The Story of the Loaves and the Fishes
(Easter 2025)

by Manus Hand, Jameson's Dad

This story begins at the Mass of the Easter Vigil, the first after Jameson went to Our Lord and Lady. I sang in the choir that evening while Angie, Jameson's mother, worshiped from the pews of our, and Jameson's, home parish, Ave Maria.

The choir location in the sanctuary is to the St Joseph side of the altar and faces kind of diagonally out from a corner. Some of the musicians and choristers face the back of the church from their seats, others face the altar from its side, and those between face various parts of the congregation. Being a bass singer, nearly in the corner of the church, my seat faces the congregation. If I think about it, as I came to realize that evening, sitting in my choir chair and looking straight forward, it faces one specific seat in one specific pew.

That night, as I sang the Vigil Mass, Jameson sat in that specific seat.

I say that, but can't say that I exactly believe it. But I also can't say that I don't. Whoever it was sitting there during that Mass was the spitting image of my son. Every single minute of that long Mass I stared straight ahead at him, trying hard to find some difference between that man and my son. I failed. His hair was identical, his face was identical, his clothes hung on him the same, his beard was identical, the way he knelt was identical. There was no difference — no difference at all that I could find – between this stranger, sitting in an absolutely packed church, and my boy. Every motion, every facial expression, every single thing I saw about him was identical in every way to Jameson. I stared hard, sure that I would find at least one slight distinction between them; I could not. And I could not come up with a satisfying answer to the question, "where did this man come from and why have I never seen him before?"

I strained, trying to see who he was with — he sat at the end of a pew and was accompanying a female on his left, but my view of her was constantly blocked by those in front of her; I could never catch clear sight of her. Was she his...wife? his mother? Was he visiting family, was he someone reluctantly attending a Mass for a holiday? I wondered things like this, but this man obviously knew the Mass, in exactly the same way Jameson did.

I resolved that when Mass ended, I would seek him out, sure that if I got closer to him, it would become apparent to me that no, he was not Jameson, but I would hope to tell him how closely he resembles the man I loved most in this world, and how it warmed my heart to see him there that night. I found myself wanting to know him, and know how his life was going, if he was finding the happiness I know Jameson sought so hard, and tell him of my son, that he might bring his memory with him through his life...that my boy could share in this lookalike's happy life.

As it happened, in the rush of things at the end of Mass, I was not able to do this, and this man, whoever he is, escaped the church without me nearing him. When I reunited with my wife, I told her about him and how he was sitting in the one seat that my chair aimed me toward, and how I studied him with focus. She told me that she, too, had seen him taking the Eucharist and was also taken aback; she also saw Jameson that night.

It was with this truly supernatural occurrence on our minds that we went to sleep, never imagining that Easter Sunday would only bring us much more of the same.

I should put in here that my sister Laura was called to Heaven on Easter Sunday of 2023. When the sun rose that next morning, she was celebrating two years in Paradise, together there with her father and her Godson. She was on my and Angie's mind that day, the first Easter we would spend without our boy.

Having attended the Vigil, we didn't really have any plans for the day, and to be honest, neither of us felt, understandably I'm sure, like celebrating the Lord's Resurrection. The greatest Feast of the Church was, for us, a sad day as it began. It was a day we wished we didn't need to endure, a day that we remembered spending with Jameson searching for the Easter baskets we hid for him, then taking turns hunting down eggs hidden in the yard. A day of springtime joy and gift-giving and praise was, for us, only a day of magnified mourning. We truly wanted to do nothing at all, even just stay in bed until the day passed.

But, literally just to avoid the need to face things, or possible visitors, we decided we needed to do something. Anything. We decided, almost wordlessly, that we would go to see the still-in-theaters three-episode block of "The Chosen". We both are big fans of this series, which tells the story of the disciples of Christ in a way that is truly inspired and imaginative and allows you to feel the reality and humanity of those who were called to follow Our Lord when He walked the earth — how they likely felt about their calling...both confused and convinced...and how they related, often unwell, to each other, needing Jesus's teachings even to be the people he called them to be to start His Church. Jameson would watch "The Chosen" with us when he visited.

We chose the movie time and purchased tickets. Knowing we had an hour or so to waste, we got in the car and headed to the theater area, thinking we would get a bite at one of the nearby restaurants before the show. As we drove, things began to happen. I would mention Laura's widower Jay, wondering to Angie how he might be doing on this sad Paschal anniversary of the death of his beloved, and lo and behold, a car would turn in front of us with a Wyoming license plate, county 6 — Carbon County...Rawlins...Jay's hometown. That just doesn't happen much in the middle of Colorado. This kind of thing happened all the way, over and over, all the way to the theater mall area, so much so that when we parked, I honestly broke down and cried, needing to collect myself before we got out of the car.

Why we decided to eat at Buffalo Wild Wings, I don't know. It's as near as any restaurant to the theater, but of all those that are, it's the one we never choose. It's not exactly a favorite of Angie's or mine. I rather think we chose it that day just because we didn't want to bother choosing something we would like. It wasn't a day to celebrate. So into Buffalo Wild Wings we went. And things kept happening. I regret that I cannot remember them all, but each one was an obvious sign that Jameson and Laura were both truly with us, hearing us, seeing us, surrounding us. We would say something, and the person at the next table would be seen doing just what Jameson did, or just what Laura did. Like I say, it pains me that I cannot remember all the details, but we'd see someone walking outside the restaurant windows that somehow was in some way unquestionably related to the muted conversation we were having right then about our lost family members. Perhaps Angie remembers more of the details of these many little signs than I do; I just remember them hitting hard and fast and multiple times.

And while we're waiting on our order, or eating our appetizer, I get a text.

The text message is from our friends and across-the-street neighbors, Bryce and Sally Roberts. Bryce and Sally are very faithful followers of Jesus Christ in the denomination of the Latter-Day Saints. They have been waving-neighbors and a bit more to us for many years (I sat on their sons' Eagle Scout review boards, we'd exchange holiday gifts, they invited me to accompany them to the Grand Opening of the Mormon Temple in Fort Collins, occasionally we meet up for lunch, things like that). Since Jameson's death, they had visited us a few times to express their sympathy and allow us to share with them. They are good friends.

But we didn't want anything to do with good friends that day.

Bryce's text reads, "Sally and I would like to come visit you for Easter. When is a good time?"

There's no good time. We are not in any mood to see anyone. The last thing we want is to feel the need to put on a façade of happiness for appearance's sake, and to share this day with anyone. Heck, we're going to a three-hour-plus movie so that we don't have to share the day with each other. I read the text to Angie and we're both happy that I can respond, "Thanks, and Happy Easter. Sorry; we're not home and probably won't be until dark."

Bryce responds, "If it's not too late when you get home, let us know. We hope to see you today."

"Okay," I respond, but Angie and I discuss it and we both are resolved that we simply won't go home until it's "too late" for us to expect any visitors. We have no intention of entertaining, or even conversing with anyone.

We finished our chicken and walked to the theater, still with the eerie presence of Jameson and Laura surrounding us. I even think that on the short walk, one or two more odd, "did that really happen?" things transpired. We took our seats, honestly just relieved to be confined in darkness and enforced silence for three or four hours, so that we could let this sad Easter day get to its end.

This particular three-episode block was the conclusion of the season covering Holy Week, from Jesus's entry into Jerusalem on the back of a borrowed donkey through his arrest outside the Garden of Gethsemane. Many times during those hours in the theater, the story and its cast and director brought us both to silent tears.

I should say here, for those who don't know, that this season of "The Chosen" was produced by "5&2 Studios", a name inspired, of course, by the five loaves and two fishes with which Jesus fed the multitude. Before Jameson was called home, Angel Studios produced the show. Two months after he was gathered to God, though, a contract split created "5&2". Throughout the hours of screentime, we saw "5&2 Studios" credited dozens of times, and indeed a lead-in "Making Of" video from the studio and director also pressed the name of the organization firmly onto our minds.

When the three episodes ended, Angie and I, with our wet eyes, left the theater, disappointed to find that the sun had not yet set. Determined not to feel obliged to face anyone that day, we intentionally took our time getting home, and didn't do so until after sundown. It's late enough. It's dark. Even if they see our car in the driveway, Bryce and Sally surely won't cross the street just to say Happy Easter when they can do so tomorrow. We're safe.

We park, we go in the house, and we both immediately put on our bedclothes. Angie in her pajamas and I in my bathrobe each sit down, to await the day's end.

— Ding! Dong!

Well, now what? We certainly can't leave the doorbell unanswered, but there's no way Angie will go to the door. So I'm stuck. Wearing only my bathrobe, I open the door and there are Bryce and Sally, who stand on the stoop bearing a small card and gift. Seeing my state of undress, they apologize. I insist it's okay, and they say that they simply had to get their gift to us on Easter Sunday itself. Bryce launches into his story.

"We just got back from the Holy Land," he says....

"What?" I respond. "You went to Israel??"

"Yeah, we didn't know we were going either. It happened all of a sudden. Some people in our church were going, then suddenly couldn't go, and so they needed someone to go in their place. One day we're here and the next day we're suddenly on our way to Israel." He relates that they both had been there before; in fact, it was where they got to know each other before marriage, while living in a Mormon student community in Jerusalem. This trip was something of an alumni trip for people who had been in that community.

"And while we were in Israel, we visited many Holy places, and stopped at many souvenir and gift shops. At one particular shop outside a particular church with a connection and devotion to Mary, I saw this on a shelf and told Sally, 'We need to get this for Manus and Angie.'

Sally asked me, 'Why do you say that? Did it come to you in a dream last night or something?'

'Yes; in fact, it did. How did you know that?'

'I had the same dream. And we need to give it to them specifically on Easter Sunday, right?'

'Right!'"

So that's what they did.

What was it that they handed me? A small wooden bowl holding five wooden loaves and two wooden fishes. I hadn't told them that we had gone to see "The Chosen" that day, only that we weren't at home. "5&2 Studios" wasn't even a thing until Jameson got to Heaven. Bryce and Sally didn't know they were going to Israel until they suddenly were handed airline tickets. They didn't know until they got there that they were to bring back five loaves and two fishes to give to us, specifically on Easter Sunday, right after we would see "The Chosen".

The lesson of the feeding of the multitudes is how the smallest things can be magnified by God into the biggest things; that even just a taste of Heaven is pure and sure knowledge of Heaven. Throughout that whole day we were being given loaves and fishes; all these little signs were the crumbs of bread and bites of fish, sent from Jameson and Laura for God to magnify, to provide the assurance that they are with us, and that they are with Him and with Our Blessed Mother in Heaven. When you're slapped in the face with little things, you realize they aren't so little after all. With God, little things really do add up to even more than anyone could possibly dream or imagine. As Bryce and Sally said that night — borrowing the phrase from the man who created "The Chosen" —, "God does impossible math."

God brings big things in little packages. He even packaged Himself for us as a vulnerable little baby. What someone might call "just a little piece of bread" or "just a crying little baby of a teenage girl from Nazareth" or "just a little coincidental that a car from Rawlins, Wyoming would show up right then" or "just someone who looks a little...okay, exactly...like his son attended the one Easter Mass that Manus sang, and sat exactly where Manus's eyes would stare each and every second" or "just a little strange that the Robertses would suddenly find themselves in Israel, then share a dream that they must purchase a specific gift of loaves and fishes and make a present of it on a single particular day" are all actually very big little things.

All it takes to realize big things is just a few small things. Angie and I experienced plenty of those special, God-given small things over Easter weekend in 2025. Our boy was with us, and God was making sure that we knew it.

Needless to say, what had started as a sad day that we didn't want to face ended as a wondrous Easter that left both of us astonished — truly stunned — and sure in the knowledge that the Resurrection is real, not only for Our Lord but also for Jameson and for all of our beloved faithful departed.