Jesus and the Giant Picnics

Down in the Great Hall, it would appear the battle is still raging as to whether the headmaster is going to get off with the gym-teacher's wife, and whether cheating is ever justified in sport. Who knew Waterloo Road could be so theological? And I'm told that the discussion has been going on all night. They're going to be grumpy out there for Pouring Out of Beakers - not least because it's a foul day with mizzling rain. And the Moot House is still full of the scaffolding from Young Keith's surprisingly literal reconstruction of the Fall of Jericho, so out of bounds until the hire company comes back.

Staying out of the way, I'm settled with my kippers and acorn coffee next to a bit of a fire I've lit to chase away the early-morning autumnal blues. But kippers by a fire - excepting the question of whether you've got to have them in Texas, where everyone's a millionaire - takes me back to another early-morning fish meal on the beach-side in Galilee, with the world's least likely celebrity chef - the one who was supposed to be dead.

And in a chiasmic kind of way, that you wouldn't notice yet if I hadn't just boasted about the oh-so-clever construction of this piece, that picnic always takes me back to that other one (or two) where Jesus feeds 4 or 5 thousand men (plus the women and children - who aren't counted but are important enough, at least, to be remembered).

And that leads me onto the different ways of looking at these stories. For some such as Drayton Parslow - and myself, as it happens - believe that these are stories of real miracles. But others see it differently. The most commonly-held "less literal" way of believing in the stories is probably what I might call the "Galilean Bring-and-Share" tradition.

In the "Galilean Bring-and-Share" story, the exasperation of the disciples is mollified when it is discovered that a large proportion of the 5,000 men (and associated offspring and spouses) have in fact brought their lunch along after all. Opening the Roman-Era Tupperware (c) they doled out the  kippers and cobs they had remembered to bring along. I will note that it's an odd thing that, although Jesus's teaching seems to have lasted all day on many occasions, his actual recorded sermons are in fact very short. But the point is that from a dramatic work of power that awes all around and leaves baskets full of uneaten food, now we have a little moral tale about the importance of generosity. Giving liberal preachers the world over the chance to prove their cleverness by showing the glaring inaccuracies in the Bible to their flocks, while also letting them encourage a decent display at the next "Faith lunch".

And to this I say Phooey. The point of the story is not that when you set off into the wilderness you should remember to take a packed lunch in case the bloke next to you is not so possessed of forethought. The point of the story is that Jesus is divine and capable of doing miracles. If you want to say it didn't literally happen - don't keep the story and take out the miracle and make it some pious bring-and-share tale. Chuck out the narrative and suburban explanation completely and say - the story shows simply that Jesus is divine. Multiplying food in unlikely locations is what supernatural beings do. So the disciples are trying to tell us that Jesus is the Son of God, by telling us he made lots of bread and wine when it was needed.

So do it that way. It's got great, simple, mythic power. And somebody can still read that and have a choice whether Jesus is the Son of God or not. Or tell it the old way. And the choice is there - it happened or it didn't, he's the Creator walking on earth and a human being - or he's not. But don't fall down the middle and pretend it's about not forgetting your sandwiches and being generous to others. Because it's not.

And back to that first story - it's a brilliant story. The surprise revelation, the remembrance of old things renewed. The human closeness to the supernatural conqueror of death. Again - take it as a literally and mythically true story. Or take it as a mythical story and celebration of Communion. But you're not gonna explain this one away by claiming it's about the communal importance of barbecues.