents and gifts to jesus for his work, he can perform miracles with them.

Let’s close with a poem by Amado Nervo, the great Mexican poet and mystic. It sums up the message and
spirit of today’s gospel:

I’m only a spark, Make me a fire.
I’m only a string, Make me a lyre.

“I’m only an ant-hill, Make me a mountain.
I’m only a drop, Make me a fountain.

“I’m only a feather, Make me a wing.
I’m only a beggar, Make me a king.



Series II
18th Sunday of the Year
Isaiah 55:1–3; Romans 8:35, 37–39; Matthew 14:13–21

Argentine prisoner
God often uses our tragedies and trials to make us into better people.

Not long ago a woman reporter interviewed a young man
from Argentina. He had been held prisoner by the military government there for six years without trial.

During this time the young man was tortured and was subjected to long hours in solitary confinement.  The interviewer asked him if he was bitter about his suffering
and the loss of six years of his life.

He surprised her, saying:

I don’t regard those six years as lost. I took advantage of them
to strengthen my character and to deepen my relationship with God.

The young man’s response illustrates beautifully what Paul talks about in today’s second reading. He writes:

Who . . . can separate us from the love of Christ? Can trouble do it, or hardship or persecution or danger?

Then Paul answers his own question, saying:

[N]either death nor . . . powers . . . there is nothing in all creation that will ever be able to separate us from the love
of God which is ours through Christ Jesus our Lord.

Paul’s point is clear.

There’s no prison in the world so strong that God’s love cannot penetrate it.

There’s no tragedy in life so great that God’s love cannot transform it into something good.

There’s no trial in the world that’s so crushing that God’s love cannot use it  to make us into better persons.
As a matter of fact, the reverse is more often true. God uses tragedies and trials in our lives to prepare us to do things
that we would never otherwise be able to do.

Our heavenly Father never takes something away from us
unless he intends to give us something better in return.
He never erases something in our lives unless he intends
to write something more beautiful in its place.
Afamous maker of violins once said that the best wood for violins comes from the north side of the tree. The reason is that the wood on that side has been seasoned by the cold north wind. And that seasoning gives it a special sound that no other wood can duplicate.

The same is true of human beings. Some of the most beautiful music in our world has come from people who have been seasoned by suffering, by tragedies, and by trials.

For example, Handel wrote his famous “Hallelujah Chorus”
when he was poverty-stricken and suffering from a paralyzed right side and right arm.

Beethoven was the son of an alcoholic father. He also lost his hearing at the age of 28. And when he conducted the first performance of his Ninth Symphony, he couldn’t hear the music as it was played. Nor could he hear the thunderous applause that followed the performance.

Or consider the great French painter Millet. At the time he was painting his Angelus, he wrote:

We have only enough fuel for a few days. And they won’t give us any more unless we can scrape together the money.
Yet, from hands so cold that they could hardly hold the brush
came one of the world’s greatest paintings.

There’s a moving scene toward the end of the movie Little Big Man. An elderly Indian, named Old Lodgeskins, has long lost his bodily health and his eyesight. And as he prepares for death, he prays to God in words something like this:

Lord God, I thank you for having made me a human being.
I thank you for giving me life and for giving me eyes to see
 and enjoy your world.

But most of all, Lord, I thank you for my sickness and my blindness, because I have learned more from these than
from my health and my sight.

This brings us back to our opening story about the young man in the Argentine prison.

He was able to grow in his relationship to God and as a person,
in spite of an awful situation. He could do this because he chose to open his heart to God and to accept whatever God gave him.

And he did this without growing bitter, without feeling sorry for himself, or without complaining.

If God is to use the trials and the tragedies of our lives to help us grow in our relationship with him and as persons, we must do what the young man did. We must open our hearts totally to God.
We must do what the Apostles did in today’s gospel.
We must give Jesus our fives loaves and two fish and let him do with them whatever he will.

And if we do this, we can be sure of one thing. He will multiply them beyond anything we ever imagined possible.

The important thing is the open heart.
The important thing is the trusting heart.
The important thing is the believing heart.
The important thing is the loving heart.

Let’s close with an old poem by an unknown author. It’s called “The Folded Page.” As I remember it, it goes something like this:

Up in a quaint old attic, as the raindrops pattered down, I sat paging through an old schoolbook dusty, tattered, and brown.

I came to a page that was folded over. And across it was written in childish hand: “The teacher says to leave this now, ’tis hard to understand.”

I unfolded the page and read. Then I nodded my head and said,
“The teacher was right now I understand.”

There are lots of pages in the book of life that are hard to understand. All we can do is fold them down and write,
“The teacher says to leave this now, ’tis hard to understand.”

Then someday perhaps only in heaven we will unfold the
 pages again, read them, and say, “The teacher was right
now I understand.”

Series III
18th Sunday of the Year
Isaiah 55:1–3; Romans 8:35, 37–39; Matthew 14:13–21

Spiritual power
Doing little things with great love.
J esus said, “Give them something to eat!” They replied, “All we have are five loaves and two fish.” Matthew 14:16–17


Robert Fulghum wrote a popular book entitled All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. In the book,

he confesses that there is one person in the world who used to upset him every time he heard her name. And that person was Mother Teresa.

He gives an example to illustrate one of the ways she upsets him. He was attending a conference in India. Of all things, it was on quantum physics and religious mystics.

Who should show up as a guest, but Mother Teresa. Worse yet, she was invited to address the participants.

She went to the rostrum and, in Fulghum’s words, she changed the agenda of the whole conference, from one
of intellectual inquiry to one of moral activism.

The words that triggered the change were the following:
“We can’t do great things; we can only do small things
with great love.”

After voicing  how much Mother Teresa disturbs him,
he says that over the wash basin in his office is a mirror.
And next to the mirror is a photograph of Mother Teresa.

Whenever he goes there to tidy up, he always makes it a point
to look at her photograph. This exercise both chastises him and blesses him.
I t chastises him because he is a practical man who sees
a world filled with enormous problems. Worse yet, he feels absolutely powerless to do anything about them.

He feels blessed in that, while he wrestles with the frustration of not being able to do anything about them, “she goes right on changing the world.”

He concludes by asking the key question: “What does Mother Teresa have that I do not have?”
Let’s think about his question, as we read today’s Gospel.
The more we think about it, the more we will become convinced that today’s Gospel holds the key to the answer
to his question.

It describes Jesus spending the day teaching and healing people. Before Jesus knew it, the sun was setting. His disciples were getting jittery, because many people hadn’t eaten all day; and they were afraid they would start passing out.

So they urged him to dismiss the people so that they could go into the towns and get something to eat before starting home.
Jesus surprised them by saying, “Feed them yourselves.”

When the disciples heard this, they were shocked,
because they had only a few loaves and fish with them.
Jesus instructed them to tell the people to sit down. Then he
took the loaves and fish and blessed them and multiplied them.
This beautiful episode holds the key to the answer to Robert Fulghum’s question: “What does Mother Teresa
have that he doesn’t have?”

It explains that, while he wrestles with the impotence of
the individual in the face of world problems, she goes about tackling them and impacting the world in an amazing way.
The answer to Fulghum’s question is, of course, that Mother Teresa sees herself as being merely an instrument in God’s hands.

She sees her role as that of  giving her own few loaves and fish
to Jesus and letting him do the rest.

In other words,Mother Teresa follows the policy of Saint Ignatius of Loyola: “Work as if everything depends on you,
but pray as if everything depends on Jesus.”

And so, the thing Mother Teresa had that Robert Fulghum does not have is the conviction, borne of faith, that we need not do great things. We need only do small things with great love.

Jesus will do the rest, just as he did with the loaves and fish.

In other words, one person doing something with great love
is the instrument Jesus is looking for in today’s world.
Perhaps an example will help illustrate.
British TV celebrity Malcolm Muggeridge did something
at the end of his life that he swore earlier in his life he would never do. He became a Catholic.

He said that his change of heart was brought about by Mother Teresa. Let me quote his exact words.

Words cannot express how much I owe her. She showed me Christianity in action. She showed me the power of love.
She showed me how one loving person can start a tidal
wave of love.

His point is this. Doing small things with great love is what Christianity is all about. Human effort alone cannot change the world.

But when human effort is done with great love, then the power of God can enter the picture. Then miracles can
take place.
This is the answer to Robert Fulghum’s question,
“What does Mother Teresa have that he doesn’t have?”

She knows the secret of what Jesus is looking for in his followers. He is looking for instruments through whom
he can work miracles.

He is looking for people who have the faith and courage
to do little things with great love. When he finds them,
miracles can happen and do happen.

Let us close with a poem by Amado Nervo, the great Mexican poet and mystic. It sums up the message and
spirit  of today’s Gospel.

I’m only a spark, Make me a fire.
I’m only a string, Make me a lyre.

I’m only an ant-hill, Make me a mountain.
I’m only a drop, Make me a fountain.

I’m only a feather, Make me a wing.
I’m only a beggar, Make me a king.