John 6:51-58; Ephesians 5:15-20
Presented August 16, 2009, by J.D. Kline
The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost
There’s a significant level of satisfaction we experience—isn’t there?—when we achieve a major accomplishment in our lives. Being chosen for a new job, particularly in the competitive climate of our day; the completion of a degree program at a school or university; the notoriety that comes when our work is well-respected and appreciated—these are some of the accomplishments in which we can take pride. At one time or another, each of us gathered here this morning, no doubt, has had some moment of glory—a time of personal satisfaction that comes from basking in the limelight, enjoying the acclaim that accompanies well-deserved recognition and appreciation.
But, truth be told, that kind of satisfaction seldom lasts. Indeed, in our competitive world, there is little time to rest on past laurels. Instead, we frequently find ourselves driven to achieve more and more. Sadly, this drive to succeed frequently forces life out of balance, particularly when our primary focus in life comes to center upon the attainment of greater riches and increased notoriety, no matter what the cost to ourselves or to others. Along the way, we likely discover, not greater satisfaction, but remarkably increased levels of dissatisfaction in our living. In a culture such as ours, seemingly obsessed with personal status and material wealth, our values can easily run askew, often before we fully realize what is happening.
This reality may be heightened in our day and in our success-worshiping culture, but inner dissatisfaction is really nothing new. Jesus spoke to the gnawing dissatisfactions of every age, found deep within the human soul—the yearning for deep and abiding relationship with our Creator God, the longing to discover life with meaning and purpose, the aching for deeper intimacy with those we love, the thirsting for a more profound experience of community. In today’s Scripture lesson Jesus is inviting his hearers to pay attention to their deepest longings—longings he offers to satisfy, as he embodies the remarkable grace of our God. But John the Gospel writer has Jesus speaking in language we find baffling; even more, the people of Jesus’ own day would have found his words to be disturbing, and even revolting. After asserting that he is the living bread of life, Jesus claims, “Unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood, you have no life in me” (6:53, paraphrased).
To our ears, the words sound strangely cannibalistic, a hearing only confirmed when discovering that the Greek word used in this passage for “eating” is equivalent to our word for “chewing” or “gnawing.” To ancient Jews, the words would have been especially troubling, given the belief that any contact with blood was abhorrent. It is this conviction that no blood may remain in a butchered animal that stands behind the complex system of creating kosher foods, ensuring that the faithful neither eat nor drink any blood.
So what does Jesus have in mind, when inviting those who would find a satisfying life to eat his flesh and drink his blood? Bracket that question for a few moments, and consider a story from the tradition about King David, that most beloved ruler of ancient Israel. The story occurs in the days when the Israelites were fighting the neighboring Philistines. Indeed, the Philistines had occupied David’s native town of Bethlehem. Wearied by the rigors and carnage of war, David yearns for a taste of his old life, and on a day when he and his men are little able to move, David cries out longingly, “O that someone would give me water to drink that is from the well of Bethlehem by the gate!” (2 Samuel 23:15). Taking David’s yearning to heart, three leading soldiers at considerable risk to their lives cross through enemy territory, bringing back water from the Bethlehem well. When David realizes what his loyal soldiers have risked for him, he chooses not to drink the water, but instead pours it out on the ground as an offering to God, proclaiming, “The Lord forbid that I [drink] this. Can I drink the blood of the men who went at the risk of their lives?” (2 Samuel 23:17). David knows that the water is not actually blood, but he recognizes the risky action of the loyal soldiers, and the pouring of the water on the ground becomes an act of solidarity with his followers. David honors their risk.
In his commentary John for Everyone biblical scholar Tom Wright suggests that this story about David has implications for the story of Jesus and the disciples. David refuses to profit from his loyal soldiers’ risky actions; Jesus goes one better. In effect Jesus is saying, “I will put my own life at risk for your sake.” Indeed, Jesus will actually lose his life, and Jesus’ friends will benefit from that death. They will, in that sense, “drink his blood.”
It’s intriguing that John uses language so reminiscent of the Eucharist, yet is the only Gospel writer that does not tell the story of Jesus, on the eve of his death, offering to the disciples a common loaf of bread and a common cup of wine as an act of communion. John does not include the familiar words of invitation for the bread, “Take; this is my body,” nor for the wine, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many” (Mark 14:22, 24). Rather, John tells the story of Jesus washing the feet of the disciples—a powerful reminder that Jesus has come, embodying a new understanding of successful living, a new definition of what it means to live faithfully and abundantly in the world around us. Faithful living is not to be found in the grasping and the hoarding for ourselves; rather, the life of faith is a life of servanthood, a life of self-giving love, a life in which, again and again, we find ourselves “washing the feet” of our neighbors—going the extra mile in relationships, seeking the things that make for peace and reconciliation, doing justice, extending forgiveness, embracing new levels of community, walking in the footsteps of Jesus.
The writer of the letter to the Ephesians puts it this way: “Be careful then how you live, not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time” (5:15-16). It is a matter of learning to see every day, every hour, every minute, as providing opportunity for us to live fully for the glory of God and the good of our neighbors. Benedictine sister Joan Chittister reminds us that longing is a part of life, built deep into the human spirit. The only question, says Chittister, is what do you long for? Chittister is urging us to pay attention to our deepest longings in life, the most profound yearnings for healing and wholeness, that enable us to make the most of our time. “Be grateful for your longings,” continues Chittister. “They are what take you the next step in life and there are many to be walked before we’re whole, before we’re finally home. Someplace along the way in life we all need to learn to long for God, for what really counts.”
In Church of the Brethren tradition, we have long used the anointing service as a time for healing. We have taken seriously words from the letter to James, chapter five, in which the writer questions: Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise. Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective (5:13-16).
Healing and wholeness, as you know, can take many forms. At times, there are dramatic healings. But far more often, we experience the healing that comes with embracing the life of faith, trusting that God is at work within us and among us, even when all appearances are to the contrary, even at those times when life seems more than we can bear. Retreat leader Brennan Manning speaks of this as “ruthless trust,” and in his book of that name he suggests that “the reality of naked trust is the life of a pilgrim who leaves what is nailed down, obvious, and secure, and walks into the unknown without any rational explanation to justify the decision or guarantee the future. Why? Because God has signaled the movement and offered it [God’s] presence and promise.”
Survivors of cancer discover that their experiences along the way have so impacted their living that they must find “a new normal” for their lives. Those of us who have experienced grief and loss know what it is to work at redefining our lives, developing new patterns, new relationships, new possibilities, new hope for the future. Along the way, we find ourselves transformed by a new sense of joy and gratitude—gratitude for life itself, gratitude for the incredible grace of our God, gratitude for the gift of relationships, gratitude for the wonders of creation, gratitude for unexpected experiences of peace and hope along the way. To embrace a life of gratitude, says Manning, is to “whisper a doxology in the darkness.” As the writer of the letter to the Ephesians puts it, it’s a matter of opening ourselves to the Spirit of God, learning, in the midst of life’s challenges and blessings, to “sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs . . . making melody to God in your hearts, giving thanks to God . . .” (5:19-20).
One who was active in the struggle against racial apartheid in South Africa, busy among the churches in the work of marching against and defying injustice, praying for the unfolding of a new age of compassion and justice and right living, is quoted as saying, “One of our most potent weapons is joy. The oppressors can’t stand for the oppressed to be joyful. By refusing to be miserable, we were refusing to let our oppressors define us. We took charge of things. We turned things around and demanded to be the final word on the situation. Joy is a powerful protest against the forces of death and injustice.”
This morning, as we offer opportunity for anointing—a time to respond to your deepest longings in life, a time to encounter afresh the living bread of life—it is my prayer that you will be transformed by a new sense of gratitude and joy. Whether you are facing an uncertain future, seeking guidance and a deeper sense of peace in the midst of life’s turmoil; whether you face loss, and are unclear about the next steps you ought to be taking; whether you struggle with anxiety, or grapple with disappointment, or yearn to walk more deeply with God and more lovingly in relationship with other persons—whatever your need, you are invited to come, and we will pray, as you are anointed, that you experience three things:
- wisdom to pay attention to your deepest longings
- peace in the midst of life’s uncertainties
- and a new sense of gratitude and joy, as you go forth in faith.
May it be so. Amen.