Sermon by Pastor Mike Buttonnn

O, the Depth, the Riches
John 6: 51-59

NRS John 6
⁵¹I am 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."
⁵²The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?"⁵³So Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.⁵⁴Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day;⁵⁵for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.⁵⁶Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.⁵⁷Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me.⁵⁸ This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever."

 

Dear Friends in Christ, may the blessing of the Lord rest and remain upon you always, for the sake of Jesus. Amen.

My first day in college I took a seat in Lockett Hall and was handed a sheet with an outline of that day’s lecture entitled, “Archaic Myth as Ontophany.” I hadn’t the vaguest idea of what an ontophany might be, and while I thought I knew the meaning of the words “archaic” and “myth,” I quickly learned that I (really) didn’t. The lecturer was a young, nattily dressed philosopher named Edward H. Henderson, and though a lot of what he said that day flew several feet over my head, he spoke with such passion and erudition he made me want to learn more. For me at least, that is the greatest accolade you can give any teacher. You go in knowing nothing, or next to nothing, or worse yet, thinking you know something but not really, and you come out wanting to know more and more and more. That’s what I think education ought to be about, but nobody’s asking me, and besides, I don’t think you can measure that on a standardized test.

What I do know is that I was honored (actually, blessed!) to have Dr. Henderson as a mentor and friend over my four years of college, and I was doubly honored to be able to attend a special reception for him on his retirement from LSU this last spring. Between the wine and cheese and well-wishing, his colleagues spoke fondly of him and of his significant contributions to both the Honors Division and the Department of Philosophy and Religion at LSU. In his own comments, though, Dr. Henderson remarked how he originally embraced philosophy as part of his own quest to make sense out of life, find meaning, and discover truth, but he concluded by saying, “In the end, you know, there’s no figuring it all out.”

That’s a very humble, but also a very hopeful thing to say, because I happen to believe that the greatest calamities ever to befall humanity have more often than not transpired at the hands of people who thought they had it all figured out. They knew the truth. They knew the goal and destiny of history. They knew the origin and purpose of life. But the only thing all that certainty ever created were great mass graves piled high with the corpses of people who just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, or didn’t get with the program. We’re all familiar with the devastations wrought by modern totalitarian ideologies, from Stalin’s purges to Mao’s Cultural Revolution to Pol Pot’s killing fields. But sad to say, that same deadly certitude has also afflicted the Christian faith at various times down through the ages. The Crusades, holy wars, and pogroms that have too often shamed us typically emerged from a similar mindset that silenced doubt and forbade questions, that crushed dissent and exiled the prophet. Even today, from the mouths of white supremacists, Christian nationalists, and all kinds of diverse cultural warriors we often hear a twisted, contorted Christianity that is more about controlling and conforming than forgiving and freeing. Many people today read the Bible as a book of answers for every possible question or situation that may arise, so that you no longer have to think or struggle or find your way. That’s not to say that the Bible doesn’t communicate deep, holy wisdom; take a look at today’s First and Second Lessons (Proverbs 9: 1-6; Ephesians 5: 15-20). Jesus himself claimed, “I am the way.” But that wisdom, that way is more like a floor than a ceiling. Rather than stifle, it supports us as we live toward the God who, finally, surpasses all human understanding.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus pushes us to, and some would say, over the brink of human understanding. Jesus begins with a statement that is both patently absurd and profoundly true: “I am 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." Now everybody stop here and take a moment to scratch your head. Good, because that’s exactly the effect that Jesus’ words have on me every time I read this verse. I mean, how does bread come down from heaven? Is he talking about the manna that fed Israel in the wilderness? But what kind of bread, even living bread from heaven, once eaten grants the eater eternal life? The people who ate manna in the desert are all dead, so how is Jesus going to do better than that? And is Jesus really saying what it sounds like he’s saying about giving his flesh for the life of the world? As in, you know, cannibalism?

It sounds crazy, and if Jesus were a conventional wisdom teacher, you’d expect him to start unpacking this very dense verbiage. You know, breaking it down for us beginner students to make it through our freshman year. But Jesus is not a conventional wisdom teacher and consequently he does the exact opposite of simplifying and explaining. Jesus doesn’t say, “Oh, I’m just speaking metaphorically,” nor does he say, “I’m taking poetic license to make a point of sacramental theology.” If anything, Jesus doubles down and restates himself in language that would scratch a hole in even the hardest head.

He says: "Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.⁵⁴Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day;⁵⁵for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.⁵⁶Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.⁵⁷Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me.” That makes “Archaic Myth as Ontophany” sound like a nursery rhyme, because Jesus is here confronting us with the grace of God that is never going to fit in any mental frame we make for it.

The fact is, Jesus comes to us from a place that we’re never going to figure out completely, and he gives himself to us in a way that seems shocking, an affront to everything we consider sane, normal, or common-sensical – his flesh to eat, his blood to drink. But as he makes to us this shocking gift of himself, we are assured that the great unknowable God in, with, and through whom we have our being is not our enemy, is not our adversary, is not the invisible Other out to get us. But rather in Christ, we know, in a way that’s neither exactly linear nor entirely logical, that God, the “maker of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen” is madly in love with us, that there’s not a sin that God won’t bend over backward to forgive or a wrong that God won’t rip out the divine heart to right. The object is not to “get” God, but rather to live in the utter assurance that God has “gotten” us, that we are brought into the life of God by the Body and Blood of Christ.

Every time we come to the altar of the Lord we’re confronted with a mystery, one might even say the ultimate mystery. The pastor or communion assistant hands you a piece of bread and says, “The Body of Christ, given for you.” Then you’re presented with a cup of wine, with the words, “The Blood of Christ, shed for you.” That doesn’t make sense. How can bread be body or wine blood? Even the great philosopher theologian Thomas Aquinas couldn’t figure that one out. It just is.

In the Name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen