Do we have enough?

One of the unexpected privileges of leading services at my local church is the opportunity to sit with a Bible passage for much longer than I otherwise might. Rather than reading it once and moving on, I spend days turning it over in my mind. I read it while making a cup of tea, while out running, while weeding the garden, and in those quiet moments when a single phrase suddenly refuses to leave you alone.

This week, as I’ve been preparing to lead our Service of the Word at St Peter & St Paul’s in Rothersthorpe, I’ve found myself returning again and again to one simple question.

Do we have enough?

It’s not actually the question Jesus asks, but it seems to be the question everyone else is asking.

The Gospel reading is Matthew’s account of the feeding of the five thousand. It’s one of those stories that has become so familiar that it’s easy to stop noticing just how human it feels. A huge crowd has gathered in a remote place. Evening is approaching. People are hungry. The disciples do a quick stocktake and come to what feels like the only sensible conclusion: “Send them away.” After all, what difference could five loaves and two fish possibly make?

I can’t really blame them. I’d probably have reached exactly the same conclusion.

It’s a question that extends far beyond a hillside in Galilee. Whether or not you have any religious belief, I suspect most of us spend a surprising amount of our lives wondering if we have enough.

Enough time to do everything we’re expected to do.

Enough money to feel secure.

Enough patience for our children.

Enough energy at the end of another working week.

Enough confidence to take on a new challenge.

Enough of ourselves.

Churches ask exactly the same questions. Over the past month, our benefice has welcomed a new vicar, Jo, and it’s been a real joy to see her enthusiasm for the opportunities ahead, together with the thoughtful and prayerful way she approaches ministry. New beginnings naturally bring excitement, but they also prompt questions. What might God be calling us to next? Are we ready? Do we have what we need?

As I kept returning to Matthew’s Gospel, I realised something I’d never really noticed before. Before Jesus feeds anyone, Matthew tells us something else:

“He had compassion on them.”

That tiny sentence changes everything.

The miracle isn’t really about bread. It begins with compassion. Jesus sees a crowd of tired, hungry people and refuses to send them away. He heals the sick, teaches those who have gathered and then, because hungry people still need feeding, he provides a meal as well.

I love that about Jesus.

He doesn’t divide people into neat categories of physical needs and spiritual needs. He cares about both. He meets people where they are. Whether someone comes needing hope, healing, forgiveness, friendship or simply something to eat, Jesus’ response begins with compassion.

Then comes my favourite line in the whole passage. The disciples say, “We have only five loaves and two fish.” It’s that little word only that has stayed with me this week.

How often do we use it?

“I’m only one person.”

“It’s only a small church.”

“I’ve only got a little time.”

“I’ve only got a small gift.”

“I can only do so much.”

Jesus doesn’t argue with the disciples’ arithmetic. Five loaves and two fish really aren’t enough to feed thousands of people. Instead, he says something wonderfully simple. “Bring them here to me.”

The miracle doesn’t begin when the bread multiplies. It begins when someone is willing to place what they have into Jesus’ hands.

As I thought about that, my mind wandered back to our own church here in Rothersthorpe. We aren’t a cathedral. We aren’t a large town-centre church with endless resources. We’re a village church that has stood at the heart of this community for around eight hundred years.

It’s easy to focus on what we don’t have.

But perhaps Jesus isn’t asking us that question. Perhaps he’s asking a different one. “What do you have?”

When I look around, I don’t see a list of limitations. I see people who quietly pray for others every day. People who unlock the church before anyone else arrives. People who arrange flowers, care for the churchyard, organise the village fair, welcome visitors, make coffee at the Propeller Café or simply notice when someone needs a friendly conversation.

None of those things make headlines. Neither did five loaves and two fish.

Yet history is full of ordinary people who offered what they had, trusting that somehow God would use it. Eight hundred years later, worship is still taking place in the same building. The community still gathers. People still find comfort, hope and friendship there. That feels rather miraculous in its own quiet way.

The Old Testament reading paired with this Gospel comes from Isaiah, where God offers an extraordinary invitation: “Come, all you who are thirsty… come, buy and eat… without money and without price.” It’s an image of abundance. Not abundance in the sense of never facing difficulties or always having everything we want, but abundance in the sense that God’s love, mercy and welcome never run dry.

Matthew ends the story by telling us that everyone ate and was satisfied. Not simply fed. Satisfied.

In a world that constantly tells us we need a little more, a little more success, a little more money, a little more recognition, a little more achievement, that feels like a deeply counter-cultural idea.

Perhaps satisfaction isn’t found in finally having enough. Perhaps it’s found in discovering the One who is enough.

Whether you’re part of a church, curious about faith or simply someone trying to navigate the ordinary challenges of everyday life, I wonder what your own “five loaves and two fish” might be.

A skill you’ve never thought much of.

Time you could offer.

A listening ear.

An encouraging word.

A willingness to help.

A quiet faith.

Something that doesn’t seem like much at all.

This Sunday’s sermon is really just an invitation to stop looking first at what we lack and instead ask a different question: What has already been placed in our hands? Because if the Christian story is true, then God has always delighted in taking ordinary things, offered with willing hearts, and using them in extraordinary ways.

I’d love to know what you think. Have you ever found that the smallest thing you could offer ended up making a far bigger difference than you ever expected?