I’ve elbowed, maneuvered, and shoved my way to the very
front of this crowd. Behind me are the mothers-with-strollers, the
adventure runners, and the kids. But I’m
up here at the very front because I’ve been super serious about my training
this time.
This is where I need to be, I tell myself. I’m running my very first 10 km run and I
want to gain every advantage to achieve a personal best time. I bounce lightly on my toes and shake out my
hands. I take deep steadying breaths and
think thoughts of endurance and speed.
“Runners, are you ready?” squawks a voice from over the
loudspeaker.
The people around me tense, bystanders cheer and clap, my
heart thuds loudly. Suddenly, a man from
the crowd leans toward the men beside me.
A whistle dangles from his neck as he shouts final instructions at them,
“I wanna see you finish the first 5km loop in 15 minutes!” he barks and my
heart falters.
5 km in 15 minutes? What!? I’ve literally never run that fast before in
my life.
In the final seconds before this race begins, as the crowd
counts down the 10 seconds before we start running, I glance over at the men
beside me. They are young, fit, lean,
and wearing matching maroon and gray uniforms with the words McMaster Men’s
Running Team emblazoned across their chests.
Uh oh, I think, just before the starter gun blasts
and the crowd of runners lunge forward.
Automatically, I match my pace to the people beside me –
these maroon and gray clad runners – but I cannot keep up. Their stride is much longer, their pace much
quicker, and their ability to endure much stronger.
I remind myself of all the running tips I know…..set your
own pace, regulate your breathing, focus on your stride and think positive
thoughts.
But for the next half hour, one runner after another passes
me.
I’m not good enough to do this race.
The running group from McMaster has long since passed me,
several young kids sprint by effortlessly, an old man with bare feet (!) dashes
lightly past and I feel my throat tighten.
I feel sick. I feel a black,
sobering cloud settling over this sunny running day.
I’m not good enough.
I thought I could compete here. I had trained well. I had devised and followed a running plan to
succeed, but, apparently, I wasn’t good enough.
A sea of sneaker-fitted men, women, and children was evidence of this
truth rushing past me:
not good enough not good enough not good enough not good
enough not good enough
That was my most humbling race to date. I was clearly not the fastest runner in the
group and this was a serious blow to my sense of self-worth.
Have you ever had a moment like this? When you’ve felt like you were not enough? Not fast enough, not smart enough, not experienced
enough, not educated enough, not successful enough, not good enough.
In moments like this, it seems that others have more to
offer than you and you falter, stutter, and stop. Not enough, you whisper to yourself. Paltry!
Pittance! Insufficient! Small!
What do we do when what we have to offer is not enough? When we are limited by ourselves?
Do we tuck that meagre amount away?
Once upon a time, Jesus was offered a meagre amount. He had been teaching and preaching to a huge crowd
on a mountain beside the Sea of Galilee and his words were so engrossing, so
healing, so enlightening that many people stuck around for three days. After feeding the hearts, minds, and souls of
the gathered people, Jesus realizes that their bodies needed food too. He had compassion on them. So he called his disciples over and shared
his plan.
He wanted to feed all these men, women, and children before
sending them home. In fact, the Bible
says he was unwilling to send them home until they had been
properly fed. He didn’t want them to faint
on their way home.
Imagining the disciples’ reaction to Jesus’s plan makes me
laugh. They must have been aghast and incredulous.
“What?! You want us to
feed ALL these people?!? Jesus, there
are, like, four thousand people here!
What are you thinking?” they must
have wanted to say; but what they actually spluttered was, “Where are we going
to get enough bread in such a desolate place to feed this crowd?”
And Jesus answers calmly and wisely: “Well, how many loaves do you have?”
What do you have to offer?
The disciples present a meagre amount: seven loaves of bread and a few small fish. What was that in the face of an entire crowd
of people who have not eaten in three days?
It’s a mockery. A drop in the
bucket. Crumbs when the crowds are
screaming for a feast. It’s hardly
enough to feed a couple of teenaged boys.
Trust me, I have two teenaged boys who are always hungry and they eat A.
Lot. Of. Food. So seven loaves of bread
and a few small fish wasn’t really a great option to put together a meal for
this massive crowd.
It was not enough.
And yet, Jesus doesn’t disregard this offering with
impatient disgust. He doesn’t snort
disdainfully in Peter’s general direction and state, “Seriously, Peter? What are you thinking? We need, like, thousands of loaves and
thousands of fish to feed this hungry throng.” Jesus doesn’t sigh or mutter about the meagre
amount, he doesn’t send James and John to search for the nearest local
Fortinoes, or beseech Andrew and Philip to quickly run down to the Sea of
Galilee and fish for an hour or two; he doesn’t ask everyone to turn out their
pockets so that there’s enough money to order pizzas.
Nope.
Jesus takes the offering.
Jesus takes the offering!
Most likely he could hold the amount in both hands. Crumbs.
Insignificant in the face of such great need. It was not enough; not nearly enough.
But Jesus accepts the offering, and he gives thanks. Thank you, God, for this tiny amount of
food. Thank-you, God for these seven
loaves and small fish.
Thank-you, God, for this offering.
It is enough for what I need to do.
Thank-you.
And only after giving thanks does Jesus begin breaking apart
the food and handing it out. And this
must have just kept going and going because apparently all the people in that
great crowd ate and were satisfied. All
the men and women and children who had not had food for three days, ate and
were filled up. And I mean, they must
have been starving, salivating at the mere mention of food, wanting to stuff
great handfuls of it into their empty mouths. This would not have been a crowd that would
have been content with hors d’ouevres or canapes arranged in an artistic
pattern on a platter! This would have
been a people craving steak and potatoes with all the fixings! They were HUNGRY! But the food keeps on coming, passed around by
the disciples as if they are twelve caterers handing out the delicacies of the
evening.
And they all ate – munched, gobbled, snacked, devoured, nibbled,
chewed, and licked up the residual crumbs and grease left behind – they ALL ate
and were satisfied.
Maybe small burps of satisfaction followed this feast. Maybe the men rubbed their full bellies with
contentment and the woman sat back on the grass with a sigh. (After all, this was a meal they didn’t have to prepare!) Maybe the children were re-energized from all
this food and were running around happily.
I don’t know how the group
reacted to their meal, but I do know that they all ate.
And were satisfied.
It was, after all, enough.
Actually, it was more than enough. Once everyone was done eating the bread and
the fish, the disciples cleaned up what was left, and there were seven
basketfuls of food left over.
There was an overabundance of food left over. More food leftover than the amount begun
with. Clearly, this was a miracle worked
by Jesus.
And the not enough became more than enough.
You see, Jesus can work with meagre amounts. He’s JESUS, after all! He’s the miracle worker who raises the dead,
heals the sick, multiplies the bread and fish, changes water to wine, and makes
the blind see. I think we forget this so
often in life. What we bring to the table or the drawing
board or the racetrack is not the point; our willingness to offer up our gifts
to Jesus is.
That changes everything.
When we offer our time and resources and talents to Jesus,
the not enough becomes enough time and resources and talents to accomplish that
which Jesus needs to accomplish. He can
work with our palty and meagre amounts and this is where I think faith gets
tested. Do I believe this? Do I really think that Jesus can do something
with this little amount sitting in my pocket?
Do I believe that Jesus can work with my limited education or speed or
time or resources? And am I willing and
brave enough to step forward and offer this not-enough to him?
Here it is, Lord.
Here’s what I have ..…. my money (it’s not much), my education (my
degrees are unimpressive), my running ability (apparently, I’m slow), my heart
(it’s fickle and fragile), my life (it’s a mess, Lord.) But here it is. Here I am.
We need to hear this again and again: what we offer is not the point. The point is our willingness to offer what we
do have to Jesus. He will take care of
the rest.
So, what do we do when all we have to offer is not
enough?
We offer it to Jesus.
We offer it anyway.
