What are you feeling?

Sermon by Pr. Michelle Sevig on the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost + Sunday, August 2, 2026

How are you feeling? I really dislike that question, especially when my therapist asks it. I learned pretty quickly in therapy that an acceptable answer is not, “good” or “I’m fine.” Good is not a feeling, he tells me. A better question is what are you feeling, can you name the emotion? “No! I can’t,” I sometimes stubbornly respond. But most of the time I just say, “I don’t know.”

So I got myself a handy Feelings Wheel sticker and placed it on my laptop, right underneath where my left hand hovers while I’m typing so I can’t ignore it. The feelings wheel has the six basic emotions: surprised, fearful, angry, sad, happy, and peaceful.  The spokes from each of those words name more specific emotions like amazed, anxious, frustrated, lonely, playful, relaxed—to name only a few. It has really helped me to be able to look at the wheel and try to identify a feeling word when needed.

When studying the gospel text from Matthew for today’s sermon, I wanted to ask Jesus, the disciples, and the crowd, “What are you feeling?”

The first thing that strikes me about this story is that Jesus has feelings. That may sound obvious, but sometimes we picture Jesus as calm, composed, and emotionally untouched by whatever comes his way. Matthew paints a very different picture.

The reading begins by telling us that when Jesus heard the news, he withdrew by boat to a deserted place by himself. But what was the news? Just before today's Gospel, Matthew tells the heartbreaking story of John the Baptist's execution. He was Jesus' cousin, his ministry partner, the one who had baptized him in the Jordan River. Then came the news of John's death.

What was Jesus feeling? What have you felt when you’ve learned of a loved one’s death? Grief. Heartbreak. Anger. Shock.  Exhaustion. We don't know exactly what Jesus felt, but we know enough to recognize that Jesus needed space. He sought solitude. He wanted to grieve.

And isn't that comforting? The Son of God doesn't ignore his emotions or pretend everything is fine. Jesus experiences the full depth of human feeling. And our faith does not ask us to deny our emotions. It invites us to bring them honestly before God because Jesus has already been there.

But Jesus doesn't remain alone for long. The crowds discover where he has gone and follow him on foot. If I had been Jesus, I might have looked at that crowd and thought, "Not today. I have nothing left to give." Instead, Jesus had compassion for them.

The Greek word translated as "compassion" is one of the richest words in the New Testament. It refers to the deepest parts of a person's being—the heart, the bowels, the gut, the very center where emotions are felt. Even today we say we feel something "in our gut. And are told to “trust our gut” when something seems not right. Compassion is not simply feeling sorry for someone. It is being moved so deeply by another person's suffering that you cannot remain still. Compassion literally means “to suffer with”.

Throughout the Gospels, compassion is never just an emotion. It’s always connected to action. Compassion moves the Good Samaritan to stop for the wounded traveler while others pass by. Compassion moves Jesus to touch those whom others avoid, to heal the sick, to restore sight to the blind, to raise a widow's son from the dead. Compassion moves the father to run toward the child who has squandered everything and welcome him home with open arms. Here in this well known miracle story, compassion moves Jesus first to heal those who are sick;  then, when evening comes and everyone is hungry, compassion feeds them.

The disciples, however, are feeling something different. Can you imagine what emotions might be on their feelings wheel? Overwhelmed. Anxious. Frustrated. Maybe even hopeless.They look around at thousands of hungry people and then at their own meager supplies. Five loaves. Two fish. 

"We have nothing," they essentially tell Jesus. And from a human perspective, they're right. What they have is nowhere near enough. But next to nothing is Jesus' favorite thing to work with.

Throughout Scripture, God delights in taking what appears insufficient and revealing abundance. A widow's oil. A young shepherd with a sling. A dirty manger in Bethlehem. Five loaves and two fish. Jesus takes what little they have, blesses it, breaks it, gives it away—and somehow there is enough. More than enough. Everyone eats until they are satisfied, and twelve baskets of leftovers remain.

Before that miracle happens, though, Jesus says something remarkable to the disciples. "You give them something to eat." Those words weren't just for the Twelve. They echo across the centuries into our own lives. There is still a hungry world around us. Some hunger for food. Some hunger for housing. Some hunger for justice. Some hunger for belonging. Some hunger for hope. Some hunger for someone to notice them, to listen to them, to remind them they are worthy of love. And Jesus says to the church, "You give them something to eat."

At first, that command feels impossible. We look at the problems of our world and think, "We don't have enough. We don't have enough money, enough volunteers, enough energy, enough time." But this miracle story is a revelation of God's economy. God's abundance stands in sharp contrast to the world's assumptions of scarcity. There is enough. God has provided enough. The question is whether we will trust that abundance enough to share what we have instead of clinging to it in fear.

Here at Holy Trinity, one beautiful expression of that calling is our partnership with South Loop Community Table. On the surface, it is a shared meal. People come because they are hungry, because they need food. But something much deeper happens around those tables. As volunteers we don't simply hand someone a plate and walk away. We sit with the hungry guests. We talk and laugh. We learn names. We play board games. We  become, even if only for an evening, part of the same community gathered around one table.

And if you asked the people there, "How are you feeling?" I imagine you might hear words like accepted. Welcome. Safe. Connected. Joyful. Loved. There is something holy about shared meals where strangers become neighbors and everyone is reminded of their dignity. That is compassion becoming action. It is not about fixing people. It is about sharing life together. It is about recognizing that each of us comes to the table hungry in some way, and every one of us has something to offer.

The good news is this: God's compassion never runs out. Whatever you are feeling today—whether your feelings wheel lands on grief, anxiety, anger, loneliness, peace, or joy—Jesus meets you there. The Holy One who grieved the loss of his friend also fed the hungry. The same Christ who knew rejection also welcomed everyone to the table. The same God who took what seemed like almost nothing, still takes our ordinary lives and transforms them into blessings for the world.

Every time we gather around this table for Holy Communion, we share in that holy picnic on the lakeshore. Jesus takes bread. He blesses it. He breaks it. He gives it to all who are hungry. Then he sends us out to do the same. Take the blessings God has given us. Break them open. Share them freely.

Come to the feast where no one is turned away, where there is enough for everyone, where God's compassion is stronger than our fear, God's abundance overcomes our scarcity, and God's love satisfies every hungry heart.