The comedian Jackie Mason once said: “I have enough money to last me the rest of my life, unless I buy something.”
One of the strongest forces shaping human behaviour is the fear that there will not be enough. Not enough money. Not enough time. Not enough security. Not enough resources. Not enough love. Not enough of a future.
Much of our world operates from that assumption. If there is only so much to go around, then we must secure our share before someone else does. Scarcity becomes the lens through which we view life.
Oy!
Into that anxiety comes one of the most beautiful invitations in all of Scripture: “Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat!” (Isaiah 55:1)
The opening word is striking. The Hebrew word hoy is not a polite request. It is closer to “Oy!” or “Come here!” It is the cry of someone calling urgently across a crowd. God is not waiting passively for people to find him. God is actively calling, summoning, inviting.
And who is invited? The hungry. The thirsty. Those without money. Those who cannot pay. Those who have nothing with which to bargain. In other words, people who are probably very much like us.
Isaiah’s invitation is not addressed to the successful or the self-sufficient. It is addressed to those who know their need.
And then comes the question: “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labour for that which does not satisfy?” (Isaiah 55:2). It’s a question that feels remarkably contemporary.
Not merely economic
Why do we invest so much energy in things that ultimately cannot nourish us? We chase achievement, approval, status, possessions, certainty. None of these things is necessarily wrong, yet we often ask them to satisfy a hunger they were never designed to satisfy.
The prophet’s challenge is not merely economic; it is spiritual. What are you feeding your life upon? What do you trust to sustain you? What do you believe will finally be enough?
Isaiah’s answer is simple: “Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good.”
Interestingly, the Hebrew repeats the verb “listen.” Literally, it says, “Listening, listen to me.” The emphasis is deliberate. Before there is eating, there is listening. Before there is satisfaction, there is attention. The feast begins with hearing God’s voice.
splagchnizomai
That theme of listening prepares us for the Gospel. Matthew tells us that Jesus has withdrawn after hearing of the death of John the Baptist. Grief hangs over the story. Yet the crowds relentlessly follow him into a deserted place.
When Jesus sees them, his first response is not annoyance or exhaustion but compassion. The Greek word Matthew uses for compassion is frankly unpronounceable: splagchnizomai. It refers to a feeling or emotion in the depths of one’s being. Compassion is not merely pity. It is a deep, visceral response. Jesus is moved to his very core by the crowd’s need.
As evening approaches, the disciples assess the situation. The place is remote. The crowd is large. The food is insufficient. Their conclusion is perfectly logical: “Send the crowds away.” There is not enough. Let everyone fend for themselves.
It is a very human response. In many ways it is the response of scarcity. The assumption that there is not enough time, enough energy, enough resource, enough grace.
Honesty
Yet Jesus says something astonishing: “You give them something to eat.”
Notice what he does not say. He does not deny the problem. He does not pretend five loaves and two fish are sufficient. The disciples have counted correctly. Five loaves and two fish are not enough.
The miracle begins not with abundance but with honesty. What they have is genuinely inadequate. Yet Jesus asks them to place that inadequacy into his hands.
Perhaps that is where many of us live. We know what we lack. We know the limits of our patience, courage, faith, energy, and generosity. We know the situations before us seem larger than our resources.
The question is not whether we are enough. The disciples clearly are not. The question is what happens when what little we have is entrusted to Christ.
Begin with what’s present
One of the most important movements in the story occurs almost unnoticed. The disciples begin by focusing on what is absent: “We have only…”
Jesus begins with what is present. Five loaves. Two fish. And the kingdom often begins there. Not with what is missing. Not with what we wish we possessed. But with what God has already placed in our hands. A conversation. A kindness. A prayer. A gift. A moment of courage. A willingness to serve.
Again and again throughout Scripture, God seems remarkably willing to begin with small things. A mustard seed. A widow’s oil. A shepherd’s sling. A boy’s lunch.
Takes, blesses, breaks, gives
And then comes the miracle. Jesus takes. Blesses. Breaks. Gives. The same four actions that will later appear at the Last Supper and at our Communion.
This meal is not simply about feeding hungry people. It is a sign of God’s kingdom breaking into the world. The crowd experiences, in miniature, the feast that Isaiah promised. Bread freely given. Needs abundantly met. Life received rather than earned.
At the end, twelve baskets remain. Not merely enough but more than enough. That detail matters. The miracle is not simply about provision. It is about the character of God.
The God revealed in Jesus is not reluctant, stingy, or calculating. The God revealed in Jesus delights in generosity. The God revealed in Jesus invites people not merely to survive but to receive.
Scarcity to trust
Perhaps that is the deepest connection between Isaiah and Matthew. Both passages ask us to move from scarcity to trust. Both invite us to stop measuring life solely by what we lack. Both remind us that God’s economy is different from our own. And both point us toward a God whose first instinct with us is one of invitation: “Come.” “Listen.” “Eat.” “Receive.”
Perhaps that’s the word that many of us most need to hear. Not another demand. Not another task. Not another burden. But simply an invitation. To come hungry. To come thirsty. To come carrying whatever little we have. And to discover again that God’s grace is larger than our need.
For the kingdom of heaven has always begun this way: with ordinary people, bringing ordinary gifts, to an extraordinarily generous God.
A blessing for those who fear there is not enough
Blessed are you
who come
with empty hands,
with unanswered questions,
with needs
greater than your resources,
and hopes
larger than your strength.
Blessed are you
who know
the ache of scarcity,
who wonder
whether what you carry
will ever be enough.
May you hear again
the invitation
of the God
who calls the thirsty
to living water
and the hungry
to bread freely given.
May you discover
that grace
does not begin
with abundance,
but with willingness;
not with certainty,
but with trust.
May the small gifts
you bring –
your kindness,
your courage,
your compassion,
your faith –
be placed
into the hands of Christ,
who delights
in making much
from little.
And when fear
whispers
that there is not enough,
may you remember
the baskets remaining,
the table still spread,
the feast not yet ended,
and the God
whose generosity
is deeper
than your need.
So may your heart
become spacious,
your hands
become open,
and your life
become bread
for a hungry world.
And may the One
who feeds the multitude
teach you
to trust
that his abundance
is already
at work among you.
Amen.
‘Come and Eat’ was delivered by Ian Banks on Sunday, August 2nd, 2026 at Affetside Congregational Church. It was based on Isaiah 55:1–5 and Matthew 14:13–21