YEAR B 2024 pentecost 14

Pentecost 14, 2024
Joshua 24:1-2a,14-18
Psalm 34:15-22
Ephesians 6:10-20
John 6:56-69

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Did we just have yet another gospel reading where Jesus says that he is the bread of life that has come from heaven and that anyone who eats of this bread will have eternal life?  Yes we did.  We most certainly did.  Today we have finally got through these five Sundays in a row on the sixth chapter of John’s gospel, and our eyes have kind of glazed over, and it all feels a little bit like the movie Groundhog Day, but with bread.

However, today, when we take the gospel reading about bread, in the context of the reading from Joshua and the segment from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, we find a whole other theme that we haven’t had in a while.  And that theme is, living in community.  Living in a community that God has called together, for our mutual benefit, and for our common life together.  Community.

So, let’s start with Joshua.  The reading we heard this morning includes that familiar phrase, "but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”  You’ve probably seen that around, on bumper stickers, and t shirts, and on probably half the plaques they sell at the P. Graham Dunn factory, over in Dalton.  As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.  It’s a nice enough phrase and all, but I think the reason it is so popular a slogan is because it strikes a little bit of a defiant tone.  Like planting a stake in the ground of my unwavering individual commitment to God.  And I can’t help but think it borders right on the edge of being like Peter on the Mount of Olives saying, “Even though these others might fall away Lord, I will never deny you.”  Just saying.

But here’s the thing about the context of Joshua’s seemingly defiant individualist tone.  Nobody said they were not going to serve the Lord.  This is in no way a response to any decisions anyone has made.  It’s like Joshua gets up on a stump and says, “I alone shall serve the Lord!”  And the people are like, hey Josh, take it easy there buddy.  Far be it from us not to serve the One who brought us out of slavery in Egypt.  Far be it from us to forget the One who led us through the desert all those years.  Like, we’re all on the same team here.  We saw what you saw.  We lived what you lived.  We too will serve the Lord, because we are a community.  We have always been a community.  The chosen people of God.  In community.

And then notice how today's gospel reading ends.  After all this talk about bread and feasting on the body of Jesus, some of the disciples turn away, because this is a hard teaching.  And so Jesus asks the twelve, “Do you also wish to go away?” Simon Peter answers, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”  Sounds similar to the ending of the Joshua reading, right?  Which of course is why the lectionary planners put these two readings together in the first place.

But notice that Peter says to whom can we go?  And also, we have come to know and believe.  Peter is not doing the individualistic stake in the ground thing, like with Joshua’s “as for me and my house.”  No, Peter knows that they are a community with Jesus.  They’re in this together.  Nobody is making a personal decision to follow Jesus.  And you know how I know that?  Because of verse 70, the verse right after where our reading stopped.

After Peter says, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”  Jesus then says to the disciples, “Did I not choose you, the twelve?”  Did I not choose you?  Think back to who it is Joshua is talking to: God’s chosen people.  And here we have Jesus speaking to God’s chosen disciples.  And remember, the disciples didn’t form a little club and then decide to go follow Jesus.  No, over and over, Jesus says to one or two people at a time, “Follow me.”  And they do.  One by one, pair by pair, Jesus assembles this ragtag crew of disciples.  And that’s why he says to Peter, “Did I not choose you, the twelve?”

People of St. Timothy’s, you also are part of a community God has chosen and called together.  We were not some established social club that one day decided we would follow Jesus.  Rather, God called us, one by one, two by two, family by family.  We were all personally called into this community of faith.  And we continue to move forward together in faith, guided by the Holy Spirit.  

And what do we do together, as this community of faith God has called into existence?  Well here’s where we can turn to Paul’s letter to the Ephesians.  In this final chapter of Ephesians, Paul is giving a whole lot of advice by way of a pep talk.  It’s not written to individuals in their personal faith walk.  Rather—like most of Paul’s letters—it is written to all the Christians living in a particular city at a particular time.  When he uses the pronoun “you,” it’s plural.  It’s, y’all.  So then, these encouraging words are written to a community of believers, like the group Joshua is talking to, like the 12 disciples Jesus is talking to.  And notice what Paul says . . .

You Ephesians—y’all—need to put on the whole armor of God.  All y’all put on this armor of God together.  And that beginning makes it sound like it’s going to be militaristic right?  Like, “People of Ephesus, gird your loins, for we ride at dawn!”  This armor is just a metaphor of course; and notice what all these things have in common.  A belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness.  Whatever footwear will make you able to proclaim peace.  The shield of faith, and the helmet of salvation.  Those are all defensive armor.  Nothing in that list is designed to hurt anyone, but only to protect ourselves.  And we get one weapon.  This must be where God gives us an offensive tool to smite our enemies, right?   Something to divide ourselves from the households that do not choose the Lord!  Alright Paul.  Give us the offensive weapon, with which we shall smite the unbelievers!

And this powerful weapon is . . .  the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.  All of this defensive armor, plus whatever footwear will help us proclaim a word of peace, and our only offense is the word of God.  Nothing about denouncing sinners, or rejecting those with whom we disagree.  Our only advance is the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

And there’s more!  Because he doesn’t say, put on all this defensive armor and get out there to do battle!  Instead he says, put on these things, and take up the word of God and . . . stand.  Not run, not march, not even walk.  No, prepare yourself with the whole armor of God and stand.  Together.  Stand.

It’s like he is flipping on it’s head the old familiar saying, "Don’t just stand there, do something."  Paul is suggesting the opposite.  Don’t just do something, stand there.

Stand there together, and let God be God.  Don’t just do something, stand there at the font and remember that you are a baptized and beloved child of God.  Don’t just do something, stand there before this Altar and receive the body of Christ, the bread that has come down from heaven.  Don’t just do something, stand here, remembering that God has called you into a community of faith that can change the world.

God has given us this armor to put on together.  And God does not call us to do impossible things.  Rather, God tells us to just stand there, and let God do impossible things for this world through us.  A beloved community, called out of isolation, called out of separation, and called into this community that has come to know and believe that Jesus is the Holy One of God.  Lord, to whom can we go?  To no one else but the one who redeems and strengthens us to stand together and proclaim the everlasting love of God.  Stand in this community, and watch God change the world.

Amen.

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 13

Pentecost 13, 2024
Proverbs 9:1-6
Psalm 34:9-14
Ephesians 5:15-20     
John 6:51-58

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Finally we get a gospel text about bread!  I’m kidding of course.  But we are almost at the end of our five-week run of bread readings.  You may think I’ve run out of things to say about bread, but fear not.  Preachers never run out of things to say.  Especially when it comes to the bread of heaven.  But let’s start here . . .

In case I haven’t told you a million times by now, I grew up in the Lutheran Church.  In fact, I grew up in the Lutheran Church, Missouri Synod.  For those of you attuned to the flavors of Lutheranism, you’ll now understand why I’m so conservative and reserved.

Like many denominations, most Lutherans require that a person be confirmed before coming to the communion table.  In fact, in the Missouri Synod, the person must also be a member of that specific church body, a practice called “closed communion.”  You and I could not take communion in a Missouri Synod parish.

The requirement for confirmation in some churches is intended as a way to ensure that young people fully understand exactly what is happening in communion.  (Just like the rest of us, am I right?)  And the requirement of church membership is to ensure that every single person believes exactly the same thing when they approach the altar.  These are admittedly lofty goals, to be sure.  

By contrast, in the Episcopal Church we are bound together by worship, as opposed to belief (broadly speaking), so our only requirement is that someone taking communion is baptized.  Certainly makes things easier for the priest, I have to say.

But I want to come back to that idea of shared belief for a minute.  The starting point for putting barriers to communion in some denominations is that it really is for your own benefit.  As Paul writes to the Corinthians,  “Those who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves.”  In the best construction, closed communion is an effort to save you from damnation.  Only when the pastor is convinced that you fully discern and understand can they know that you are not eating and drinking in judgement against yourself.  Point being, the starting point for them does make sense on some level.

Now, different denominations have different understandings of what is actually happening at the altar.  Some say it’s just a memorial reenactment to remind us of what Jesus endured; and at the other end, some say the bread and wine actually become the body and blood of Jesus.  True to form, in the Episcopal Church, we allow for the full spectrum of belief.  We do not tell you what it is you’re receiving.  And, thanks to the Elizabethan Compromise, the rubrics allow the priest to pick and choose things as we go, to emphasize certain understandings.  Our liturgical flow comes with an implied message: Be ye warned!  Rubrics are theology!

Since I personally lean toward the “real presence” understanding of the sacrament—that is, Jesus is truly present in the bread and wine—I intentionally choose a certain set of options throughout the service.  A specific example of this is that I always stop after saying, “The gifts of God for the people of God,” since the optional add-on sentence of “feed on him in your hearts by faith” is added for those who don’t believe Jesus’ body and blood are truly present in the sacrament.

Wow.  You’d never guess that my main point is to steer us away from doctrine, would you?  I promise, we’ll get there.

Okay, so different expressions within the Church have different understandings of what is happening in the Lord’s Supper.  And different denominations have different barriers to the table.  The Episcopal Church still officially holds the minimum requirement of baptism in order to partake.  And so that is where we stand, here at St. Timothy’s.  All baptized Christians are welcome to this meal.  Always.  You don’t have to be confirmed, and you don’t have to confirm our theology.  All baptized Christians are always welcome.  And with all that wandering around out of the way, let’s finally go back and look at the text we have before us . . .

Jesus says, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day.”  Rather than talk about what he does say here, let’s look at what he does not say.  There is nothing in this text about prerequisites.  Nothing about requirements.  Nothing about barriers.  No mention of belief, or membership, or understanding.  It’s just a flat-out claim that the people who eat and drink will have eternal life.

You want more?  Jesus says, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.”  When you eat stuff—as I mentioned in last week’s biology lesson—it isn’t just fuel for your body.  The food you eat replaces your cells over time.  You really do become what you eat.  “For my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.”  

If we take Jesus at his word, he seems to be saying quite clearly that eating his body and drinking his blood gives us eternal life.  And that doing so means he abides in us . . . lives within us.  Now let’s circle back and look at that first quote I used from today’s Gospel.

“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day.”  Nothing suggesting a right understanding, a sound doctrine, or even any belief at all.  Based on this text, you don’t need to understand, or believe, or make some special effort at being worthy, or have a contrite heart, or anything.  Sure, our Outline of the Faith says, “we should examine our lives, repent of our sins, and be in love and charity with all people,” and the Episcopal Church does hold out the requirement of baptism as a pre-condition.  And there are very good reasons for that, given our understanding that baptism is the entry point into the Church.  

But notice that it is not the belief or understanding or doctrine or anything else that seals the deal.  It is not our words, but rather it is the words of Jesus.  It’s a simple factual statement from him: “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day.”  No conditions.  No exceptions.

Of course, we are always free to say no.  We are always allowed to stop ourselves from accepting a gift.  Always permitted to say, “That food is not for me.”  You don’t have to stretch out your hands and receive the body and blood of Jesus.  You are always given all the time you need.  There is no pressure, no deadline, and the invitation is always there.

The church of my childhood would keep you and me from this altar.  As would many other churches all around the world.  We would be closed off from the Sacrament because we are not members, or because we don’t share some common belief in a set of principles.  But Jesus gives no such restrictions.  Do you want life?  Do you want Jesus to abide in you?  Do you want to be raised up on the last day?

If the answer is, “YES,” then I invite you to come forward this morning, and I ask you to believe the words of Jesus.  “The one who eats this bread will live forever."  Come to the altar today.  Come and receive the free gift of life: the bread of heaven, and the cup of salvation.

Amen.

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 12

Pentecost 12, 2024
1 Kings 19:4-8
Psalm 34:1-8
Ephesians 4:25-5:2
John 6:35, 41-51

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Sometimes the lessons assigned on a Sunday all seem to go together.  Today we heard from 1st Kings where Elijah wants to die, but the angel says, “You just need to eat something.”  You’ve probably been in the angel’s shoes, if you have children or an aging parent.  And then we read together part of Psalm 34, where the writer rejoices in God’s power to save us.  And then we heard a portion of the letter to the Ephesians, where Paul tells us the importance of treating one another with love.  All of which was followed up by the Gospel reading we just heard from John, another discourse on bread and heaven and eternal life.  Don’t forget to eat; God saves; love one another; don’t forget to eat.

These readings go together nicely.  But let’s go back to the old saying, “You are what you eat.”  We all kind of have a vague idea that this is true, right?  Like we want our kids to eat healthful food because we want our kids to be healthy kids.  Or, at least, more vegetables and less cake is something we consider a rule of thumb.  It’s kind of related to that other old saying, “Garbage in, garbage out.”  And if you don’t think about it too much, it’s easy to get the idea that food is just like gasoline for our bodies.  We naturally talk that way, about eating an energizing breakfast: food for energy, and so on.  I think we’re more apt to think about food as being fuel for our bodies, rather than raw material for our bodies, even though in truth, you really are what you eat.

Since our bodies are constantly losing cells, the stuff we eat replaces those lost cells.  That’s why if you stop eating, you will start to shrink until . . . well, until you die.  In simple terms, you need a constant supply of nutrition to build more cells to replace the cells that are dying every day.  And that nutrition actually replaces the cells that have died, as well as feeding the living ones.  Here ends what I know about biology, and so we turn to today’s gospel . . .

In this five-week stretch we’re in, we get Jesus talking about bread, and distributing bread, and comparing himself to bread.  Bread bread bread.  Five Sundays about bread and Jesus, which is why I’m using the same Communion hymn for several weeks.  And in the little section of John’s Gospel we just heard, Jesus says, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

And then—as is often the case when Jesus says something amazing—people begin to grumble about what he said.  In this case, they’re scoffing over Jesus coming down from heaven, because they know his parents.  You can’t have come down from heaven, because we know what you are!  

I talked about this last Sunday, which perhaps you remember.  The Israelites escaped from Egypt but they are hungry.  Moses talks to God, and God sends down something from heaven for them to eat.  The Israelites call this stuff  “Manna,” which literally means, “What is it?”  They don’t know what it is, so they call it “What is it.”

Now flash forward to this scene with that in mind: The crowd is saying, Jesus, you cannot have come down from heaven because we know you.  You are not manna.  You are Joseph and Mary’s son.  We know what you are!

And check out Jesus’ response:  “Do not complain among yourselves. No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day.”  They’re complaining that he can’t be from heaven because they know him.  And Jesus says, don’t complain; no one can come to me unless the Father draws them.

And then he continues, “Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me.”  This is harsh!  This is a very strong smackdown, to say the least.  The implication is, the reason they don’t understand is because the Father has not drawn them.   

Jesus is speaking to the descendants of those Israelites.  They are the ones whose ancestors were delivered from slavery in Egypt, who ate the manna, and welcomed the food, but did not know what it was.  And Jesus says, “Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died.”

They were fed day by day, but it was just food to get them through the day.  Day by day, they ate and lived, but eventually, they all died.  God provided, but they still died.  Even the unknown food from God’s hand was not enough to give them everlasting life.  As the disciples will say in a couple weeks, "This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?"  Food from the very hand of God is not enough to provide everlasting life?

Jesus says, “Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. I am the bread of life.”  Whoever believes has eternal life.  I am the bread of life.  Your ancestors ate bread in the wilderness, and they died.  What is different here?  Two things.  First, whoever believes has eternal life.  And second, Jesus is the bread of life, and whoever eats of this bread will live forever.  Daily manna from heaven?  That day-to-day food that does not bring eternal life?  Child’s play!  Well, child’s play for God, I mean.

But, eternal life?  That’s different.  Eternal life takes a whole new way of thinking.  Eternal life takes Jesus.  The living bread.  The bread that has come down from heaven.  That is an entirely different thing to be eating.  Which takes us back to that first point: You are what you eat.

Jesus said, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever.”  You are what you eat.  The food you eat becomes the cells in your body.  If you eat the living bread, your body becomes the living bread.  Jesus finishes by saying, “and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."

Does this mean that you and I will live forever in these mortal bodies for eternity?  No, of course not.  And the older I get, I would add I hope not!  We have two thousand years of Christians before us to prove that eating the Bread of Heaven does not keep you alive forever.  The point is not that we will live on forever in these aging bodies.  (And that is good news!)

We only get it once in today’s little snippet of reading, but all around this reading—before and after—Jesus says, “And I will raise them up.”  If you read the 6th chapter of John’s Gospel, FOUR times Jesus says, “And I will raise them up on the last day.”  Over and over in this chapter he says, “I am the bread of life.”  And over and over he says, “I will raise them up on the last day.”  

We get it from every different angle, with every different nuance:  Jesus is like the manna in the wilderness, but with these two crucial additions . . . He is the living bread, and therefore he will raise us up on the last day.

People of St. Timothy’s, it is true: we are what we eat.  And today Jesus comes to us in the sacrament as the living bread that has come down from heaven.  He infuses every cell of our bodies with his presence, and sends us out into the world in peace.  And since you are what you eat, come and feast on the living bread that has come down from heaven.  Even though we die, we shall live forever.

Amen.

The Blessing of a Union, 8-10-2024

Blessing of a Union
Ed Breyfogle and Jean Smith
Isaiah 40:21-31
Psalm 147:1-12, 21c
1 Corinthians 9:16-23
Matthew 5:13-16

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

In the gospel reading we just heard, Jesus says to the people, “You are the salt of the earth,” and also, “You are the light of the world.”  There’s been a movement among some Christians who like to talk about how we need to become salt and light in the world.  That it’s time to roll up our sleeves and get out there and make ourselves into salt and light for Jesus.

But that is not what Jesus says.  He doesn’t say “One day, if you try really hard, you might become salt and light.”  He doesn’t even say, “Someday I will make you salt and light.”  No, Jesus says quite plainly, you ARE salt; you ARE light.  It is not an achievement.  It’s not a goal.  It is what you already are.

And on top of that, he’s not just talking to his disciples here.  He’s not preaching to the choir of the already committed.  The text says, “Jesus said to the crowd.”  That means anyone within the sound of his voice.  Everyone who hears the voice of Jesus is declared to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world.  Everyone.

I love that this reading is one of the options for weddings in the Episcopal Church.  Because when we hear about letting our light shine before others—the light that we already are—we can easily make the connection to love.  When two people pledge to be committed to each other for the rest of their lives, as Ed and Jean will do today, their love becomes a light shining for all to see.  The light that they already are is joined together and magnified.  Letting their light shine as they walk out into the world holding hands.

And so I remind you, Jean and Ed, in making this commitment today with the blessing of God’s Church, you are making your light shine even brighter in this world.  And that light is the light of love.  The light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it.  May God bless all your days together, as you continue to let your light shine!

Amen.

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 11

Pentecost 11, 2024
Exodus 16:2-4,9-15
Psalm 78:23-29
Ephesians 4:1-16
John 6:24-35

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

A good amount of the things we find funny in life involve mistaking a figurative phrase as a literal truth.  One person says something that’s just a familiar phrase, or figure of speech, and the other person takes it as though it’s the literal truth.  Over a romantic meal, a man asks a lady if he can take her hand; she says, “No.  I’ve got to drive myself home, and going to need both of my hands for that.”

This kind of humor is the basis for countless routines by Abbot and Costello, Laurel and Hardy, and the Three Stooges.  It usually ends with the straight man looking at the camera with a face that says, “Can you believe what I put up with?”  There’s a conspiracy of sorts between the frustrated one and the audience over the person who just doesn’t get it.

This kind of situation is a recurring theme in the gospel of John, whether or not the scenes are there for comic effect.  And we see one playing out again in today’s reading.  Throughout John’s gospel, Jesus tries to take things to a higher level—to a spiritual realm.  And the people around him just can’t seem to come along with him.  He makes these leaps, but he makes the jump alone.  It’s as though everyone is ready to help Jesus lift a heavy object, and at the crucial moment, they’re all pushing downward instead.

In John, we see it in the story of Nicodemus.  Jesus tells this respected teacher that he must be born again.  Nicodemus scratches his head and says, “You mean I have to go back into my mother’s womb?”  You can just picture Jesus smacking his own forehead.  Or when Jesus tells the woman at the well that he will give her the living water, she says “but, sir, you don’t even have a bucket.”  Right.

In John chapter 4 we hear the disciples urging him, "Rabbi, eat something."  But he says to them, "I have food to eat that you do not know about."  And the disciples say to one another, "Do you think somebody brought him something to eat?"  (Cut to Jesus looking sideways at the camera, doing his best Jack Benny.)  When talking about his departure, Jesus tells the disciples he is going to prepare a place for them, but not to worry, because they know The Way.  Thomas pipes in and says, “We don’t even know where you’re going; how can we possibly know ‘the way’?”  And Jesus has to say, “Hello?  I AM the way!!!”

And in today’s Gospel reading, we have it again.  Jesus says, “I have come down from heaven.”  And the religious leaders say to one another, "Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, 'I have come down from heaven'?" This example is especially rich, since the reader knows that Joseph is not even Jesus’ father.  (We can imagine Jesus slump his shoulders as he shakes his head.)  Over and over, when Jesus tries to move to the level of metaphor, or some deeper spiritual meaning, nobody seems able to go with him.  It’s like he’s saying, “okay, so you saw me feed the thousands in the last chapter.  Now stay with me, as I explain how I am the bread of life.”  And the people around him are trying to figure out how someone made of flour and water is talking to them.

Time after time in John’s gospel we see the phrase, “they did not understand.”  Jesus says something to the crowd, or the religious leaders, or even his own disciples, and they do not understand.

But the interesting thing about this kind of misunderstanding—whether from Jesus or the Three Stooges—is that the one who is unable to understand considers himself or herself to be the clever one.  It puffs the person up to have pierced through the logic of Jesus.  You don’t even have a bucket!  How can I return to my mother’s womb?  You aren’t from heaven; you’re Joseph’s son!  A-HA!  Gotcha Jesus!  And Jesus puts his hand on his head and says, oy-vey!  Jesus is left playing the straight man to people who simply don’t have a clue.

Of course, as the readers, we’ve got the upper hand here.  The Gospel of John starts out with the phrase, “In the beginning was the word.”  It doesn’t surprise us when Jesus says that he has come down from heaven.  I mean, he was there from the start, right?  Those silly religious leaders don’t know the whole story like we do, since we’ve heard this before.

But there’s a red flag for us, I think.  Any time we begin to feel superior to the people around Jesus, it’s time to get out the caution tape.  Because we’re probably guilty of doing the same thing they’re doing.  But let’s set that aside for a moment and look at what else is going on in this story we just heard.

First, there’s an obvious connection to the Israelites’ escape from Egypt.  You remember the story of the manna, right?  It was the first reading this morning.  The people of God were wandering in the desert and complaining because they had no food.  God provided the manna each day, but only enough for each day.  When people tried to secretly gather enough for a second day, it spoiled.  Each day they had enough for that day—their literal daily bread—and no more.  They had to rely on God, and God provided.  And God’s providing for them came as a result of their complaining.

In today’s gospel reading, we hear that the religious authorities began to complain about Jesus.  And he says, “Do not complain among yourselves.”  That word, “complain,” is prominent in both stories: the one from John and the one from Exodus.  When Jesus refers to himself as the bread that comes down from heaven, the connection to manna falling from heaven each day is hard to miss.  But, just in case anyone should miss it, Jesus says, “Your ancestors ate manna in the wilderness and they died.”  Fair enough.  He goes on to say that whoever eats of this bread will not die, but will live forever.  Will live forever.

Now if we’re honest, we can’t help but point out that the people hearing Jesus make this claim have been dead for nearly 2000 years, right?  So what gives?  Was Jesus wrong?  Was he just kidding?  What do we do with the obvious contradiction between the claim that they would live forever and the fact that they are now all dead?  Is Jesus making another leap that we can’t seem to make with him?

Well, the key to this connection must be in how we define life, or living forever.  An eternal ever-lasting earthly life in these current aging bodies of ours is not all that appealing, frankly, and clearly Jesus is not talking about that kind of forever.  When desperate for food, we could be kept alive day to day by a Godly intervention of manna, sure.  But eventually, death comes for each of us.  Even a daily miraculous feeding from the hand of God is still merely sustenance for one more day.  One more daily bread.  

Eventually, those days run out.  When Jesus talks of living forever, he is talking about life beyond the grave.  Those who eat of his flesh have eternal life, after the resurrection.  So looking at it from the other end, we can say that eternal life comes from this connection to Jesus.  From being one with him.  Jesus does not prevent death in this world.  He gives us the freedom to live our current life to the fullest, yes.  But it’s quality, not quantity.  It’s an expanded life, rather than a lengthened one.  This bread that comes down from heaven gives us eternal life where it really matters:  after we die.  As Jesus tells the crowd, the Father draws us through Jesus.  No one can come to Jesus unless the Father draws us.  God is drawing you, by the very fact that you have come to this place on this day.  God is drawing you.

And, so what?  Like all those characters in John’s Gospel, I suspect we too have trouble making the leap with Jesus.  After all, we spend our lives learning that if one thing is true (the Son of earthly parents), then another thing cannot be true (came down from heaven).  Our lives are based on making such distinctions.  Yes or no.  On or off. Hungry or fed.  And sometimes too much of that kind of thinking gets in the way of our belief in God’s promises—especially, perhaps for Episcopalians, since we sort of boast about the gift of reason being part of our understanding of faith.  

But maybe we need a little more “both and” thinking, and a little less “either or” distinction.  Jesus is fully human, and fully divine.  Jesus is the son of Mary, and comes down from heaven.  We will all die, and have eternal life.  Jesus can take your hand, and you can still drive home safely.

As we gather around this altar, Jesus promises to meet us here.  The living bread comes down from heaven.  Whoever eats of the bread will live forever.  We are tempted to ask, “How can this Jesus come down from heaven?”  Or, “How can this bread be the living bread?  The source of life eternal?”  How indeed . . .

And yet, we doubt, and we believe.  And Jesus still meets us here: in this bread, and this wine, making them the very presence of God among us.  And partaking of this meal together assures us of life eternal, because the God of life and redemption, hope and resurrection, the living bread is among us in this place.

Amen