The Scandal of Superfluity Text: Matthew 15:32-39
Introduction: The Malthusian Heresy
Our world is run by a grim and faithless assumption, and it is the assumption of scarcity. At the root of our godless economics, our frantic politics, and our personal anxieties is the lie that there is not enough to go around. Thomas Malthus was simply the high priest of this ancient pagan creed, the belief that we live in a closed system, a cosmic pie that is constantly shrinking, and that we must therefore fight and hoard and control, lest we run out. This is the foundational dogma of unbelief.
Into this cramped and suffocating worldview, the Lord Jesus walks, not with a new economic theory, but with a basket of bread. He comes to demonstrate the grammar of the Kingdom of God, an economy that operates on entirely different principles. The universe is not a closed box; it is an open-ended creation sustained by an infinite and generous God. The central fact of reality is not scarcity, but divine abundance. God is not a cosmic miser. He is a king who throws feasts.
This account of the feeding of the four thousand is therefore not a quaint, sentimental story about Jesus being kind to a hungry crowd. It is a direct, polemical assault on the Malthusian heresy. It is a lesson in the arithmetic of Heaven, where giving thanks for the little you have is the prerequisite for the scandalous superfluity of God. This is not just about bread; it is about the nature of the world in which we live.
The Text
And Jesus called His disciples to Him, and said, "I feel compassion for the crowd, because they have remained with Me now three days and have nothing to eat; and I do not want to send them away hungry, lest they faint on the way." And the disciples said to Him, "Where would we get so many loaves in this desolate place to satisfy such a large crowd?" And Jesus said to them, "How many loaves do you have?" And they said, "Seven, and a few small fish." And He directed the crowd to sit down on the ground; and He took the seven loaves and the fish; and giving thanks, He broke them and kept giving them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And they all ate and were satisfied, and they picked up what was left over of the broken pieces, seven large baskets full. And those who ate were four thousand men, besides women and children. And sending away the crowds, Jesus got into the boat and came to the region of Magadan.
(Matthew 15:32-39 LSB)
Sovereign Compassion (v. 32)
The entire event is set in motion by the initiative of Christ.
"And Jesus called His disciples to Him, and said, 'I feel compassion for the crowd, because they have remained with Me now three days and have nothing to eat; and I do not want to send them away hungry, lest they faint on the way.'" (Matthew 15:32)
Notice that the crowd did not present a petition. There was no committee formed to address their logistical problem. The compassion of Jesus is not a reaction to human pleading; it is a sovereign action that flows from His own character. He is the good shepherd, and a good shepherd takes responsibility for his flock.
And this compassion is not a flimsy, modern sentiment. It is not a weak, emotional goo. This is the deep, covenantal mercy of a king for his subjects. He sees their predicament in its entirety. They have been with Him three days, indicating their hunger for His Word, and now they have a physical need. Jesus is no Gnostic; He does not spiritualize away their empty stomachs. He cares for the whole person, body and soul. His concern is intensely practical: "lest they faint on the way." The Creator of men knows how men are wired, and He provides accordingly.
The Disciples' Spiritual Amnesia (v. 33)
In response to the Lord's stated intention, the disciples reveal how quickly the memory of a miracle can fade.
"And the disciples said to Him, 'Where would we get so many loaves in this desolate place to satisfy such a large crowd?'" (Matthew 15:33)
This question is staggering in its unbelief. This is not their first rodeo. It was not long before this that they had front-row seats to the feeding of the five thousand. They personally distributed the multiplied bread and collected twelve baskets of leftovers. And yet, faced with a similar problem, their first instinct is to consult their own empty pockets and the barrenness of their surroundings. "Where would we get...?" The pronoun is telling. Their vision is entirely horizontal.
But we must not be too hard on them, for they are a perfect mirror of the church in every age. We stand before the overwhelming task of the Great Commission. We look out at a spiritually desolate culture, a crowd of four thousand million souls, and we immediately begin to calculate our own inadequacies. We lament our small budgets, our unimpressive buildings, our lack of talented volunteers. We have seen God provide in the past, but each new challenge sends us right back to faithless pragmatism. This is not just a failure of memory. It is a failure of faith, which is to say, it is sin.
The Divine Inventory (v. 34)
Jesus does not rebuke their amnesia with a thunderclap. Instead, He graciously brings them back to the starting point of all miracles.
"And Jesus said to them, 'How many loaves do you have?' And they said, 'Seven, and a few small fish.'" (Matthew 15:34)
The Lord always begins with what we have, not with what we lack. He asks for an inventory of our meager resources so that His provision might be all the more glorious in contrast. He does not despise our seven loaves and a few small fish. He asks for them. He invites our pathetic inadequacy to become the raw material for His divine power.
Their answer is almost laughable. Seven loaves. A few small fish. It is the equivalent of offering a handful of loose change to pay off the national debt. But this is precisely the point. God's economy is not based on the sufficiency of our resources, but on the sufficiency of His grace. The smaller our contribution, the more undeniable His multiplication.
The Liturgy of Abundance (v. 35-36)
What follows is a divinely ordered sequence, a liturgy that turns scarcity into abundance.
"And He directed the crowd to sit down on the ground; and He took the seven loaves and the fish; and giving thanks, He broke them and kept giving them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds." (Matthew 15:35-36)
First, there is order. "He directed the crowd to sit down." This is not a chaotic food riot; it is an organized feast. God is not the author of confusion. He brings order to the need before He provides the supply. For the crowd, this is an act of faith. They are to sit down and prepare for a meal that does not yet exist.
Second, we see the central action. He took what they offered. He gave thanks. He broke it. And He gave it away. This is the unchangeable pattern. The miracle is unlocked at the point of gratitude. The Greek word is eucharisteo. When we give thanks for the little we have, we consecrate it, setting it apart for God's use. All of a faithful life is to be eucharistic. Then, the bread must be broken. Wholeness is for hoarding; brokenness is for distribution. This was true of the bread, it was true of Christ's own body on the cross, and it is true for us. We are of no use to God's kingdom until we are broken of our self-sufficiency. And notice, He "kept giving." The verb tense suggests a continuous, ongoing miracle. The supply was created in the very act of distribution.
The Scandalous Remainder (v. 37-39)
The result of this divine liturgy is not mere sufficiency, but scandalous superfluity.
"And they all ate and were satisfied, and they picked up what was left over of the broken pieces, seven large baskets full. And those who ate were four thousand men, besides women and children." (Matthew 15:37-38)
First, they were all "satisfied." This was not a meager ration to stave off fainting. This was a feast that filled them. God's provision is never just enough; it is always more than enough.
Second, the leftovers are the theological exclamation point. They started with seven loaves and ended with seven large baskets full of broken pieces. The word for "baskets" here is spuridas, which refers to large, woven provision baskets, the kind of basket that was later used to lower the apostle Paul over the wall of Damascus. The remainder was exponentially greater than the original supply. This is kingdom arithmetic, and it is a scandal to all our pinched, anxious calculations. God does not just meet a need; He overwhelms it with grace upon grace. The pagan world says, "Protect what you have." The Kingdom of God says, "Give thanks for it, break it, give it away, and watch what I do with the leftovers."
Conclusion: Our Seven Loaves
This story is recorded in Scripture as a permanent rebuke to our faithless pragmatism. We look at the desolation of our culture, the spiritual hunger all around us, and the apparent size of the task, and we stammer like the disciples about our empty hands and the barrenness of the wilderness.
But Jesus is standing in our midst, and He is asking us the same question He asked them: "What do you have?" What are your seven loaves? What is that small thing in your hand? Your modest income, your small church, your faltering testimony, your mustard seed of faith? The command has not changed. We are to bring it to Him.
The pattern is the same for us. We are to give Him what we have. We are to give thanks for it, consecrating it to His purpose. We must allow Him to break us of our pride and our trust in our own resources. And then, we are to get up and begin distributing. The miracle happens when, in simple obedience, we start giving out what He has blessed. This is the logic of the Lord's Supper, where we come with nothing and receive everything. It is the logic of the Great Commission. And it is the logic of a victorious faith. We serve a God of scandalous superfluity, and His feast has leftovers that will fill the earth.