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
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