Preached at St Mary’s, Potterne
Ephesians 5. 15-20; John 6. 51-58
“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life…”
Funerals, and ministry with the bereaved and dying, are a big part of my job. Some people seem to think they need to sympathise with me for this. If people ask me what I’ve been doing in work, and I say I’ve taken a funeral, or spent time with someone who is terminally ill, they’ll often say, “I am sorry…”, or “How sad for you.”
The Feeding of the 5000, from the Breviary known as the Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry, executed ca. 1411-16.
This is less the case among churchgoers, I’ll grant you. It more often happens in the pub, or when I’m sitting outside Caffé Nero in Devizes smoking my pipe. Among those who actually practice the Christian faith, people are more likely to accept that death, while a cause of great pain to at least some of those left behind, is also the gateway to something else.
One of the great privileges of priesthood is to minister to someone who is going to their death in absolute confidence in the promises of Christ. There are times in every clergyperson’s life when they know they are being ministered to and fed by their flock, and not the other way around—and a situation like this is one of them. In a strange way these are times when one learns that a belief in eternal life is worth it for what it brings to this life alone; that even if it weren’t true then it would still be one of the most valuable gifts one could have. But this sense of rightness and peace with ourselves and with the cosmos that faith in eternal life brings is itself a sign that it is true—that this is the reality that God made us for.
Now, obviously some people think this eternal life business is rank nonsense: pie in the sky when you die and all that. But it was ever thus. That’s a big part of what’s going on in this morning’s Gospel reading. I preached about this a fortnight ago in this church, because we’re having readings from the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel five weeks in a row. We could briefly summarise the story of John 6 like this: the people think Jesus is great when he’s performing miracles, but once he starts telling them that He’s bread come down from heaven that gives eternal life, they start muttering about how weird it all is and eventually turn on Him. And it isn’t just members of the general public who turn on Jesus in the end, but even some of His closest followers.
We’re about halfway through that story this morning; the muttering is starting to become more intense and Jesus’ teaching is getting very strange indeed – “those who eat my flesh and drink my bloo0d have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day”, he says. Don’t let familiarity, the fact that we so often in church hear this phrase and others like it, blind you to just how weird it is.
Christianity is a very strange religion. That’s what’s so wonderful about it. It entirely undercuts all sorts of ‘common sense’ ideas and as a result speaks to the human condition at a much deeper level than secular ideologies ever can.
At the heart of Christianity is the idea that when we share the bread and wine at the Eucharist we actually and really eat Christ’s body and drink His blood. The exact manner in which we eat and drink it has often, rather shamefully, been a matter of dispute between Christians, but all agree that this is a spiritual reality: that in Holy Communion our souls are nourished by Christ’s very flesh and blood. Is this weird, and a little bit creepy? Some doubtless find it so; but our lives are very much matters of flesh and blood, and if God became human in Christ, then He became flesh and blood. If we accept that we are made in the image and likeness of God, then in Christ and His physicality our human nature must somehow be united with God’s. We shouldn’t hide from how strange all this is, especially not at a time when people are losing faith in the ideas about the world which are supposed to be rational and sensible.
If you’re wondering why we’re spending so many weeks going through a single, admittedly very long, chapter of John’s Gospel, this is the reason. Unlike Matthew, Mark, and Luke, John doesn’t have a Last Supper in his story of Jesus’ last night with His followers on earth.
So this section of John’s Gospel is where he tells us what he understands about Holy Communion. This happens quite early in the story, long before the incidents of Holy Week where we might expect it to happen. And John gives us his teaching about Holy Communion in a context where, very definitely and explicitly, people find it hard to accept.
For John, Jesus is the Passover Lamb slain for the whole of humanity at the Crucifixion. This idea is set up right at the start of the Gospel. In the first ‘action’ scene after the prologue, John the Baptist sees Jesus and says, “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world”. So for John, by dying for humanity Jesus delivers us all from the bondage of sin and the bondage of death. And when we share in Holy Communion we are literally sharing in this Passover meal, feasting on the Lamb who takes away our sins—“whoever eats me will live because of me”.
We can want to shy away from these strange and slightly creepy promises of Christ, particularly at a time when people pride themselves on being supposedly rational and logical. It can be tempting to reduce Jesus Christ’s teachings to some wise advice on how to live well and build a kind society.
There are two thing to remember about – the first is that, at the danger of repeating myself, people have always found this stuff difficult, even when they heard it from Jesus Christ directly.
The second is that a big part of what Jesus taught, especially what He taught in how He lived and died in Holy Week, is that there will never be a truly kind society where everyone always does what is right. This is not, in any way, an argument against doing good: indeed, it we believe that we are made for eternal life then we should be much freer to live for others in this life. It is a call to be aware of our limits and the limits of human nature.
Without eternal life, Christianity is just another form of self-help therapy, or just another political ideology that might make sense for a while but will inevitably fail when the circumstances change. And the means of grasping eternal life is eating Christ’s body and drinking His blood in Holy Communion. If you have a problem with that difficult teaching, you’ll need to take it up with the boss, because they’re His words directly – I’m just the local branch manager.
Not everyone is given the faith to approach their death in calmness. But hold onto the faith you have been given by your fingertips and you will find that God’s arms are already outstretched to gather you into His bosom, both in the struggles of your life in this world, and as you approach the world to come. Trust Jesus Christ’s promise—that “those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day”, and in Him you will live forever.
Now glory and honour be to the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the Father who made us, the Son who redeemed us, the Spirit who sustains us, this day and forevermore. Amen.
Top image: Photo by Mart Production, sourced form Pexels, and used under CC.0.
