During the First World War, the Government of the Ottoman Empire decided that it was necessary for the Armenian nation to be wiped out. So they initiated a genocide. One of the ways this was carried out was by driving people - men, women and children - on forced marches into the desert. Once they were sufficiently far from any possible source of water or food or help of any sort, the soldiers would simply abandon the Armenians, leaving them to die where they were, in their thousands, of hunger and thirst.
The situation of the Five Thousand in today’s Gospel was not like that.
The people were there because they wanted to be there: because they wanted to be with Jesus. They insistently followed him; and once they’d got him cornered, he responded to them. St. Matthew tells us that he healed their sick. Presumably he taught them also - telling them about God his Father, and about his Kingdom; and the people were enthralled, and they loved it all, so that the time flew by, for everyone present. But now his disciples needed to interrupt, and to point out that it was getting late.
Nobody was in danger of death. It was just rather inconvenient for everyone to go off looking for something to eat and somewhere to stay at that late hour. Probably nobody would have minded much: the situation was entirely of their own making. But out of his abundant goodness and generosity, Jesus fed them anyway, where they were.
In that respect this episode is rather like the miracle at the wedding feast in Cana, as narrated by St. John, when Jesus changed water into wine. There was no real need for that miracle, but he performed it anyway, at his Mother’s request, as a sign of his abundant goodness and generosity, as well as of his divine power.
But of course there’s more.
The miracle of today’s Gospel is a sign, which evokes God’s feeding of Israel in the wilderness with manna and quails, in the time of Moses. So Jesus acts here as God does. He feeds his people as a sign of his care for them, of his covenant with them, and as a sign of his mercy, goodness and love.
More than that: looking not only backwards but forwards, this sign clearly evokes the Holy Eucharist. In the Holy Eucharist, Jesus feeds us with Himself. He communicates to us the fruits of his saving death: the forgiveness of our sins; reconciliation with his Father; our constitution as a new people in a new Covenant; the gift of the Holy Spirit.
For us, all this is not just a matter of convenience: not just a very nice and generous gift, about which to be pleased and grateful. It’s a matter of life and death. The desperate plight of those poor Armenians abandoned in the desert could be an image of the plight of humanity, without the intervention of our Blessed Saviour, who comes to rescue us from death, and to give us eternal life.
The Mass is the total self gift of Jesus - in his saving death - in his body and blood - so that we might be nourished by him, made one with him, united with him, given a share in his divine Sonship.
During the lock down the whole Church has in a sense been in the desert. We know well that it’s possible to survive, if necessary, without attending Mass; it’s possible to go for long periods without receiving Holy Communion. But it’s not possible to survive, spiritually, and eternally, without Jesus. Our need for him is radical, and without him we hunger and thirst indeed.
Before Holy Communion, in these very strange conditions, the Priest shows the Host to all the people together and says: “May the Body of Christ keep us all safe to eternal life.”
Amen, we all cry, may it be so. With this gift that is Jesus may we receive all other gifts he wants to give us, both corporal and spiritual: for our well being, for our salvation, and for God’s eternal glory.