© 2026 The Rev. Seth Olson
This sermon was preached on the 9th Sunday after Pentecost at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. To watch a video version of the sermon click here.
Holy God, may my words be your words, and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.
Most of us know something about being left out.
Maybe we were not picked for the team.
Maybe our name was missing from the cast list.
Maybe we were overlooked for a promotion.
Maybe someone we trusted stopped calling.
Or maybe we discovered that there was a party—and nearly everyone had been invited except us.
Exclusion has a way of whispering:
“You do not belong here.”
“There is not enough room for you.”
“This table is for other people.”
Today’s Gospel tells us about a banquet where no one is turned away. But to understand it, we have to remember the story that comes immediately before it.
Matthew begins:
“When Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself.”
Excuse me, Matthew—when Jesus heard what?
He had heard that John the Baptist had been murdered.
John had challenged King Herod’s corruption, and Herod had imprisoned him. Then Herod threw a birthday party.
It was an exclusive gathering for powerful and important people. Herodias’ daughter danced, Herod made a reckless promise, and, prompted by her mother, she asked for John’s head on a platter.
Herod knew it was wrong. But he feared looking weak in front of his guests more than he valued John’s life.
So John’s head became one more dish served at Herod’s banquet.
That is the story Jesus has just heard when today’s Gospel begins.
And then Matthew gives us another gathering.
Two banquets.
Two hosts.
Two ways of using power.
Herod’s party is exclusive, pompous, violent, and deadly.
Jesus’ banquet in the wilderness is inclusive, humble, peaceful, abundant, and life-giving.
Herod’s banquet is exclusive.
It is for invited guests: leaders, officers, wealthy people, and those whose presence reinforces his importance.
Jesus’ gathering has no guest list.
The crowds simply follow him. They bring their illness, hunger, confusion, and need.
As evening approaches, the disciples say:
“Send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.”
Send them away.
Let them take care of themselves.
But Jesus says:
“They need not go away. You give them something to eat.”
The disciples see a crowd that has become too large and too demanding.
Jesus sees people who belong.
At Herod’s banquet, entry depends upon status.
At Jesus’ banquet, the only qualification is hunger.
Herod’s gathering is pompous.
It happens behind palace walls and displays wealth, status, and control.
Jesus’ meal happens in a deserted place.
There are no tables.
No silverware.
No guards.
No seating chart.
There is only grass beneath the open sky.
Anyone nearby can join.
Herod’s banquet says, “Look how important I am.”
Jesus’ banquet says, “Look how deeply God loves you.”
Herod’s world is shaped by scarcity.
Even though he has wealth and power, he is afraid.
He fears embarrassment.
He fears appearing weak.
He fears losing control.
The disciples also speak the language of scarcity:
“We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.”
Nothing but. As disciples ourselves, we still do this…
Nothing but a small congregation.
Nothing but a limited budget.
Nothing but tired volunteers.
Nothing but my imperfect gifts.
Nothing but my weary heart.
The disciples are right about the numbers. Five loaves and two fish are not enough to feed thousands.
But Jesus sees the same food differently.
“Bring them here to me,” he commands.
Some understand what follows as a miracle of multiplication. Others believe Jesus’ generosity inspired the crowd to share what they had brought. Still others hear a symbolic story about Jesus feeding God’s people in the wilderness.
Matthew does not explain the mechanics.
He tells us that Jesus took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to the disciples.
Then the disciples gave it to the crowds.
And all ate.
And all were filled.
And twelve baskets remained.
The point is not simply that a little food became a lot.
The point is that in Christ’s hands, and eventually in his disciples’ hands, “not enough” becomes enough—and then some.
Herod’s gathering is violent.
It begins with self-indulgence and ends with an execution.
Jesus’ gathering is peaceful.
Remember, Jesus is grieving. He has withdrawn after hearing of John’s death.
Yet when he sees the crowd, Matthew tells us that he has compassion for them and heals their sick.
His grief does not harden him.
His pain does not cause him to inflict pain on others.
He responds to a violent world by healing.
He answers death with bread.
He answers exclusion with welcome.
He answers fear with compassion.
Herod’s banquet is deadly.
John dies.
Truth dies when everyone remains silent.
Integrity dies when Herod values his reputation more than another person’s life.
Relationship dies when people become tools in one another’s struggle for power.
Jesus’ banquet is life-giving.
The sick are healed.
The hungry are fed.
The excluded are welcomed.
The crowd sits on the grass, and Jesus takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it.
Life is shared in the shadow of death.
And that brings us here [turn towards the table]
In a few moments, we will gather around this altar.
We will bring what appears to be very little: bread, wine, and prayers; imperfect lives, troubled hearts, and hungry souls; our wisdom, works, and wealth.
Christ will take what we offer.
Christ will bless it.
Christ will break it.
Christ will give it.
This altar is not Herod’s table.
It is not reserved for the powerful, impressive, or spiritually accomplished.
It is Christ’s table.
A table for hungry people.
A table for wounded people.
A table for grieving people.
A table for those who have been left out—and for those of us who have left others out.
And from this table, Christ sends us to reconsider how we structure all our other gatherings:
Our churches.
Our schools.
Our workplaces.
Our teams.
Our parties.
Even our families.
We can structure them like Herod’s banquet—protecting status, excluding others, and using power to preserve ourselves.
Or we can structure them more like Jesus’ banquet.
We can make room.
We can notice who is hungry.
We can offer what we have.
We can use our power to heal rather than harm.
And notice: Jesus gives the bread to the disciples, and the disciples give it to the crowd.
They are not the source of the abundance.
They are the means through which it reaches others.
That is the calling of the Church.
We do not create grace.
We receive it.
We do not own the table.
We serve it.
We do not decide who is worthy of bread.
We pass along what Christ has placed into our hands.
There will always be voices telling us that there is not enough.
Jesus looks at what we have dismissed as inadequate and says:
“Bring it here to me.”
Then he takes.
He blesses.
He breaks.
He gives.
And a different kind of party begins.
A feast where no one needs to be sent away.
A gathering where the hungry are filled.
A fellowship where power brings healing.
A community where there is room on the grass for everyone.
So, Holy Apostles, what kind of gathering is this, what kind of community are we?
Amen.
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