August 2, 2026: Take and Eat this Bread

Take & Eat This Bread

Have you ever been really hungry? Not just a little hungry, but really hungry. Tummy rumbling, stomach growling hungry. 

We all know that feeling. You skipped breakfast, forgot to bring your lunch, and now you're standing in front of the pantry trying to figure out what to make for supper. Meanwhile, you're having a hard time concentrating because you—and the kids—just want something quick to eat. As a parent, I can't tell you how many times I've found myself in that situation. 

Sometimes when my kids are really hungry, they'll wander into the kitchen and devour a bowl of chips. But you know what happens? Their hunger disappears for a little while, and then, before long, they're hungry again. Chips might taste good, but they don't really satisfy. When you're hungry, you need the right kind of food—the kind that fills you up, nourishes you, and gives you strength. Chips just won't cut it. 

That is exactly the situation of the crowd in today's Gospel. They had left their towns and followed Jesus into a deserted place, just as Moses led Israel into the wilderness after the Exodus. As evening came, everyone was hungry—really hungry—and there was nothing to eat. 

Moved with compassion, Jesus tells the disciples, "You give them something to eat." Unsurprisingly, they're incredulous. How could they possibly feed thousands of people with only five loaves and two fish? 

But Jesus is unmoved by their disbelief. Just as God fed Israel with manna through Moses, God will now feed his people through his Son. Jesus takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to the disciples to distribute. 

And here's the important point: the people weren't merely fed. They were stuffed full. Matthew uses a Greek word that can describe fattening cattle in a pasture or birds of prey gorging themselves. This isn't a light snack. It's a feast. And after everyone had eaten until they were full, twelve baskets of leftovers remained. 

The miracle becomes even more remarkable when we consider the numbers. Matthew tells us there were five thousand men, not counting women and children. The crowd may well have numbered fifteen thousand or more—more people than live in Princeton, Zimmerman, and Milaca combined. And the "loaves" weren't large loaves at all. They were more like dinner rolls. John's Gospel tells us the fish were opsadion [op-sad-eon]—small dried fish, something like sardines that could be eaten with bread. 

No elaborate banquet. No roasted meats. No exotic fruit. Just a few dinner rolls and a couple of sardines. 

Yet Jesus takes what is offered and feeds an enormous crowd. It's a reminder that no offering is too small for God to use. He delights in taking what seems insignificant and making it an instrument of abundance. 

But if we listen carefully, Matthew is telling us something even deeper. 

Listen again to verse 19: 

"Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples." 

Do those words sound familiar? 

They should. They're the very actions Jesus performs at the Last Supper. He takes. He blesses. He breaks. He gives. 

Matthew isn't simply telling us about a miracle in Galilee. He's preparing us to recognize Jesus in the Eucharist. 

This is where today's first reading from Isaiah speaks so powerfully. Through the prophet, God cries out: 

"Come to the water, all you who are thirsty... Come, receive grain and eat; come, without paying and without cost." And then Isaiah asks a question that cuts to the heart: "Why spend your money for what is not bread, and your wages for what fails to satisfy?" 

Isn't that exactly what we do? 

How often do we live as though one more purchase, one more promotion, one more vacation, one more new phone, boat, or snowmobile will finally satisfy us? We chase after things that promise fullness but leave us hungry again. They're like eating chips for supper. They taste good for a moment, but they cannot nourish the deepest hunger of the human heart. 

Jesus offers something altogether different. 

He tells the Samaritan woman at the well, "Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water that I will give will never thirst." 

What Jesus offers is nothing less than himself: the true bread that satisfies our deepest hunger and the living water that quenches our deepest thirst. 

As St. Augustine famously wrote, "Our hearts are restless until they rest in you." 

The feeding of the multitude, then, isn't simply about bread. It's about the Kingdom of God. The Kingdom is a place of extravagant generosity, abundant nourishment, and communion. It is a banquet where there is enough for everyone.  There is even enough for those the world overlooks and those Matthew says were not counted—even they will feast until they are stuffed full. 

Whether through manna in the wilderness, loaves and fish beside the Sea of Galilee, or the Eucharist we celebrate at this altar, God feeds his people. 

In just a few moments, we'll hear those familiar words once again as Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and gives. When you come forward to receive him, hear Isaiah's invitation as though it were spoken directly to you: "Come to me heedfully, listen, that you may have life." 

So, when you come forward, come hungry. Come thirsty. Come ready to be filled—not with the things that leave us empty again, but with Christ himself, the Bread of Life, who alone can truly satisfy. 

Then, at the end of Mass, after we've been fed, we will be sent out.  The disciples didn't keep the bread for themselves; Jesus gave it to them to distribute to others.  In the very same way, Christ fills us with his own life so that through our generosity, our forgiveness, our service and our love, we might become nourishment for a hungry world. That is how we Live the Eucharist.