The Desert Near Bethsaida: The Multitude Fed

Acting on the instructions of their Lord, the twelve had completed a perambulation of the Galilean villages, and had now returned from preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing many of their diseases — a sort of trial-trip or experimental tour by which their Master, whilst yet with them, sought to train them for that work which was soon to be the business of their lives. But now that they had returned to the rendezvous, it was just that season when the whole population was streaming along the thoroughfares — journeying up to the feast at Jerusalem; and as repose was impossible in the midst of so many visitors, Jesus said to His travel-worn companions, “Let us go into a desert place and rest awhile.”

But there was another reason. Tidings had arrived of the death of John the Baptist; and, in the present haunted state of the tetrarch’s conscience — ready to scare at every spectre, and rendered unscrupulous by his desperate guilt — the least commotion in Galilee might be followed by fearful severities; whilst the recoil of popular feeling from a tyrant so sanguinary might precipitate a step which was altogether to be deprecated, and lead them to proclaim Jesus their king. And, as His time was not yet come, Jesus retreated from this risk of commotion, and withdrew into a distant solitude.

But why should we scruple to add as another possible element in the Saviour’s retirement, the solemn musings awakened by the death of the Baptist? John was the kinsman of Jesus. He had spent his life in the service of Messiah; and now he had fallen the first of His martyrs. And although, so far as John was concerned, there could only be joy at his entrance into the heavenly blessedness, his cruel fate was but an earnest of what awaited Christ’s faithful witnesses in this evil world. With such a prospect, was it right to go on with the gospel? Was it worthy of the mild and merciful Jesus to persist in a plan which wa3 thus unsheathing a new sword in the world, which was evidently kindling a new fire in the earth? For it really amounted to this. If Jesus carried through His enterprise, He could even then foresee the fearful amount of human suffering it involved — the thousands — nay, myriads — whom it should consign to dungeons and galleys — the multitudes who should be tortured to death by agonies too fearful to contemplate — the millions whom attachment to Himself should subject to privation and exile, to poverty and pain. And in the survey of all that mournful multitude — the mighty army of martyrs, crucified, impaled, beheaded, sawn in sunder, hurled over the cliffs of Piedmont, drowned in the frozen lakes of Holland, roasted in the fires of Spain, shot on the moors of Scotland, buried alive in Italian prisons — in surveying all that host of secondary martyrs, their outlawed orphans and broken-hearted widows, was it humane, was it right in the Prophet of Nazareth to persist with a system so fraught with sorrow? Instead of retiring to the desert, would it not be better to return to that heaven whence He came, and leave the world to its own tranquil tenor?

But to leave the world to its tranquil tenor would have been to leave it to perdition. It would have been to leave it, not a world of mingled good and evil, but a world of triumphant wickedness. It would have been to leave it, not a world of righteous sufferers and unrighteous oppressors, but a world of warring fiends; a world where, like Indian savages torturing one another, “both the martyrs and their murderers would have been alike brutal and unlovely. To make it a better world, it was needful that some should suffer; to make it a world more true, more holy, more devout, it was essential that some should be so holy, so truthful, so devout, that the rest could not tolerate them: in other words, bad as men now are, the only cure is that some Abels should be so good that the Cains cannot endure them. And if the martyr’s pains are sharp, they are also short; and his momentary cross is followed by an everlasting crown. And whilst for himself he wins the snowy robe and the immortal palm, for the world he earns its true tranquillity. The sufferer for a great principle is a saviour of society; and the sufferer for the gospel is a benefactor to mankind. And, therefore, foreseeing all the “greatfight of afflictions” that awaited His affectionate followers; beholding in this dark deed of Herod the first of a long series of atrocities; but also foreseeing how, from the ashes of every pile would spring hundreds of happy converts, and thousands of Christian homes; across the Red Sea of martyrdom, descrying the only path to the world’s Land of Promise; and with His own mind made up to be Himself the next who should ford its gulf of sorrow — the Saviour did not retrace His steps: but now that the herald was slain, and with His thoughts constantly travelling to that ensanguined dungeon where John had finished his testimony, the Prince of Peace Himself took up the topic, and discoursed to eager listeners “concerning the kingdom of God.”*

For, betwixt the fame of His wonders, and the

Luke ix. 11.

avidity to hear His words, it was not long till the solitary place became a vast conventicle. And as from the eminence where they sate Jesus looked down and saw the streams of pilgrims flowing in from every northern path, adverting to the unpeopled character of that up-land region, He said to Philip, who was a native of the place,* u Whence shall we buy bread, that they may eat?” and Philip’s answer indicated that, even if the shops of Bethsaida could furnish a sufficient supply, it would cost all the money they had amongst them to feed such a multitude. “Knowing what he would do,” and touched with the case of a people who had neither a good prince to rule them nor kind pastors to teach them, Jesus neither resented the invasion of his retirement, nor sought a more secluded resting-place, but devoted the day to these “sheep without a shepherd.” Such of them as needed healing, He cured of their diseases; and to all of them He discoursed at length on the things of the kingdom. But at last the apostles grew uneasy. The shadows were lengthening, and night would soon enclose them. So they went up to their Master, and said, “This is a desert place, and now the day is far passed; send them away, that they may go into the country round about, and into the villages, and buy themselves bread: for they have nothing to eat.” Jesus said,” They need not depart; give ye them to

* John vi. 5.

eat.” Like Philip, thinking how a single meal to such a company would exhaust their capital, the two hundred pence which was probably the sum then in their common purse, they answered, u Shall we go and buy two hundred pennyworth of bread, and give them to eat?’’ He replied, “How many loaves have ye? go and see.” Andrew reported, “There is a lad here who hath five barley loaves and two little fishes; but what are these among so many?” But just as if it were ample provision, Jesus bade them bring it j and in the meanwhile, He directed the disciples to arrange the crowd, seating them fifty in a row, and facing one another, so that the entire concourse was disposed in some fifty groups of a hundred each. And when all were ready, Jesus took the loaves and fishes, and lifting up His eyes to heaven, He thanked the Giver of all good. How strange to see Him standing with these barley cakes in one hand, and these two small fishes in the other, whilst the hungry multitude were waiting for a meal! And yet how like the position of Israel’s tented million, when there was not a handful of com in all the camp, but heaven was about to rain the bread of angels at every door! And now, breaking up the loaves, He handed them to the disciples; and passing down the several ranges, the [plea distributed to all the five thousand guests, and repeated the same process with the fishes, till “they did all eat, and were filled.” Then, when the hunger of each was satisfied, Jesus said to the disciples, “Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost;” and making another tour of the company, each disciple filled his basket, so that not only was the bread so multiplied that the small loaves, which could scarcely have sufficed one little family, feasted several thousands; but the manifold wonder was crowned when the broken pieces so far exceeded the original supply.

This is one of a few miracles which benefited a large multitude at once. A solitary paralytic — “a few sick folk” — two demoniacs — ten lepers — it was usually on single sufferers or little groups that the beneficence of the Saviour was expended. But here, as on a similar occasion subsequently, not units but thousands came in for a share in His great liberality. And though the gratitude of a multitude is seldom so intense as the gratitude of an individual or a family; though even in the case of the ten lepers the sense of obligation was so diluted that only one of the ten felt constrained to thank his benefactor; or, to take the highest of all illustra on — that mercy which extends to millions — though lew feel so grateful for that widely-shared blessing, salvation, as to say, “Thanks be to God for His unspeakable gift:” yet still, wide-reaching blessings are the way of the Most High, and gifts which gladden thousands are God-like. And although it may be true that the bosoms in which the mercy of Jesus lingered most tenderly were such as blind Bartimeus and the widow of Nam, Simon’s wife’s mother and the sisters of Lazarus, still it was fitting that some signs and wonders should be scattered more broad-cast, and that a palpable proof should be given, that if any distress still lingered among the millions of mankind, it was not because there was not present a Power able to heal them. Accordingly, such as had need of healing He cured of their diseases, and, along with all the rest, regaled them with a banquet, the product of immediate and manifest omnipotence.