The Fish and Loaves and Buffet and Pop

Just when you think we're easing into the summer lull of Ordinary Time, the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus Christ brings us right back to the big stuff. It's not every Sunday that we have a Solemnity, though Pentecost isn't far in our rearview mirrors, and just in case you didn't know, boom - Thomas Aquinas wrote a sequence to sing for this.

This Sunday's lectionary packed a great punch. Batting lead-off, Melchizedek the desert priest blesses Abram as he offers bread and wine to the one God, an early glimpse of monotheism and a bready sacrifice. Then, Paul - prompted by the boisterous and surly Corinthians - gives us the earliest account of the early Church's celebration of the Eucharist in his letter that predates even the earliest Gospel by several years. Finally, we get the epic story of Jesus multiplying the fish and loaves for the crowds who gathered to hear the good news.

Our priest did a fabulous job of hitting on some key points and brought it all home to the solemnity at hand. At he considered Jesus' action in this passage, he contrasted Jesus' response with kicking the can down the road - rather than avoid the problem or pass it on to someone else, Jesus confronts the need of the throngs who gathered and enlists the disciples to ensure the need of the people will be met right then and there.

I like to use this passage with teenagers to learn how to understand Scripture - to examine the natural explanations, the supernatural explanations, and the potential overlaps or both-and's that arise. Maybe people really had more food than they initially offered? Maybe people declined food or only took small portions to help it last longer? Maybe the disciples and other people in the crowd did some leg-work to convince people to be more generous? Moreover, maybe Jesus' blessing moved the hearts of the people? Maybe some miraculous change occurred with the collected food? Maybe some larger unexplainable miracle multiplied the food? Either way, the natural and supernatural aren't mutually exclusive. Our prayer, our love, and our hope can and do spur action. The potentially increased charity and selflessness of the crowd and the miraculous, prayerful blessing imparted by Jesus could be one in the same.

Our priest this morning expounded on this by shifting the focus. Our faith and love cannot be about counting and hoarding. We cannot go about life trying to simply find what is there for ourselves. Rather, this passage shows how our faith must be lived out as gratitude and sharing. The need of this crowd isn't met by selfishness, but it is met when Jesus leads the crowd in a blessing and sharing.

When I teach teenagers about the Catholic Social Teaching of the Call to Family, Community, and Participation, I teach them about the tragedy of the commons. This is an unfortunate human tendency by which humans tend to not conserve or equally share common or public goods. Humans tend to consider only what will affect them in the current moment, not considering its impact on others or on the future situation.

I use a few everyday examples to prove the point.

Think of a college common room, or even a teachers' lounge, think of the coffee table or counter in the middle of the room. People will inevitably leave behind cupcakes, pizza boxes, and other communal snacks. Over time, pieces will get eaten while also crumbs will accumulate, bits and leftovers will get stale and decay, and the area will become generally gross. Person after person will walk by, consider having some, and then take some or not take some, and move on. Meanwhile, the area will grow in disgusting-ness until someone finally snaps and decides to clean it up. For everyone before them, it was a convenience to snack and move on, allowing the common area to get gross. For this last person, they have to deal with the fallout of all their predecessors' ignoring it.

One more - think about a busy intersection with a traffic light and a left turn lane. Inevitably, cars will inch forward anticipating their left turn by sitting in the intersection, so that when the straight-through traffic finishes with the yellow light, they can make their turn, something most of us can roll with since these cars turn during the time between green lights. Fairly often, an extra car or two will cozy up to the cars that inched out into the intersection and push the timing to get through the intersection on that turn of the light. These cars will make their turn well after the light has turned to red, and they will inevitably cause the people in the perpendicular directions to wait on them while they squeeze their turn in, not to mention as well everyone who will push to beat the red light while trying to go straight. These folks gain a convenience for themselves while delaying everyone else in the intersection, excepting themselves from the common rule to give themselves this advantage at others' expense.

If we all stuck to conserving and sharing common goods - from lounge tables to traffic lights and beyond - we could have a better sense of community and a fairer experience of participation. However, we can't help but deviate from these standards when it is convenient for us in the moment. This is the tragedy of the commons.

On Thursday, I had the pleasure of chaperoning Super Secret Senior Surprise Day at the high school where I work. Seniors were treated to bowling, laser tag, whirlyball, a Navy Pier cruise, and a casino night. As someone who loved high school and is not ashamed to indulge in competition, I, of course, participated full-throttle when there was room for me, with the highlight being an hour of neon-lighted, techno-music-rocking, sweat-inducing laser tag.

After a solid hour of consecutive 6-minute military battles, I retreated with the students back to the lounge area, where snacks and drinks were waiting outside the whirlyball court. A bit of food remained, but those who played laser tag would have little to choose from. Turning to the drinks table, where a few pitchers and some towers of cups were stationed, the surface was covered in spills, and everything was quite messy.

As I surveyed the carnage, I could not help but think of how all of these students had learned earlier this year about the tragedy of the commons, including having it as a test question multiple times. Glancing from the scant leftovers of food to the be-puddled drink table to the general messiness of the area, I couldn't help but be struck by the selfish carelessness of everyone who had passed through here so far.

Ever the catechist and minister, with tongue in cheek, I announced what laid before me - the tragedy of the commons. I made my accusation quite vociferously and with a large smirk on my face. Gradually, a few kids couldn't sustain their attempts to ignore me. As their minds recollected the concept of the tragedy of the commons, they saw what I saw and started to get a bit bashful.

One senior, a young man who is bright and charismatic but a poor student, had a light bulb moment and got visibly embarrassed. He immediately grabbed a chunk of napkins and hastily began to corral the puddled liquids of the drinks table. Sopping up the spills, he admitted to what we all saw and wanted to try to fix it a little, even as this late stage in the game.

Sharing and caring are hackneyed preschool cliches, but they're also time-tested adult values and ideals that we must still strive for. Jesus' blessing and sharing fueled the feeding of thousands with food that could barely feed a few, and his example of sharing and caring shows its importance and impact.

When we can be humble and selfless, scarcity can become more scarce. When we look out for those who are around us and those who will come after us, we make the world a better place to be shared by all. When we are grounded in blessing and sharing, we build community and belong better.

So take your time as you pour your drink! Only grab a little bit on your first pass through the buffet! And if you spill, clean it up! We as disciples shouldn't have to worry about slipping in a puddle of Sprite as we gather fish and loaves in our baskets and seek to feed one another.