St. Paul's On-The-Hill Episcopal Church

The Rev. Stephen C. Holton, Rector

10 Pentecost; August 9, 2009

John 6:35, 41-55

SWEET WORDS FOR EVERYONE

Sweet Words for Everyone to Eat and Try

There is an old saying: “Make sure your words are sweet, because you may have to eat them later!” “Make sure your words are sweet, because you may have to eat them later.”
Jesus' words are sweet. They are tasty. When we eat them, they nourish us and strengthen us and give us joy. When we speak them to others, they nourish them and strengthen them and give them joy.

They are words like; 'love your neighbor,' 'love God,' 'love yourself,' 'bless those who bless you,' 'bless those who persecute you,' care for the poor and the stranger.' The words are sweet. They work. And when we find ourselves in the position of the poor and the stranger, the outsider and the accursed, they work for us too. They feed us too, when someone else speaks them and uses them for us.

This is the bread that Jesus is. The bread is his words, and the bread is his body. There was a long Jewish tradition of referring to sacred words as bread. So Jesus is not invoking anything new here. His audience knows what he's talking about. They expect the right words to nourish, just as he says.

The surprise, though, is two-fold.

“Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

That sounds like cannibalism. It disgusts even us. It refers, of course, to communion and the transformation somehow of bread and wine into Him. It is weird. It is sort of disgusting if you take it all the way. It is hard to understand – and it is true.

All you have to do is try it to see if its true, to see if you've been strengthened, to see if you've been centered, to see if you've been renewed, redeemed, changed – even a little bit – by the experience.

I know I am. I know I feel poorer, impoverished, weak if I go too long without communion. I know that there are other ways to experience the presence of God – in silence or scripture or song – but I also know that this is one clear way and I miss something if I miss it.

That is one outrageous truth that we as Episcopalians preach, and we need to be honest about it.

The strange thing is that it is a littler closer to scientific truth than knowing that God is present in silence or scripture or song. For everyone knows that nourishment comes through bread. So why is it that much of a stretch to say that the nourishment of the Life of the Universe – God's own self – comes through that bread? It is simply an extrapolation of what everyone already knows to be true.

So proclaim that truth. Grit your teeth, risk the ridicule and proclaim that life-giving, at least life-strengthening truth to the next person who needs it.

The second surprising claim is that little word; “whoever.” “Whoever eats of this bread will live forever.”

Whoever? Not just the elect? Not just the special few? Not just the sanctified? Whoever eats this bread?

You don't need to be a particular religion? You don't need to have been born in a particular place? You don't need to belong to a particular people? Whoever?

You just need to eat?

Whoever?

That seems to be the case.

Not transubstantiation. Not consubstantiation. Not gay or straight, black or white, Lutheran or Presbyterian. Just eat.

The Lord is having a feast today. Y'all come.

That's pretty much it.

By the way, every feast may be a feast of the Lord. This is just the special one we have each week. But perhaps every one we have at home, if its in his Name, begun with his grace, is his feast too and he is present – not just in the bread and wine but in the stew and rice and chili and vegetables; when we ask him to be present.

The same is true of every larger feed we have here at church – and we all know that and have felt that.

And whoever comes, whoever eats, whoever comes in the door – feels his presence and is nourished by his bounty, his eternal life.

Whoever speaks these words or breaks that bread or cooks that food at home or at work or in church also passes on that everlasting, everliving, nourishment of God. Whoever.

Not just the elect. Not just the ordained. Not just the chosen.

When the Gospel of John refers to “the Jews,” I think he is referring to one of two things. Either he is referring to the institutional religion of the day, or to the Jews who were listening as opposed to the Gentiles of Galilee who were also listening.

So either way he is speaking of those who think they have a lock on religion, those who have a lock on God and keep him in a box to which they alone have a key.

Jesus is God who has gotten out of the box, and come to all of us, in human form, who can come to everyone and looks like everyone, no matter how humble and ordinary.

This is what has made the authorities uncomfortable; because he doesn't look like the authorities, he doesn't appeal to the authorities – in so many ways – and he doesn't ask their permission.

The contest between Judaism and Christianity was not a contest between two different religions but between an institutionalized religion and a non institutionalized religion; and as soon as Christianity became institutionalized, we had the same problem. So God keeps coming to all religions – in the Spirit and through people who looked as ordinary as Jesus – to get them to break out of their boxes and learn from Him.

David – young and righteous David – had managed to corrupt the religion of his day even though God loved him and, generally speaking, he loved God. So God sent Nathan from outside the box to shake him up and call him home to repentance and love.

God may send you – remember he sends everyone – to make the same call to your society or your neighbor or your friend.

He came as someone who was as ordinary looking as Jesus. This was the true scandal.

“They were saying, “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?'”

The scandal of Jesus is not simply the claim that he made but that he looked so incredibly unlikely to be what he claimed to be! He was, apparently, nothing special as a physical specimen. No one talks about what he looks like. The best they can do is compare him to the Suffering Servant in Isaiah, about whom it is said: “we esteemed him not.”

So if we ourselves are also nothing special, don't be surprised if we get called to the same task. If no one much remembers what we look like – because, face it, there's not much to remember – don't be surprised that we are called to the same task. After all, it's the words that matter. And they are not even our words. They are his. And they are sweet – words like love, peace, justice, caring, helping, lifting up, supporting.

The words work. They may take a long time to do, but they work. They may take a life-time or several life-times, but they work.

It took Christianity 300 years to become established as the religion of the Roman Empire, but it happened, and that's after the process was started by God himself – but it was continued by faithful men and women whom no one has heard of. But they used these words of justice, peace and love to the people around them and they established homes and neighborhoods of justice, peace and love, help and care and support, around them. The declaration of Christianity as the religion of Rome was simply a recognition of their work, not a new idea that had never been tried.

So we try Christianity on a daily basis – and every time we do, we spread it a little bit. We bring in the Kingdom of God a little bit more. We extend the zone of God, of love, of peace, a little bit more to include more people, more hurting souls.

We speak for the God – with the words of the God – who pounds on our doors of all religions and says: 'Remember me.' 'Let me back in.' 'Speak for me to those who have not heard.' 'Work for me for those who have not been helped.' 'Feed them with my body and blood, my bread and wine, my nourishing words, my joyful songs.'

Who cares who they are. Who cares who we are. We've been asked to do it.