John turns love into a diagnostic, not a decoration: the self is known by what it can sustain. “God is charity” reads psychologically as the claim that reality’s deepest grain is outgoing, self-giving regard, and that to refuse love is to fall out of contact with what is most real. The sharper twist is precedence: you do not climb into love by effort; you awaken inside a love already in motion. “Propitiation” names the way guilt and fear get metabolized so relationship can restart; the divine initiative absorbs the rupture so the human can live. Mark stages that interior claim as a social scene. Compassion appears first as attention: he sees them, names their leaderlessness, then teaches. When the disciples try to manage scarcity by dispersal, he forces a different imagination: you feed them. The miracle is less spectacle than a re-training of perception and agency. He takes what is already there, organizes the crowd into human-sized groups, blesses, breaks, and distributes through the disciples. Abundance arrives as a pattern: gratitude, fracture, mediation, shared order. The twelve baskets feel like the psyche’s residue of grace—evidence that generosity doesn’t merely meet need; it leaves capacity behind. Semina Verbi: this resembles the Mahayana bodhisattva’s vow to let compassion precede merit, and the Buddhist insight that clinging to lack produces more lack (speculation). It echoes Sufi talk of love as the substance of God and the human as the place where divine love recognizes itself. It rhymes with Hindu anna-dāna, food-giving as sacred duty, and with Jewish tzedakah as justice enacted through concrete provision. In all of them, the shift is from counting to care, from isolated survival to shared life.