The Beautiful Upset: WK5 - MON
THE MATH OF EXHAUSTION
Mark 6:30–31, 37, 41 (NLT) "The apostles returned to Jesus from their ministry tour and told him all they had done and taught. Then Jesus said, 'Let’s go off by yourselves to a quiet place and rest awhile.' He said this because there were so many people coming and going that Jesus and his apostles didn’t even have time to eat... But Jesus said, 'You give them something to eat.' 'With what?' they asked. 'We’d have to work for months to earn enough money to buy food for all these people!'... Jesus took the five loaves and two fish, looked up toward heaven, and blessed them. Then, breaking the loaves into pieces, he kept giving the bread to the disciples so they could distribute it to the people."
The disciples come back from their first real ministry tour buzzing and depleted, the way you feel on the drive home from a youth retreat. Jesus sees it and tells them to get away and rest, because they haven't even had time to eat. Then the boat lands and a crowd is already waiting on the shore, and the rest never happens.
What Jesus says next sounds almost unkind: "You give them something to eat." The disciples do the math out loud. It would take months of wages. They aren't being faithless, they're being accurate, and they're too tired to pretend the numbers work.
When I was a youth pastor in Seattle in my twenties, I used to visit Victor, a man in his nineties who had been a brilliant musician his whole life and now lived alone in a house that was slowly getting away from him. I wanted to help and had nothing to offer. I'm useless with anything that requires a toolbox, and I knew it, so I mentioned it, a little embarrassed, to one of our church parents, who rounded up ten teenagers and their lawnmowers. By afternoon the yard looked like someone loved him. My main contribution was admitting I couldn't do it.
That's what I keep noticing in Mark. Jesus doesn't send the disciples off to recover first and come back stronger. He takes five flatbreads and two dried fish, blesses them, and keeps handing the pieces back to the same worn-out men, who carry them out to the groups sitting on the grass. The bread multiplied in tired hands. I suspect a few of them were still hungry while they served it.
This is the beautiful upset. We assume Jesus needs us rested and capable before he can use us, so we spend enormous energy hiding how empty we are. Jesus seems far more interested in what happens once we stop hiding it. When it was over there were twelve baskets of leftovers, roughly one for every disciple who had done the math and come up short.
Mark 6:30–31, 37, 41 (NLT) "The apostles returned to Jesus from their ministry tour and told him all they had done and taught. Then Jesus said, 'Let’s go off by yourselves to a quiet place and rest awhile.' He said this because there were so many people coming and going that Jesus and his apostles didn’t even have time to eat... But Jesus said, 'You give them something to eat.' 'With what?' they asked. 'We’d have to work for months to earn enough money to buy food for all these people!'... Jesus took the five loaves and two fish, looked up toward heaven, and blessed them. Then, breaking the loaves into pieces, he kept giving the bread to the disciples so they could distribute it to the people."
The disciples come back from their first real ministry tour buzzing and depleted, the way you feel on the drive home from a youth retreat. Jesus sees it and tells them to get away and rest, because they haven't even had time to eat. Then the boat lands and a crowd is already waiting on the shore, and the rest never happens.
What Jesus says next sounds almost unkind: "You give them something to eat." The disciples do the math out loud. It would take months of wages. They aren't being faithless, they're being accurate, and they're too tired to pretend the numbers work.
When I was a youth pastor in Seattle in my twenties, I used to visit Victor, a man in his nineties who had been a brilliant musician his whole life and now lived alone in a house that was slowly getting away from him. I wanted to help and had nothing to offer. I'm useless with anything that requires a toolbox, and I knew it, so I mentioned it, a little embarrassed, to one of our church parents, who rounded up ten teenagers and their lawnmowers. By afternoon the yard looked like someone loved him. My main contribution was admitting I couldn't do it.
That's what I keep noticing in Mark. Jesus doesn't send the disciples off to recover first and come back stronger. He takes five flatbreads and two dried fish, blesses them, and keeps handing the pieces back to the same worn-out men, who carry them out to the groups sitting on the grass. The bread multiplied in tired hands. I suspect a few of them were still hungry while they served it.
This is the beautiful upset. We assume Jesus needs us rested and capable before he can use us, so we spend enormous energy hiding how empty we are. Jesus seems far more interested in what happens once we stop hiding it. When it was over there were twelve baskets of leftovers, roughly one for every disciple who had done the math and come up short.
- Where are you running on empty right now while people still need you to feed them?
- The disciples said out loud that the math didn't work. What would it sound like for you to admit that honestly, to Jesus or to someone who could help?
- The miracle happened while the disciples were still tired. What might Jesus want to do through you in a season you'd rather wait out until you feel ready?
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