A Hard Saying

 Jesu Juva

St. John 6:51-69                                            

 August 18, 2024

Proper 15B                              

Dear saints of our Savior~

        How can this man give us his flesh to eat?  The crowd in Capernaum couldn’t understand what Jesus was talking about.  And who can blame them!  Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.  Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.

        What’s going on here?  It’s like Jesus just turned off the teleprompter.  He’s veering into strange new territory.  He’s leaving behind the field-tested, focus group-approved image of the bread of life.  And now He’s speaking off the cuff, going off the rails, hopping into hyperbole about chowing down on His flesh and drinking His blood.

        Today we finally come to the end of the great Bread of Life discourse in John chapter six.  Up to this point in John six, it’s been all faith talk.  To eat the bread of life is to have faith in Jesus.  Faith is like eating.  Faith feasts upon all that Jesus has to give—His forgiveness, His righteousness, the wisdom He embodies.  Eat it up!  Dig into the Savior’s gifts like you’re devouring a loaf of sourdough.  Eating is a metaphor for faith; and bread is a metaphor for Jesus.  The crowds were able to swallow that no problem.

        But in today’s Holy Gospel—for the grand finale of this great discourse—Jesus leaves behind the metaphors and the similes and the images and the symbols.  And He turns the entire discourse on its head—steers the conversation into something much more concrete.  Something tangible.  Something real.  Something true.  Something . . . in your mouth that’s chewable and drinkable.  And that’s where the trouble started.

        How can this man give us his flesh to eat?  It’s a reasonable question.  Feeding on His flesh and drinking His blood sounds very strange—cannibalistic, barbaric.  Jesus provides no off-ramps to soften up what He’s saying.  The verb He uses for “feeding” means to chew—to rend with the teeth.  Jesus calls His flesh “true food” and His blood He calls “true drink.”  Real food and real drink to be received in real mouths by real people.

        That’s us—real people.  Human creatures.  We can’t survive on symbols alone.  A menu with only metaphors just isn’t enough.  We need real food and real drink.  Metaphorical food still leaves you hungry.  It’s not enough.  Here, in my hand, I have a plate of symbolic bacon.  Can you smell my symbolic bacon?  No.  Can you taste it?  No.  Can your body draw nourishment from it?  No.  Same thing with my glass of symbolic Chardonnay.  You can sniff the glass and swirl the glass all you want, but a symbolic drink will quench no thirst.  As flesh and blood creatures, we ultimately need more than symbols and metaphors.  We need real food and real drink. 

        Because we are flesh and blood creatures, we require a flesh and blood Savior—a Savior who is bone of our bones and flesh of our flesh.  This discourse takes us back to Bethlehem where Jesus was born.  Bethlehem means “house of bread.”  There the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.  Jesus gives His flesh for the life of the world—flesh that was laid in the manger, flesh that was circumcised on the 8^th day, flesh that kept the whole law, flesh that was nailed to the cross and laid in a tomb and raised from the dead and glorified at the Father’s right hand.

        This same flesh Jesus gives for you as real food.  His blood He pours out for you as real drink.  With His flesh and blood He bore all our sins on the cross.  And now He gives to you that same flesh and blood to eat and drink for the forgiveness of sins—so that you might (quite literally) taste and see that the Lord is good—that you are loved.

        The Capernaum crowd grumbled over these words of Jesus.  They disputed Jesus’ words.  They took offense at Jesus’ words.  They objected strenuously.  This is a hard saying, they declared, who can listen to it?  They were scandalized by what they heard from Jesus about eating His flesh and drinking His blood.

        A hard saying indeed—especially for us who have been told to “trust the science.”  We’ve been taught by the world that our own reason and senses are the only reliable guides for life.  Our reason and senses tell us that plain, old bread and wine is the only thing that ever gets served up from this altar.  A sacred symbol, but only that—a symbol, a metaphorical meal.  But symbolic food never satisfies.  Bacon, anyone?

        The world, of course, doesn’t believe any of this, or understand how the body and blood of Jesus is real food and real drink.  The world can’t understand this because these are spiritual things spoken to those who have the Holy Spirit.  Jesus says that His Words are Spirit and life.  That bread can be the body of Christ—that wine can be His blood—that’s really a small thing for Jesus.  He conquered death and sin.  He rose from the dead to rule and reign from God’s right hand.  How simple it is for Him to give you His body and blood in a form you can rejoice and delight in.  Simple bread and wine.  His flesh given for the life of the world.  His blood poured out for you.

        There's a tinge of sadness in today's text.  People stopped following Jesus that day.  They turned back and no longer walked with Him.  The sacraments are always a stumbling block to human reason.  How can this man give us his flesh to eat?  How can bread be body, wine be blood, water be baptism?  How can a sinner forgive sins?  How can a preacher’s mouth speak God’s Word?  It’s scandalous! 

        But Jesus wants to be more than a spiritual Savior, ensconced far away in distant glory.  He wants an intimate communion with each one of us that says, “I died to save you—you!  This is my body given for you.  This is my blood shed for you.  Take and eat.  Take and drink.  Taste and see.  Jesus is a sacramental Savior.

        It was precisely at this turning point in His earthly ministry—just as people were walking away in droves—that Jesus turned to the Twelve (who were pastors in training).  What about you?  Do you want to go away as well?  Peter answers on behalf of all:  Lord, to whom shall we go?  You have the words of eternal life.  Even when your words sound crazy, you have the words of eternal life.  Even when your words confound our reason and senses, you have the words of eternal life.  Jesus alone has the words of eternal life.  Lots of people have impressive words—memorable words that resonate with the human condition:  poets, philosophers, founding fathers, great orators and spell-binding story-tellers.  But only One—only Jesus—has the words of eternal life.  Let’s listen to those words!

        The Lord’s Supper teaches us to trust those words of Jesus.  In this sacrament, He completely hides everything—disguises everything, and then invites us to trust Him—to take Him at His Word:  This is my body.  This is my blood.  He Himself doesn’t explain it.  He simply invites us to believe.  In the Lord’s Supper He invites us to trust Him even when we don’t understand.  He has the words of eternal life.  Learning to trust Jesus and take Him at His word is preparation for that moment when each one of us is forced to stare into death’s dark grave.  When that happens you will know exactly what to do.  In faith you will cling to nothing but His words, which are spirit and life.  He has the words of eternal life.  He is the Holy One of God.  And He will raise you up on the last day.

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