Reflection of the Week – 28 July 2026

By Clive Conway
The mathematics of compassion

Posted Jul 28, 2026 in Faith

The mathematics of compassion

Matthew 14:13–21

 

Shortly after I arrived in Australia at the age of nine, I read a story in the paper about a young man who had come here as a refugee and found work driving a taxi. He earned very little, yet every week he gave away whatever money he had left after meeting his basic needs. And more than a decade after his arrival, he still drove a taxi.

I still remember thinking how naïve he was. Surely, I thought, a smarter strategy would have been to save and invest; to build capital. Maybe study or start a business. If he had striven to become successful, then from a position of security and wealth, he could help far more people in the long run. Why give away the little you have now when you could give so much more later?

More than 5 decades later, having reflected on this taxi driver periodically, I am less certain.

In Matthew's account of the feeding of the five thousand, Jesus is confronted by what appears to be a problem of simple arithmetic. Thousands of hungry people versus five loaves and two fish. Computer says no. Even without a computer, the disciples could see that the sensible solution was to send the crowd away so they could look after themselves.

Instead, Jesus says, "You give them something to eat”. Where the disciples were focused on what they were lacking, Jesus focuses instead on what they already have. Before thinking about the future, or developing a strategic plan for maximum long-term impact, Jesus asks them to place their small resources into addressing immediate human need. Perhaps that taxi driver was on to something.

Not that my childhood reasoning was completely wrong. Of course there is wisdom in planning ahead. There are certainly times when investing in ourselves enables us to contribute more effectively to others later. Many people have built schools, hospitals and charities because they first developed skills, influence and resources.

But the Gospel presents us with some other ideas – firstly, people cannot always wait for our future generosity. The hungry crowd needed feeding that evening. The disciples might have been able to imagine ways to solve hunger next month or next year. Jesus invites them to respond to the need standing right in front of them today.

Our world constantly presents us with this tension, and the Gospel doesn’t really offer a formula. Instead, it challenges the assumption that compassion should always be postponed until we feel secure enough, wealthy enough, or qualified enough.

And secondly, maybe the miracle actually begins when someone offers what they already have. Maybe it doesn’t require limitless resources but starts with a simple act of compassion by just a few people, through which scarcity gives way to community and abundance.

Perhaps the deeper truth in this story isn’t the supernatural multiplication but the discovery that communities become transformed when people stop asking, "What difference can my small contribution make?" and begin asking, "What might happen if all of us shared what little we have?"

I still see the logic in the thoughts I had as a child. But I also see how easily the desire to be more helpful tomorrow can become an excuse not to help today.

After all, a seed is not diminished because it is planted. Placing it in the soil is both an act of generosity and an act of hope that, with time and care, it will yield a harvest far greater than itself. But the harvest never comes if the seed remains stored away for a more opportune moment.

Perhaps the kingdom of God works something like that. When ordinary people offer their limited resources, their time, compassion, money and energy in service of others, they are not simply giving something away, but planting seeds. Sometimes those seeds meet an immediate need, like bread shared among a hungry crowd. Sometimes they grow slowly, taking root in ways we may never see. Either way, acts of compassion have a habit of producing a harvest larger than the small offering from which they began.

As for my taxi driver, perhaps every gift he gave was a seed planted in the lives of others, trusting that somehow it would be enough.

– Clive Conway

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