Sunday, August 26, 2018

Sermon - 14th Sunday after Pentecost - Year B


John 6:60-69                                     

                                                                 Love that Crazy Guy

"I Love Jesus."  This was one of the thousands of t-shirts printed and worn at the ELCA Youth Gathering this summer.  I liked the design, and the affirmation, of the persons wearing it. 

I thought about those shirts, as I read the Gospel Lesson for today.  And I wonder whether, at this point in the gospel story, the first twelve disciples would have worn a t-shirt boldly proclaiming, “I love Jesus”!

You just heard these verses.  You can (and should) look at them again.  The text tells us that upon hearing what Jesus had to say, the disciples begin to complain and slowly to fall away.  Finally, Jesus looks at the twelve and asks them, "Do you also wish to go away?"

            "I Love Jesus."   Some may wear these words, emblazoned across their chest.  But the disciples understood that loving Jesus was no easy matter.  Many of them turned back and no longer went about with him. 

            I do love Jesus.  But I need to be honest with you.  So let me admit there are times when I would really like to find someone else whom I could place at the center of my world.

            One of my “go to books” is Harvey Cox’s Many Mansions.  The book is an encouragement for dialogue between Christians and individuals of other faith traditions.  The final chapter was given over to a discussion of Jesus, the historical Jesus, not the one that we have tamed and made accept­able.  The chapter in this book does a beautiful job describing how unpredictable and unreliable the historical Jesus really was.  No one could predict where he would go or what he would say next.  It was this loaded cannon, mounted on ball-bearings that scared the be-gee-bees out of everyone and lead to their calling for his death.

            "This teaching is difficult;  who can accept it?"

            The reference being made in this passage is to Jesus' words about himself as the bread of life.  We discussed this last week.  It was the appointed text.  Jesus has just told the disciples that he is the bread of life, the bread that has come down from heaven.  Thus the reference in our passage as to what would happen were they to see the Son of Man ascend to where he was before.  This whole chapter in John's gospel began with Jesus' feeding of the 5,000, a meal which began with five barley loaves and two fish.  Having witnessed this sign, the people chase Jesus, but he unsure whether they recognize who and what he is or if they are simply seeking more bread for their stom­achs.

            Finally, Jesus lays it out for them.  "I am the living bread that came down from heaven,” he says.  "Whoever eats of this bread will live forev­er;  and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."

            This teaching is difficult, who can accept it?  I can't believe Jesus is so dull as to not see the unacceptably of his position.  He has two things working against him at once.  First, there is this matter of eating this flesh.  The actual Greek word would be better translated as "chew" or "gnaw."  There is a mutilation involved here and Jesus is in the middle of it.  Forget all the cute pictures of Jesus cuddling the little chil­dren on his lap or gently holding a lamb in his arms.  This is a terrible thing.  It is not a pretty picture.

            Second, is the disappointment factor.  In the face of hostility; in the encounter with un-repentant forces; Jesus will not fight.  "The bread THAT I WILL GIVE ... is my flesh." he says.  Sure, it is our ideals and beliefs which we defend to the death.  And we honor those who do it with all of the strength and courage they can muster.  Jesus, on the other hand, simply folds his cards.  He yields his life - so that we might have this bread.

            "This teaching is difficult;  who can accept it?"  and they begin to turn back and no longer go about with him.

            Jesus does about the only thing you can do is such a situa­tion.  He sits back and takes stock.  His eye catches the twelve and he asks them, "Do you also wish to go away?"  "Here's your chance," he says.  "If you want to go, go."

            I was nineteen years old when I made a pact with God that I would go to seminary.  It was at a crisis point in my life, at a time when I was naive enough to believe that I could bargain with God.  At first I was comforted and somewhat relieved by the virtue of my little deal with the Almighty.  But as the crisis point passed and my naiveté began to wane, I started keeping one eye open for an escape that would allow me to get out of the bargain.  One was not immediately found, so my studies and work remained on a trajectory that pointed toward seminary and ordained ministry.  It is true, that after a while you grow accustomed to your trajectory and stop asking why it ever got started.

            That's where I was when an escape route fell into my lap.  It came as I was ending my year as national staff with Lutheran Student Movement.  It took the form of a job offer, to do campus ministry as a lay person and work part-time as the handy-man for a church camp.

            Be careful here, not to misunderstand.  The issue is not whether we serve God best through ordained ministry or ministry through daily life.  At issue, was the opportunity set before ME to make a break for it.  To get out while I could.

            "Do you ... wish to go away?"  Jesus asks his disciples.  They think about it.  They wonder what it would be like.  But in the end, they stay.  Simon Peter answers Jesus, "Lord, to whom can we go?  You have the words of eternal life."

            I sometimes think I should have made a break for it, while I had the chance.  I think how different my life would be now, if I had gone.  (I failed to mention earlier that the job was on the coast of southern Califor­nia; that the camp overlooked cliffs leading down to the Pacific Ocean.)  But no, I wouldn't change a thing.  I would do nothing to upset the delicate balance which holds in complete check all the forces that could so easily overpower me.  There is no way that I would ever change the center around which my beautiful universe spins. 

            Sometimes I may think I want to upset, or change, or turn back - but in the end I realize there is no one else to whom I can go.  This Christ, embodied in Jesus of Nazareth, speaks a word which I believe and know to be the words of eternal life. 

            As crazy as it may be, as unsettling as it may become, there is nowhere else.

            "Do you also wish to go away?"  Jesus asks all of his disciples.  "Lord, to whom can we go?" is our response.  "You have the words of eternal life.  We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God."

Amen.

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