13August2000sermon.htm

"Bread of heaven"

Sermon for Sunday August 13, 2000

Trinity Church, Princeton, NJ

Reading: Deuteronomy 8:1-10; John 6:35-51

I can still remember
the feel of summer vacations.

There were those first delicious days of anticipation
where it seemed that anything was possible,
the first trip to the beach, a sleep-over,
and the promise
of a visit
with my grandparents.
Time seemed endless, buoyant even (like the sea)
and life was wonderful.

But as the months wore on
the signs of the end
increasingly encroached
on my summer. There was the inevitable trip to the mall for new shoes - not
much time left
for bare feet -
pencils to be labeled
and three months worth of piano practice to be done.

*****

Summer
is just three months of the year,
but in those three months
we have a microcosm
of our lives at large.
As children,
our lives stretch before us.
We play at being firefighters and soldiers and teachers,
we imagine ourselves as ballerinas and astronauts,
and our lives are full of possibility and adventure.

But as we grow older
its all too clear
that the end of the summer
is not so far away.
Our dreams lose their glistening feathers
and fall to the ground
and get trampled
under our own feet. We must be sensible
and prudent
and prepare
for our retirement.
Our bodies begin
to creak and groan -
the first gray hairs, the aches which might just be
the beginnings of arthritis
and a simple tiredness that seems to come from nowhere.
And the world around us
and the ideal life
presented on TV
becomes further and further
from the secure reality
we once knew.

The end of the summer:
Our bodies
betray us,
our choices
condemn us,
our world
bears down on us.
Death
and life
become muddled
together.

And then we hear Jesus,
and he seems to be just as caught up in the muddle
as we are.

"I am the bread of life, the bread come down from heaven"
he says;
"whoever eats of this bread
will never die;
whoever believes
has eternal life."

And the people around him stare, and some laugh,
because they know his father and his mother,
know that this is no heavenly apparition
but just young Jesus bar Joseph,
son of a carpenter,
vagabond and story teller.
And for all that he made a feast for five thousand
from a few loaves and fishes,
they will all be hungry again,
and he will be too,
and they will all die
whether from famine or illness,
in a skirmish
with the occupying troops,
or, if God is gracious
as righteous elders
at home in their beds.

We all know
that death will eventually come.
We can prolong our lives
with healthy lifestyles
and good medical care;
we can fight against the diseases and the violence
that ravish our world,
but in the end
we will all die,
and there's no way
of avoiding it.

And these claims of Jesus
of eternal life
are as muddled as anything else.
Because on the one hand
there is a security about it,
the idea
that death isn't the end of everything,
that the people we love
are safely waiting somewhere,
looking forward to
a joyous reunion,
but on the other
there is always the fear
that comes from the skepticism of our world
that we're just kidding ourselves.
That this heaven thing
is about as unreal
as those little round eyed children
on the Precious Moments (TM) cards,
and we'd better get on with life
in the grainy reality
of the here and now.

We can just about deal
with Easter and the resurrection,
as long as its only Jesus
but when it comes to us
it's a whole 'nother story.
Because heaven,
and life eternal with it,
has got a bad name.

We're embarrassed, most of us,
by those people who walk the streets
demanding of strangers
"Have you been washed in the blood of the lamb?"
Who knock on our doors saying
"If you were to die tonight
what would you say
at the gates of heaven?"

It smacks of the pious righteousness
which we all too often associate
with a joyless
fanatical
religion,
one in which
we are expected to leave our brains
outside the church doors.

And so,
it seems to me,
in response we go to the other extreme.
We avoid talking about heaven
or anything
which could possibly be construed
as otherworldly,
and we focus our attention
on the world around us.
Instead of focusing
on some ethereal kingdom of God
after death,
we focus on bringing about
that kingdom of God
in the here and now.
We might not use those words for it,
but that's what we're doing
as we seek transformation
in our own lives,
and as we work to bring that transformation
into other people's lives as well.
And so we work hard at living out our faith,
with Motel Meals and Crisis Ministry,
the Trenton After School Program and Done in a Day.
And that's certainly part of the Christian gospel.
But it's not the whole of it.

Because there's no getting around it -
what Jesus is talking about
in today's gospel
is about life
and death
and life after death.

Part of the problem is
that there's no real details
about what this life after death will be like.
We get glimpses
throughout the New Testament -
transformed bodies,
no more tears,
some sort of closeness to God,
but nothing really tangible,
nothing we can grasp hold of
with the kind of certainty we'd like,
certainly nothing that could be considered as proof.
Of course, there's Jesus' resurrection,
but even that
doesn't tell us a whole lot more.

But I want to say
that today's reading
fills in
just a little bit
of that picture;
and it does it in a way
that maybe, just maybe
begins to make a connection
between the kingdom of God in heaven
and the kingdom of God here on earth,
between eternal life after death
and eternal life which is now.

Jesus talks of himself
as the bread of life.
Eating this bread,
whatever that means,
eternal life.
Bread is on his hearers' minds.
The way John tells the story, Jesus speaks these words
the day after
he has fed the five thousand;
those same people are here to hear him again,
full of the bread
they ate by the lakeside.
This bread is as real and satisfying
as the crumbs that lie heavily
on their stomachs.
And this bread is as real and as satisfying
as the manna was in the desert,
which if you remember the story in Exodus
saved the Israelites from starvation
as they wandered in the wilderness.
Bread is a staple: time and time again in the Old Testament
God uses bread
to save the people.

This bread
is the bread
from heaven, bread which brings life
now
and forever.
And all they have to do
is eat it;
all they have to do
is believe.

Its both like
and unlike
our friends who ask
what we would say
at the gate
of heaven.

Heaven, yes,
whatever or wherever that might be,
but certainly eternal life,
but
you don't have
to get the right answer.
Getting eternal life
isn't about passing an exam,
or even proving your worthiness.
Its about being offered
a plate of bread,
taking a piece,
and eating it.
Even a child
knows how
to do that.

And God will turn no one away
who knows how
to eat.

Which means us -
and the whole world.
For this bread
Jesus gave
for the life of the world, the bread of his flesh.

Here and now, in this world
as in the next
God reaches out
with bread
to feed our souls
to bring us wholeness
to heal the world.

So that we in turn
nay reach out,
to bring to the world
that same feeding
and wholeness
and healing.

And so we, here each Sunday,
hang on for dear life
to these peculiar rituals
reaching out empty hands
for a piece of bread
and the very life
of God.

Take eat,
this is my body
broken for you.
Do this
in remembrance
of me.

Raewynne J. Whiteley
13 August 2000