Yesterday’s reading for Lent was Mark 8:1-10, and today’s continued through the end of the chapter. Jesus had been teaching for 3 days, and people had been listening. Can you imagine people stopping their lives–not even breaking for a meal–to listen to someone speak? After three days, Jesus tells the disciples to find these poor people food. He had compassion on them.

"Uh, yeah, Jesus?"

"Yes?"

The disciples look over their shoulders at the crowd. "We don’t have any food."

Jesus rolls his eyes. "Uh, yeah, disciples?"

"Yes?"

"Remember the feeding of the 5,000?’

"Oh, yeah!"

Then they get on a boat, meet some Pharisees, get back on the boat because Jesus will do something he’ll regret if he has to be around those Pharisees for one more second.

"Beware the yeast of the Pharisees," Jesus tells his disciples.

The whisper to each other. "He’s grumpy because we forgot to bring food."

Jesus smacks his forehead. How long, Father? "You guys really don’t get it, do you?"

Blank stares.

Two things strike me about this, and they strike me precisely because I’m one of these disciples:

1. They’re not too bright. Exactly how many times do they have to see Jesus multiply food before they start thinking outside the box?
2. Their consumption with their own problems prevents them from having compassion on others.

Ouch. I spend more time dwelling on the woes-is-me that I’m too worn out to intercede on the behalf of others. And isn’t that my purpose? To spill out God’s love and goodness to those around me? I focus on why God isn’t using me the way I want to be used rather than how I can serve those God’s put into my life right now.

It just so happens that God works through me despite me. He hands me the seven loaves and even in the midst of wondering why God’s not doing such-and-such, he multiplies the bread. It’s not how I imagined it, which makes it all the more obvious that this is God working. Not me.

How many times does Jesus smack his forehead when I turn to him asking for bread? Reminds me of a song by Caedmon’s Call:

Water, water everywhere
And I complain about my thirst. 

My husband and I read a prayer yesterday attributed to St. Francis. I’d like to make it my prayer these next couple of weeks:

Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.