Pentecost 14 Year B

Joshua 24.1-2a, 14-18; Psalm 34.15-22; Ephesians 6.10-20; John 6.56-69

‘Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.’ So began our Gospel reading this morning, the final section of John chapter 6 that we have been reading over the last few Sundays, with a brief interruption last week to celebrate the Feast of Mary. John 6 begins with the feeding of the 5,000 and then continues as a meditation on the metaphor of Jesus as living bread. It is a meditation that includes the admission that such an idea is not straightforward – as the disciples remark, ‘This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?’ – and yet, as we heard this morning, the chapter concludes with Peter’s profession of faith: ‘Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.’

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, John’s later account of the Last Supper itself does not include Jesus’ sharing of bread and wine. It is this chapter 6 that explores his understanding of the eucharist, the sharing of Jesus in and as bread; that central Christian practice that we participate in week by week. And so today, as we conclude John 6, it seems appropriate to explore together what we think we do week by week, as we share bread and wine; as this crowd, of perhaps not 5,000, is nevertheless fed; is invited to receive the bread of life that is Christ. That exploration, like John 6, needs to encompass our questions, our wrestling with what might seem difficult, but so bring us, with Peter and all the disciples, to the place of faith; where we too come to the One who has the words of eternal life, and in whom we have come to believe.

So what do we think we are doing, as we participate in communion? The dominant understanding is often rooted in the practice of remembering. We join with countless generations of Christians in looking back to that last supper of Jesus; re-enacting what he did, and asked his disciples to do, in remembrance of him. As we will go on to say together as we gather around the altar:
We now obey your Son’s command.
We recall his blessed passion and death,
his glorious resurrection and ascension…

Notice, however, that our remembering is not just the Last Supper, however central that clearly is; our remembering is of Jesus’ whole life, death and resurrection. It’s a remembering of Jesus’ whole ministry, so often conducted around tables, sharing meals; it’s a remembering of the feeding of 5,000 when the disciples worried about what to provide; it’s a remembering of Jesus’ offering of himself in bread, but in death also, for the life of the world.

And we then go on immediately to say:
and we look for the coming of his Kingdom.

The remembering at the heart of communion feeds, is united with, an anticipation of what is to come, what this communion enables and is a foretaste of. That anticipation is of the kingdom. Or in John’s language, it anticipates that Jesus is the bread of eternal life. The abundance of eternal life received in the present. That abundance of eternal life, seen in the feeding of 5,000, is now seen in the present forgiven and forgiving community where all are welcome.

And so in our communion we look back in remembrance, but we also look forward in hope – remembering the kingdom that Jesus enacted, we anticipate its promise. The kingdom that is amongst us as we gather round this altar. The living bread we receive together, that we eat, that we carry out in to our lives, sharpens our sense that the kingdom is not yet. If we declare and practice an open table with food for all, why do we live in a world where some are starving? If we welcome all, how should we live in a world where divisions are jealously maintained?

In this present moment, as we remember the past and long for God’s future, we do so in the presence of Christ. That is the central assertion about communion, across denominations. The understanding of how that is the case may differ, but most Christians want to find a way of saying that in the bread and wine, Christ is present; Christ’s body and blood given, and shared. For John, Jesus is the bread of eternal life. We can be so familiar with the metaphor that we lose the radical sense that it imparts. This is what the metaphor of eating and drinking is about: the giving of himself in bread and wine; the taking of Christ into ourselves – there can be no more intimate exchange. We become the Body of Christ by being united with the body of Christ, for we are what we eat. Union with Christ through that mutual indwelling – Christ abiding in us as we abide in Christ – that mutual indwelling is, for John, eternal life, given in the present. Bread and wine make Christ present, as we remember the Last Supper, and anticipate a kingdom seen in a feast for all. The presence of Christ in the bread and wine is not about magic, but neither is it just about symbolism. As another part of our Eucharistic prayer puts it, it is about transformation; transformation in us, and in the bread and wine:
Send your Holy Spirit upon us
and upon this bread and this wine,
that, overshadowed by your Spirit’s life-giving power,
they may be the Body and Blood of your Son,
and we may be kindled with the fire of your love
and renewed for the service of your Kingdom.
Christ is present, in the power of the Spirit, because of the significance Jesus, and then Christians down through the ages, including us, the significance we attach to these actions and words. Because of that significance, the bread and wine are not just symbols but an effectual sign: a sign that does work, that makes a difference, that effects transformation. That transformation is the work of conversion – the conversion of you and I; it is the work of creating community through communion; it is the work of educating our desire, what we long for, and live out. That is why we do it week by week, day by day; because the Eucharist, the bread and wine, Christ’s presence, is that which forms us, shapes us as Christ’s disciples. This is the bread of life from which all that matters flows.

We gather to share bread and wine as Christ’s body and blood, so that we might be Christ’s body and blood. The bread and wine can never be divorced from those who gather to share them. Or as St Augustine put it: ‘You are to be taken, blessed, broken, distributed, that the work of the incarnation may go forward.’ Amen.