Picnic in the hills

Based on John 6:1-17

Nathanael looked longingly down the hillside to the lake below. The day was drawing on and the hills on the far side were a little hazy through the afternoon sun, but the water sparkled blue, bright, and enticing under the clear spring sky.

It was hot – at least for spring – and Nathanael didn’t like the heat – always looking out for a shady spot, under the broad leaves of a nice fig tree perhaps – if he could. Of course, you couldn’t beat being out on a boat with a breeze off the lake for keeping cool.

But today the need to get away somewhere quiet, somewhere away from the large and growing crowd of people with one desperate disease or another that seemed to permanently accompany them these days had prompted Jesus to bring them up here to the hills on the East of the Galilean Sea. It was certainly quieter up here – the hilltop countryside littered with only a few sparse settlements; the prominent residents cattle rather than people. And, even though he truly was most comfortable down on the water, Nathanael was grateful for the break – he really was. These last few months had been rather a whirlwind. Trying to get to grips with the things Jesus said was mind-blowing enough – let alone the miracles – but with more and more people following them wherever they went, getting a moment to themselves like this to begin to digest and process some of it was a rare treat. And though this palm he was leaning up against wasn’t quite up to its fig counterpart, in his humble opinion, he had to admit this place certainly did have its appeal: that clean, fresh smell of the mountain air, the cheery blobs of red, yellow and pink wildflowers against the vivid green of the seasonally lush grass, the intermittent screeches of the eagles soaring overhead, and the somehow soul-stilling silhouette of a snow-capped Mount Hermon off to the North.

Some of the others were deep in conversation with Jesus nearby, and the murmur of gravelly voices was gently soothing as Nathanael allowed his eyes to rest shut. How did that Psalm go? He makes me lie down in quiet pastures.

And then, suddenly, the voices stopped. Nathanael opened his eyes and looked over to the group of men – who were no longer sitting but standing and looking down the hillside. James caught his eye and nodded him over. “Looks like we’ve got company”, he said, not even trying to hide his annoyance. Sure enough, as Nathanael followed his friend’s gaze, there, making their way up the mountainside, apparently towards them, were throngs and throngs and throngs of people.

Nathanael’s heart sank. There were thousands of them! Could they not just leave them alone for one single day…

***

It wasn’t until several hours later, after the threat of a darkening sky had finally convinced the crowds to head home, or somewhere to shelter for the night, at least, that Nathanael found himself alone with his thoughts once more. They were back on the water, he and the other lads - Jesus had told them to go on ahead and was still somewhere behind them – and as they rhythmically rowed into the gently lapping waves, the sky above them bright with stars, he found himself going over the incredible events that had unfolded since that moment that the crowds had caught up with them high on the hillside.

If it had been up to him, or indeed most of the others in their little group, they would have sent the crowds away from the start. After all, Jesus had clearly recognised that they needed a bit of space – otherwise what was the point of trekking all the way up there in the first place? But Jesus had an annoying habit of making compassion his basic rule when dealing with others, and true to form, the question he had opted for had not been “Right, lads, any ideas on how we can lose these harassers, haranguers and hangers on?” but “Any ideas on where we can get this lot lunch?”

It was a ridiculous question, of course. Yahweh only knows knows where they were supposed to find a market up there, and even if they had, and even if that market had been even approaching well-stocked enough for the amount they would need, as Philip been quick to point out, they could never afford to provide even a morsel for so many. Well, not for 6 months at least…

Nathanael had laughed at Andrew when he had produced 5 poor-man’s barley baps and 2 very sorry-looking pickled fish, courtesy of one apparently slightly more forward-thinking young man from the crowd. In fact, they would probably still get some mileage out of a bit of gentle ribbing over that look on Andrew’s face as he had offered it, which sort of combined desperation to make some kind of effort for Jesus, whilst accepting with a depressed defeat that such a pathetic offering was nothing short of ridiculous given the situation.

But in the end, Nathanael now mused, perhaps it was Andrew who by rights, would get the last laugh. After all, it was that meagre offering that Andrew had brought forward in spite of all logical sense, that Jesus had indeed used to feed all those scores of people, perched on the rocky hillside amongst the cowpats on that particular sunny spring afternoon, overlooking the glinting lake below. With leftovers, no less. Leftovers!

 The LORD your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among you, from your fellow Israelites, the scriptures said. You must listen to him. That is what God had said when another great assembly of people had come before him in the shadow of a different mountain – unable in their human frailty to cope with the direct voice of God and his fiery presence in their midst. So they had asked for a person, a mediator who would speak God’s words and show them God mediated through a human face and voice. That, they seemed to think, would be easier to cope with.

Nathanael thought of Jesus. Human – he definitely was that. And he spoke the words of God, better than anyone Nathanael had ever come across, he was certain.

But easy to cope with? Nathanael wasn’t so sure.