Did the Gospel reading sound familiar? Yep, more bread! We’re on week four out of five hearing from John 6, so I thought it was time to pull out some bread jokes.
Why does bread look so bad in photos? It’s too grainy.
What does a loaf of bread say to a friend after doing them a favor? It's the yeast I could do.
I know - they’re not great! I tried Googling “bread jokes” but, as you can see, so many of them were stale.
In today’s reading from the Gospel of John, Jesus continues the conversation about bread. The focus has moved from the literal and physical act of eating the bread distributed to the crowd of thousands in a hillside, and into the realm of metaphor and symbolism, as Jesus declares that he is the living bread that came down from heaven. “Whoever eats of this bread will live forever, and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”
The people hearing are confused. Did he say the bread is his flesh?! Like…to EAT?! That's gross. And wrong! What is Jesus trying to say??
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| Photo by Wesual Click on Unsplash |
The need to discern between multiple layers of meaning - and the misunderstandings that inevitably arise - shows up again and again in John’s Gospel. Jesus uses rich, metaphorical language to point to a spiritual plane of understanding, but so often his hearers try to interpret his words in a literal manner - and chaos and confusion abound.
The disagreement among the Jewish leaders in response to Jesus’ words isn’t surprising, then. Their question “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” follows a familiar pattern.
It sounds like the earlier words of the Jewish religious leaders, who, when Jesus says, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.”, respond with “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?”
It sounds like the words of Nicodemus, who, when Jesus tells him, “...no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”, responds with “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?”
It sounds like the words of the woman at the well, who, when Jesus talks about living water, responds with “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”
As these conversation partners try to make sense of Jesus’ words on a literal level, they focus their questions on the “how”. How can you raise up in three days a stone edifice that’s been under construction for decades? How can anyone be born a second time? How can I get rid of this daily, backbreaking chore of hauling water? How can I possibly eat a person’s flesh?
We might have similar questions, particularly as we think about Communion, our primary way of experiencing Jesus as the living bread. How can ordinary bread and wine do such powerful things? How can Jesus really be present in these elements - is it some kind of magic?
And, really, all these how questions are reasonable. They connect to our experience of the world, and the worries and concerns and wonderings that hold our attention from day to day.
But how isn’t the right question here, or, at least, it’s not the one Jesus chooses to answer. "How" addresses a literal way of understanding, but Jesus is talking about something different, using metaphor as a way to get at the spiritual. So rather than answering "how", Jesus tells the people why, or for what purpose they are to eat this living bread, for what purpose they are to believe and trust in him. Rather than answering and explaining how, Jesus offers a promise.
“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day.” To share in this bread and cup, to believe and trust in Jesus is to receive the promise of eternal life. In the bread and wine we eat and drink in Communion, we receive a foretaste of the great heavenly feast. When we eat and drink here, we are joined with all the saints, the people of God, from all times throughout history and all places around the world.
We often think primarily of eternal life as a place in heaven after we die, and it is. By this promise, we have the assurance that we belong to God forever, have the assurance that because Jesus lives, we shall live also. But this promise from Jesus is also for life right here and now - life that is abundant and full, life lived not alone, but in community with God and with one another.
This promise of life now connects, too, to Jesus’ other promise here: “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me and I in them.” When we eat and drink here, we become what we receive - the body of Christ. To believe and trust in Jesus in this way joins us so closely to him that we abide, remain with him always. To abide in Jesus in this way is to be drawn with him through death, into life. We cannot be separated from the love of God - not by doubt or anger or grief; not by things we do or fail to do; not by success, or failure; not even by death. In all we experience, in all that we are, God is with us - abiding, loving, guiding, accompanying.
Just as Jesus gave bread to the crowds so that they might eat and live, so too has Jesus given himself - his flesh and blood - on the cross, and again and again at the communion table, so that we might live. On the cross, his flesh is broken and blood is poured out, as hatred, fear, and violence seem to win the day. But God's power indeed raises this body in three days, declaring forever that life and love are victorious. In the gift of his body and blood, the gift of living bread, Jesus promises to be with us in our places of suffering and brokenness; promises to be with us in our times of hunger and want; promises to be with us whether we understand or not. In this gift, Jesus brings us salvation and life - for today, and forever.
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