Let’s talk about leftovers today. You know, the ones that have taken residence in the back of the fridge long enough to develop their own personalities. There’s always one suspicious container in your fridge with a fuzzy green lid, and no one remembers what it was or when it was made, but everyone agrees it is a science experiment now. And yet, how many times do we open the fridge, stare at a feast of half-eaten pizza and spaghetti, salad, and still complain: “There is nothing to eat!”
In today’s Gospel, people chase after Jesus not because they were spiritually moved by His miracles but because they wanted more food, free food. The earlier miracle of multiplying bread and fish wasn’t enough. They treat Jesus like a traveling food truck: “Hey Rabbi, what’s on the menu today? Can we get the loaves and fish special again?” They want another buffet today.
Jesus, in classic divine style, doesn’t roll His eyes, but I wouldn’t blame Him if He did. He tells them straight: “You’re looking for me not because of the signs, but because you ate and had your fill.” Translation? “You didn’t come for Me; you came for the free fish and chips.”
Now here is where it gets beautifully uncomfortable. Jesus isn’t mad; He recognizes they are hungry. Hunger is holy. Jesus challenges us to consider what we are hungry for. Are we just chasing spiritual snacks to get us through the day? Do we only go to Mass to get us through the day? Or are we ready for the Bread of Life—something real, something eternal, something that doesn’t go stale in the back of the fridge?
Consider the little boy who attends Mass with his grandma every Sunday. One day, after receiving Communion, he whispered, “Grandma, I still don’t feel full. Can I have a donut after this?” Honest, right? But maybe not so different from us. We treat our faith like a vending machine, insert prayer, press miracle, receive blessing. And when nothing comes down the chute, we kick it, shake it, and complain to customer service. We often want a spiritual snack—quick, convenient, not too heavy. Jesus isn’t a vending machine. He is the Bread that came down from heaven.
He is the whole meal. He doesn’t just fill our bellies. He fills our being. He doesn’t feed our cravings; He redefines our appetite. So, when the crowd asks, “What must we do to do the works of God?” Jesus doesn’t say, “Give up carbs” or “Join a monastery.” He says, “Believe and Trust me. Eat what I give you. Stop searching through the fridge of the world looking for meaning in spiritual leftovers.
Maybe you are tired today. Tired of routines. Tired of prayers that feel dry. Tired of playing holy hide-and-seek with God. Perhaps you are showing up like the crowd in the Gospel—because you're hungry for something, even if you don’t know what that is. Jesus says: Come. Not for yesterday’s bread, but for what doesn’t spoil. The kind of bread that won’t give you spiritual heartburn, but eternal hope.
So next time you raid your fridge at midnight or sneak a snack during a fast, just remember—Jesus isn’t judging. But He asks: Are you still chasing crumbs when I’m offering a feast? Don’t settle for leftovers. Heaven’s bakery is open and it’s fresh, daily, and forever free.