What if there had only been two fish and one loaf of bread? Could Jesus still have fed the 5,000?
These are the questions my dusty flesh asks on days when I am rundown and out of breath. We know that, yes, of course Jesus could have performed the same miracle with a smaller lunch basket. But so often, deep down, we assume that if the numbers change, there is no longer hope for bread.
“Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry” (Matt. 4:1–2).
I suppose it is only appropriate that, on a day like Ash Wednesday, we feel our weakness more than usual. My weakness often takes the shape of forgetfulness. I forget that God will sustain me, and so I reach for food as though it is my only source of strength. I check my phone for a brief hit of dopamine. I list off all my worries to my husband in a fit of anxiety, without stopping to take a breath. I assume, wrongly, that I am my own savior or that God’s grace has run out.
Then I remember the Red Sea.
I remember the feeding of the 5,000.
I recall those fluffy wafers that miraculously appeared in the wilderness each morning to sustain the Israelites.
And I think about that time, on the wooden steps outside my apartment, when I cried out for mercy and Jesus met me there. My heart was breaking, but he was catching every tear in his bottle (Ps. 56:8, ESV).
“The tempter came to him and said, ‘If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread’ ” (Matt. 4:3).
What happened to Jesus during those 40 days in the wilderness?
We know that Satan waited until Jesus was starving to pounce. But what happened before that? I have so many questions. Did Jesus spend time with the animals, talking to them instead of catching them for supper? Did he, perhaps, pray in the middle of the night, when hunger pains woke him? Did he bathe in rivers, letting the ice-cold water shock his system and distract him, at least momentarily, from his desire for food?
What did Jesus do with his tired, dusty feet on day 38?
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Were these stones bread, I would not cry out to you. I would feast. But in this fast, I see you are my lifeline. I am tempted in this wilderness, but I am not alone. You walked on dry sand, stumbled from fatigue, rumbled from hunger, and still you clung to the truth of your Father. Still you denied Satan the satisfaction of owning you. Surely, through your example and the power of the Holy Ghost, I can press on this day.
“For he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust” (Ps. 103:14).
Rachel Joy Welcher is a poet, author, and book editor living in South Dakota with her husband, pastor Evan Welcher, and their two children, Hildegaard and Richard.
