Crumbs and intuition, integral parts

Mt 15:21–28 (21–37)

 

Jesus discovered the Father’s will in the events of life. The same was true of the growing awareness of the early communities, which carried significant prejudices with them, at least up to and including the third generation of believers – as attested by the Synoptic Gospels.

Religious law forbade them from engaging with foreigners or people of other ethnicities, nationalities or cultures. At first, Jesus [that is to say: He in the early communities, His mystical Body] seems unwilling to engage with them (v. 26).

But after helping the crowds and his own people to free themselves from the prison of purity laws (vv. 10–20), Christ breaks away from conformist ways of experiencing God.

He even breaks free from national and racial boundaries which, at that time, stifled the life-giving forces – thus transcending sacred preconceptions.

 

The Son’s unique initiatives spring from his entirely personal experience of the divine, of a Father who is generous in giving unconditionally.

Provident and unlike the miserly God of religions: the latter is at odds with his creatures, alien to them, and (incomprehensibly) bound by habit.

The Lord himself helps us, through his own story, to experience the transcendent even in the most ordinary of lives. Thus, to break free from the contrived doctrinal frameworks that cage existence [territory, customs, ideology, affiliations of various kinds – even ‘internal’ ones].

With an unconventional approach, the young Rabbi seeks to broaden the Judaising mindset, transcending boundaries.

The aim is to help us develop his very own Faith. This Faith, which promoted a rich and varied existence, and which, by stepping outside traditional narrow-mindedness, was thus able to attract astonishing numbers of followers.

No boundary fences, no obstacles… can contain our will to live: we wish to nourish ourselves not with pride (or resistance) but with love that takes risks, unadulterated – and to express ourselves fully.

Even a conversation with a woman who was not of his own people was a ‘concept’ alien to the mindset of the masses of that era – foreign even to the beliefs of the first two generations of believers, who in this respect were still rigid and steeped in idolatry.

But there was a whole people of strangers [the mixed-race ‘woman’ and her spiritual ‘offspring’] who felt they had no future. And this challenged the many preconceived notions of the time.

In short, even the church in Mt had not fully grasped the meaning of the ‘bread of the children’ – everything made available so that it might be ‘recognised’.

 

Owing to age-old rivalries, the ancient peoples used to refer to foreigners by the derogatory term ‘dog’, synonymous with impudence, pettiness and ignoble baseness.

There was widespread hesitation regarding the sense of human brotherhood – stemming from a primitive outlook [and not only that, in the age of access].

The Lord’s very harsh statement (v. 26) reflects a comparison drawn from poor neighbourhoods and family life, where domestic animals and young people once abounded.

There was, after all, a difference between children brought up by heeding the Word of God and those who acted ‘on instinct’.

But although no one would withhold sustenance from the ‘children’ to give it to the ‘dogs’ around them – the latter at least had a right to the crumbs that fell to the floor.

In fact, the text speaks of ‘little dogs’ [kynaría-kynaríois] as domestic animals loved by very young children, who would readily feed them leftovers during meals.

In a sense, they belonged to the ‘household’.

 

For those who are different and marginalised – even those looked down upon – it is no problem to turn to Jesus instinctively; indeed, they would be content with the crumbs.

On this basis, within the community of the children, there should be no shortage of physical nourishment and spiritual sustenance for anyone (Mt 14:20–21).

However, the long-standing members, who regarded themselves as entitled members of the family and asserted their rights by virtue of seniority, held a grudge and, at assemblies, insisted that not everyone should be allowed to partake of communion, the Eucharistic host, or the festive gifts of the Kingdom.

But thanks to the call of the Gospels [quite unlike the exaggerated ‘evangelical’ proclamations of the empire or the legions], the dominion of evil was drawing to a close (v. 28).

According to Matthew, there should be no obsession, bondage or preconception that might rob us of our drive for progress and our energy, so that, with the utmost freedom, we may be enabled to work and open ourselves to the needs of others, even pagans (Mt 14:22a).

 

Thus, within the Jewish-Christian communities of Galilee and Syria, a debate arose concerning the conditions for membership of the community.

What is the position of those converted from paganism? Do they have the right to take part in the breaking of the Bread without first undergoing a process of doctrinal and disciplinary initiation? Is there or is there not a break with the observant tradition?

Matthew reiterates that we have no priority whatsoever: the principle of universal salvation is an attitude of faith, not a right.

The community of the baptised is not authorised to rest on its laurels. The Gospel is open; it transcends the biblical priority of the chosen people.

The reason for any possible exception is tangible love, which has the freedom to yield, and which becomes the sole principle of belonging.

 

The condition for belonging to the new people of God is faith in the heart, not in blood or in the mind, nor in a discipline that distances us from ourselves, from God and from others.

Faith: a new principle that shatters every illusion of exclusivity.

 

With the Father, in the Son, it is no longer a matter of mortifying oneself, depending on others, striving and struggling, in order to be able to stand face to face with one another.

Legal purity is insufficient (vv. 1–20); indeed, it is now the person—even one of puzzling origins, once a stranger—who emerges ‘victorious’ from the dialogue with the Lord.

Spousal commitment is to be valued everywhere, by everyone: a foundational Eros that wells up from every soul, and is not bound by conventions. It transcends all particularism.

Of course, it has its own criteria – but they are essential: transparency, freshness, a striving for unity, overcoming constraints and taboos; the value of the person; a secret empathy of energies.

 

This Gospel passage traces an entire journey of adherence to Christ.

Those who are far away can draw near and even start from the popular – albeit inappropriate – idea that Jesus is the expected ‘Son of David’ (v. 22): a military commander and sovereign who was supposed to take power, subdue the nations, usher in a golden age, fulfil the prescriptions of the Law himself as if he were a Model, and impose their observance on everyone.

The starting point of this journey may be a faint glimmer, a beginning that perhaps does not promise much. Indeed, in this specific instance, it is decidedly confusing: the Master does not reply (v. 23).

The title bestowed upon Him has nothing to do with God, nor does it concern the true Firstborn. He is not a powerful Messiah – a predatory, conventionalised image – but a servant.

It makes no sense whatsoever to ask Him for ‘mercy’ (v. 22)! Indeed – let’s be honest – despite our superficial ritual habits, here Christ actually seems quite angry (v. 23).

This is not a healthy relationship with the Lord: He does not punish, nor does He take pleasure in being implored by the needy.

Rather, he teaches as a friend, brother or parent would; and he does not grant favours by lottery, nor miracles out of sympathy or protection, nor favours based on territory – as the pagan gods do.

That image is completely misguided, but it is a false figure that emerges precisely from the ‘insiders’ (vv. 23–24), who would have nothing to object to on the matter (v. 23) .

Indeed, their own catechesis is the very source of it: the title ‘son of David’ sounds strange when uttered by a pagan.

 

Even today, this paternalistic, homogenising idea – of instilled guilt – tends to alienate those seeking a kind travelling companion.

Jesus recognises the priority given to ‘Israel’ because it is precisely the elder sons who must convert to a new Face of the first God of Sinai – still regarded as Lawgiver and Judge, rather than as the Creator and Redeemer of our intellect and freedom.

[Although in a good-natured, childlike way, they unfortunately continue to propagate this image of Him as a stern notary, right from the pre-catechism stage] .

Jesus distances himself from those who make demands whilst at the same time diverting the souls of the needy who seek him.

Furthermore, in spiritual terms, no one can lay claim to anything: the truly sacred Gifts do not stem from any relationship of selective election, nor even from patronage [of the buy-and-sell variety].

 

So, to become close to Christ… can one be content with the Eucharistic ‘crumbs’ – that is, ‘minimal salvation’?

Can one feel satisfied with mere crumbs that fall from the table of the self-important, trapped in their narrow-minded ways (vv. 26–27)?

Certainly, for it is Faith that saves (v. 28), not a grand gesture or a long-standing practice in the disciplines of the mystical – nor a code of purity.

The true Lord says only:

‘Woman, your faith is great! Let it be done for you as you wish’ (v. 28) – that is, go ahead and embrace the joy of a full life, one that can be passed on to ‘offspring’ not destined for torment or premature death.

And no longer burdened by the judgement of others, with its usual deceptive flaws, such as feelings of inadequacy.

Thanks to Him, we are not drawn into a superficial religious practice, but into a Relationship that is shaped over time (vv. 22–28).

 

How do we find our way?

Instead of the strict Law, it is the Gospel that fully empowers us.

As if we were ‘little dogs’ (vv. 26–27) seeking life and nourishment, proceeding instinctively [by ‘scent’] along unexplored paths. And who, according to their character, inclination, and Calling by Name, appeal to other secret forces.

In short, all people – even if they are still far from an explicit commitment of faith – are imbued with this knowledge, which is at once personal and primordial, and which guides them immediately and infallibly.

So, in simplicity, we too shall do the same, to find the Way.

Indeed, Faith has no nationality, and is the only valid language, relationship and path for communication between God and both woman and man.

The proposal is universal; it transcends time, denominational and even religious boundaries.

 

Commenting on the Tao Te Ching (LVIII), Master Wang Pi states:

‘ He who governs well has neither form nor name; he does not initiate administrations. The various categories divide and separate; this is why the people are fragmented.’

Master Ho-shang Kung adds:

‘When the ruler is liberal, the people are united in wealth and contentment: people love one another and get on well together.’

 

Today, it is a matter of sharing the crumbs and fragments of that ‘something extra’ which we in the West have inherited from past generations.

A very instructive and comfortable ‘something extra’; bestowed in superabundance, yet received without ‘too much of anything’ [ne quid nimis] nor too many merits or risks (from ‘good Christians...’).

And all the while respecting the hierarchy of veterans, cliques and the powerful – who are always rather reluctant to live together in genuine harmony.

Christ, on the other hand, is wisdom-filled nourishment for free circulation; not food that is withheld, to be kept locked away in tabernacles.

His virtue is now understood only outside the sacristies – by those far off and remote (vv. 21–22) – where even a crumb of Bread instils trust and brings new life through sharing.

To break the Eucharist, which is both source and summit, is to proclaim it a Gift not to be withheld or kept intact, but rather to be displayed and distributed without prior moralising.

To share that Food is to participate in the very root of existence, in what we have and what we are; it is the measure of what we proclaim, believe and practise.

 

Unfortunately, it is not uncommon for outsiders and those who are different to be more hungry for the true Manna from Heaven.

Sated to the point of nausea – and perhaps still unable to grasp its meaning – why should we experience this shared Nourishment [perhaps with little regard for its significance] as a problem and a source of fear?

 

 

To internalise and live out the message:

 

If they are not part of ‘your own people’, are you at least willing to speak to them – even if veterans, internal circles and the establishment forbid it?

Don’t you think the synodal journey is a good opportunity to reconsider abstract positions?

Do you know of any small church community that leaves no room for outsiders?

Do you know people hurt by exclusion? What do you do – remain silent in acquiescence?

 

 

Multiplication through Division, on the journey

 

The simple (Eucharistic) Mystery

(Mt 15:29–37)

 

‘Man is the being of limits who has no limits’ (Fratelli Tutti, no. 150).

In our hearts we have a great longing for fulfilment and happiness. The Father has placed it there; He Himself fulfils it – but He wants us to be partners in His work – both within and outside ourselves.

The Son reflects God’s plan in his compassion for the crowds in need of everything (vv. 30, 32) and – despite the plethora of teachers and experts – devoid of any authentic teaching [cf. Mt 9:36, 14:14].

His solution is very different from that of all ‘spiritual’ guides, because He does not gloss over our plight with an indirect paternalism [cf. Mt 14:16] that wipes away tears, heals wounds or erases humiliations.

He invites us to make use, in our own person, of what we are and what we have, even though it may seem ridiculous. Yet he teaches quite unequivocally that by channelling our energies, we can achieve marvellous results.

Thus we respond in Christ to the world’s great problems: by reclaiming the condition of the ‘homo viator’ – a being on a journey, his essential nature – and by sharing our goods; not by leaving everyone to fend for themselves [cf. Mt 14:15].

Our true vulnerability, the trials and tribulations, and the experiences of our many brothers and sisters—in all their diversity—are resources not to be viewed with suspicion, ‘as competitors or dangerous enemies’ of our fulfilment (FT no. 151).

Not only will the little we carry be enough to satisfy us: there will be enough left over for others, and with the same fullness of truth—human and epoch-making [vv. 34, 37: the passage emphasises the Semitic symbolism of the number ‘seven’].

 

In Matthew, Jesus is the new Moses who ascends ‘the Mountain’ of authentic relationships – to usher in an alternative Time, which marks true history.

The people no longer remain in the valley below waiting: they gather around Him, coming just as they are, bearing the burden of their many different needs.

God’s new people are not a stationary crowd of the elect, the chosen and the pure.

Each person brings with them their own journey, their own worries and problems, which the Lord heals – not by imposing a solution from above or from outside.

In short: another world is possible, but only by breaking one’s own (even meagre) bread.

A wise, unbroken and effective solution, if it is allowed to emerge from within, whilst on the journey and whilst being in the midst – not in front, not at the head, not on high (v. 36).

 

The place of God’s Revelation was to be one of thunderbolts, on a ‘mountain’ smoking as if from a furnace (Ex 19:18)... but in the end even Elijah’s violent zeal had to be reconsidered (1 Kgs 19:12).

Even to the pagans, the Son reveals a Father who does not simply remove infirmities: he helps them to understand these as a place that is preparing the way for personal growth, and that of the Community.

It was imagined that in the time of the Messiah, the lame, the deaf and the blind would disappear (Isaiah 35:5ff.). A golden age: everything at the summit, no abyss.

In Jesus – the Bread that is shared – an unusual fullness of time is revealed, seemingly nebulous and fragile, yet real and capable of revitalising people and relationships.

The Spirit of God does not act by descending like a bolt of lightning from on high, but rather by activating within us capacities that appear intangible, yet capable of gathering together our scattered being—deemed insubstantial, which encompasses the sum total of our daily lives—and re-evaluating it.

 

The Incarnation weaves our hearts anew, in dignity and fulfilment; it truly unfolds, for it not only sweeps away obstacles but rests upon them.

And it does not erase them at all: thus it transcends them, yet by transforming them – breathing new life into them.

Life-giving sap that draws nourishment and brings forth flowers from the very same muddy yet fertile soil, and shares them with us.

A solidarity to which everyone is invited, not just those deemed to be in a state of perfection and wholeness.

 

Our shortcomings make us attentive and unique. They are not to be despised, but rather embraced, placed in the hands of the Son and revitalised (v. 36).

Our very failures can be a precious sign: in Christ, they are no longer demeaning humiliations, but rather signposts along the way. Perhaps we are not making the best use of our resources or investing them wisely.

Thus, setbacks can quickly be transformed into new ascents – different, not pre-packaged – and a quest for total fulfilment in Communion.

Therefore, in the ideal of realising our Vocation and discerning the kind of contribution to offer, there is nothing better than a vibrant environment that does not clip our wings: a fraternity alive with exchange and shared living.

Not so much to cushion us from the jolts, but so that we may be enabled to build reservoirs of wisdom unbound by categorisations – from which everyone can draw, even those who are different and far removed from us.

And if, even here, a shortcoming should come our way, it will be to teach us to be present in the world in (perhaps) other and further directions, or to bring forth our mission and creative maturation – not to remain fixated on partialities and minutiae.

 

The allusion to the seven loaves (multiplied because they were shared) reinforces the references to the malleable substance of biblical icons.

Here, Moses and Elijah on ‘the Mount’: figures from the five Books of the Pentateuch (the first Nourishments), plus the two sections of the Prophets and the Writings.

All together, ‘seven loaves’: an abundance of nourishment and wisdom for the soul, called to move beyond the surrounding hedges, breaking through the barriers of a mindset enslaved to its immediate surroundings.

This is the basic nourishment of the human-divine spirit, to which, however, is added a fresh and youthful accompaniment, which indeed draws us in (v. 34).

[As St Augustine said: ‘The Word of God, which is explained to you every day and, in a certain sense, “broken”, is itself Daily Bread’ (Sermo 58, IV: PL 38,395)] .

Complete nourishment: staple food and ‘accompaniment’ – historical and ideal, in principle and in practice.

Here, in Christ, we become a living, dynamic body of witnesses (and Scriptures!) that is sensitive to the world.

Admittedly limited, not yet fully realised – and devoid of heroic feats, yet markedly wise and practical.

Proclaimers and sharers, without sensational proclamations of self-sufficiency.

Never confined within archaic boundaries: always a work in progress – and thus able to perceive unknown paths.

 

And ‘breaking the Bread’… that is, taking action, moving forward, sharing what little we have – to nourish, to overflow (multiplying God’s listening and action) and to help even the desperate regain their self-respect.

We are children: like a few small fish (v. 34), but ones who do not wallow in competitions that make life toxic.

On the contrary: we are personally called to write a unique, empathetic and sacred Word-event.

As infants in the Lord, we swim in this different Water. At times, perhaps, outwardly veiled or muddy and turbid…

Ultimately made transparent simply because it is yielding, compassionate (v. 32) and benevolent.

The old, exclusive puddle of religion that does not dare to take the risk of Faith (v. 33) would not have helped us to take on board the message of Jesus the Messiah, Son of God, Saviour – an acrostic of the Greek term Ichtys [fish].

He is the Father’s Initiative-Response, a support on the (not particularly ethereal) journey in search of the Hope of the poor – of all of us who are destitute and waiting.

 

Active Faith therefore has as its emblem the Eucharist, a revolution in sacredness. It seems strange to us who have become accustomed to it.

Indeed, the aim of evangelisation is to participate in and liberate the whole person from everything that threatens them, not only in extreme circumstances: but also in their everyday actions – to the point of seeking the sharing of goods.

In Mark (7:31–37), the miracle is placed after the ‘opening of the senses’. Here, it follows the healings by the Sea of Galilee (vv. 29–31).

The Sign, which is both the Source and the Culmination of the community of children, is a creative gesture that demands a shift in perspective, an entirely new way of seeing.

Faced with the destitution of many – caused by the greed of a few – the attitude of the authentic Church does not content itself with emblems and pious platitudes, nor with partial calls to distinguish itself through almsgiving.

The breaking of the Bread takes the place of the Manna sent down from on high in the desert (Mt 15:33) and entails its distribution – not merely in specific situations.

We must not be content merely to multiply life for all.

This is the attitude of the living Body of the miracle-working Christ [not the miracle-worker] who feels called to take action in every circumstance.

 

If participation in the Eucharist does not merely give rise to occasional almsgiving, outward piety and perfunctory charity, here is the Result:

Women and men will eat, they will be satisfied, and there will be food left over for others still (not all those invited by God are yet present...).

 

We note that it had not even crossed the disciples’ minds that the solution might come from the people themselves and from their spirit.

Not merely from the paternalism of the leaders, or from some individual benefactor.

An unexpected solution: the question of food is resolved not from above, but from within the people themselves and with the few loaves they had brought with them.

There is no solution in the verb ‘to multiply’ – that is, ‘to increase’… relationships that matter, to increase wealth, to hoard cunning.

The only remedy is ‘to break’, ‘to give’, ‘to hand out’ (v. 36). And everyone is involved; no one is given preferential treatment.

 

At that time, competitiveness and class-based thinking characterised the society of the empire – and were already beginning to seep into the small community, still in its infancy.

As if the Lord and the God of self-interest could still coexist side by side.

It is the fellowship of the needy that, on the contrary, takes centre stage in the unpretentious Church.

Genuine sharing acts as a teacher to the ever-present veterans—worldly-wise and pretentious—who are the only ones still in need of conversion.

The seed of their ‘endurance’ should lie not in high status or role, but in love.

Such is the sole meaning of sacred gestures; not other schemes tainted by abuse of power or by a desire to appear important.

 

Those who ‘belong’ are left dumbfounded.

For the Lord, those who are far away (though still wavering in their choices) are full participants in the messianic banquet – without exclusions, nor the mysteries of the arcane with their nerve-wracking expectations.

Conversely, that Table calls out in favour of others who have yet to be called. For a sort of restoration of the original Unity.

 

In short, Redemption does not belong to the elites concerned with the stability of their rule – which it is, in fact, the weak who must uphold.

 

The life of the saved comes to us through incorporation.

 

 

To internalise and live out the message:

 

Have you ever broken your bread, shared joy and brought about reconciliations that renew relationships, lifting up people who lack even self-esteem? Or have you favoured indifference, constraints and elitist attitudes?