Sermon for The Seventh Sunday after Trinity, 2026
“I have compassion.” Those words sound forth despite the weariness, despite indifference. “I have compassion,” Jesus says, not as a conclusion to three days’ worth of teaching; no, rather, because of it, and as remedy to it. “I have compassion,” says He, using the same word He has always used of Himself, and asks only what is on hand. “Seven [loaves],” comes the answer, and a few small fish besides. Nothing really, set against three days, let alone a lifetime. Regardless, He takes the bread, gives thanks, breaks it, and gives it to the Disciples to distribute to the people, until they ate and were filled, with seven large baskets of leftover fragments.
I have compassion.
Compassion moved Him to the wilderness and beyond: to the barrenness of Skull Hill. Compassion churned as He tasted not sweet bread but sour vinegar. Compassion held the hands that broke that bread as nails were driven into them upon the Cross. “I have compassion,” says the Crucified One, so that what has worn you down these years, and the staleness grown up around it, would be answered once, fully, in Him.
Readings:
Old Testament: Genesis 2:7-17
Epistle: Romans 6:19-23
Holy Gospel: Mark 8:1-9
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