Sermon for August 23, 2015
Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost
(Proper 16)
The Rev. Vicki K. Hesse
St. Philip’s In The Hills,
Tucson, AZ
Listen to this sermon here.
Lord, open our lips, that our mouth
shall proclaim your praise. Amen
Pause
I
didn’t know I was hungry.
Years
before I joined any church,
my
friend invited me to the mid-week service
at
Grace Cathedral in SF. Church was his thing-
he
was scheduled to serve as Deacon.
I
didn’t really want to go with him,
but
he promised lunch in the city afterward.
I
didn’t know I was hungry.
Awkwardly,
I walked into the big Cathedral.
Looked
like a big museum to me.
We
went into a side chapel. Just three of
us:
the
priest, my friend the Deacon, and me.
They
shared the readings,
talked
a bit about the Gospel
and
20 minutes later, we shared communion.
I
didn’t know I was hungry.
But,
as the bread was placed in my hands,
my
heart swelled up.
Rivers
of tears flowed down my face,
through
the lines in my mouth,
making
Jesus taste salty.
The
wine touched my lips and in that little sip,
in
that moment, I realized how hungry was.
In
that moment, Jesus filled me up.
I
don’t remember our lunch in the city.
Pause
The
GJohn does not recount the Last Supper,
but
it bursts at the seams
with
Eucharistic images.
Jesus
continually speaks of himself as
“the
bread of life”
And
he invites his followers
to
“partake of this bread.”
Then
he gets pretty gruesome, urging them to
“eat
his flesh and drink his blood.”
You
don’t have to be a good Jew
to
want to avert your eyes from such an image and
to
cover your ears at such language.
It
offended many of his disciples;
they
didn’t know they were hungry.
Author
BBT said while Jesus had at his disposal
“…
the conceptual truths of the universe,”
he
did not give them something “to think about”
when
he was gone,
he
gave them concrete things to do –
specific
ways of being together in their bodies.
He
said, “do this in remembrance of me”
not
“think about this.”[1]
Jesus
taught an in-your-face confrontation
with
the incarnation.[2]
He
spoke not of a disembodied spirit
but
the opportunity
to
encounter his flesh and blood.
In
Hebrew, the expression “flesh and blood”
meant
something like our,
“body,
mind and spirit.”
So,
for the many disciples,
to
receive Jesus meant
receiving
his whole “flesh and blood”.
And
this got their attention.
Many
of them turned back.
Many
of them complained.
Many
of them were offended.
They
didn’t know they were hungry.
And
so it is with us. This teaching is difficult.
The
startling imagery of
eating
flesh and drinking blood
cuts
through our liturgical refinements.
One
of my colleagues tells a story of
saying
the familiar words during communion,
“This
is my body, broken for you.
This
is my blood, shed for you,”
when
a small girl suddenly said in a loud voice,
“Ew,
yuk!”
To
which the congregation
stared
in a horrified way,
as
if someone had splattered blood
all
over the altar,
which
was, in effect
something
like what the little girl had done
with
her exclamation.[3]
pause
Sometimes,
I
think we ought to wrap the altar
with
“caution” tape before Holy Communion.
Because
“when
we receive Jesus, when we partake,
his
life clings to our bones and
courses
through our veins.
He
can no more be taken from our life
than
last Tuesday’s breakfast
can
be plucked from our body.
And
this is the ultimate communion –
the
coming together,
the
union of the Savior and the saved.”[4]
And
that changes everything, does it not?
But
sometimes
we
don’t know how hungry we are.
Aside
from the gruesomeness of
eating
flesh and blood,
the
implications are difficult.
For
as we receive Jesus,
we
cannot separate his life in us
from
our life in him.
We
receive this precious sacrament
and
take him into ourselves.
It
means we love one another as Jesus loves us.
It
means we are called to deny ourselves
and
take up the cross.
It
means we give up our possessions
and
our obsessions.
When
we receive Jesus, we become a disciple –
and
that changes everything.
It
means we reach out and help each other.
It
means we trust one another.
It
means we seek reconciliation.
It
means we feed the hungry, clothe the naked,
heal
the sick, give water to the thirsty,
visit
the prisoners.
The
implications are difficult.
We
are offended.
Sometimes
we don’t know how hungry we are.
Pause
Over
and over in the Gospel of John,
Jesus
offered images of himself
as
the bread of life,
meant
to strengthen and
encourage
the community.
Seeing
how many disciples turned back,
Jesus
asked the twelve apostles,
“do
you, too, wish to go away?”
And
Peter takes the cue,
transformed
in that moment by the offer so dear.
“Lord,
to whom can we go?
You
have the words of eternal life.”
In
other words, Peter said,
You
are the only one
who
can satisfy our deep hunger.
You
are the living God.
You
are the one who holds us together.
You
are the source of Love and Life.
Peter
confessed how hungry they were
and
Jesus filled them up.
And
not only those disciples,
but
generations of Christians.
For,
“The
first thing the world knew about Christians
was
that they ate together.”
At
the beginning of every week,
Christians
everywhere
celebrated
the day the whole world changed and
toasted
the resurrection.
They
shared a meal and offered
prayers
of thanksgiving,
or
eucharisteo, for the bread and wine.”[5]
St.
Paul wrote to the Corinthians,
“when
you gather to eat,
you
should all eat together.”[6]
As
they gathered,
they
remembered Jesus’ presence among them.
Some
early communities began
to
send a piece of the bread from their communion service
to
other gatherings of Christians
to
be added to their meal.
They
knew how hungry they were and
offered
that bread
to
fill and strengthen the bond of unity
between
all Christians,
like
our Lay Eucharistic Ministers
do
on 2nd and 4th Sundays.[7]
These
early Christians
knew
how hungry they were,
They
knew that Jesus filled them up.
Does
this offend you?
Do
you, too, wish to go away?
Are
you hungry?
The
good news is that even today,
Jesus
strengthens and encourages our community.
Jesus
is the only one who can
satisfy
our deep hunger.
Jesus
offers us his body and his blood
every
week, every day, every moment.
When
we receive Jesus
into
our mind body and soul,
into
our pain, struggle, and loss,
into
our joy, enthusiasm, and hope,
when
we receive Jesus,
we are The Saved
in union with The Savior.
When
we receive Jesus,
we
know him in our body and our blood.
Jesus
fills us with unmerited grace.
And
so we come to receive him.
We
come:
vulnerable,
kneeling,
hands
cupped and surrendering,
in
a public confession of hunger.
“The
Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven”
and
Jesus descends into our hands.
“The
Blood of Christ, the Cup of Salvation”
and
Jesus slips into our lips.[8]
In
response, we proclaim
that
great mystery of faith –
Christ
has died, Christ has risen,
Christ
will come again.
Come,
bring your deepest hunger,
and
Jesus will fill you up to overflowing.
Amen
[1] Barbara Brown Taylor, An Altar In The World: A Geography of Faith,
(New York, HarperCollins, 2009), 44
[2] Inspired by Martin
Copenhaver’s sermon “Eating Jesus” cited at http://day1.org/4043-eating_jesus
[3] Ibid. Copenhaver
[4] Ibid. Copenhaver
[5] Rachel Held Evans, Searching for Sunday: Loving, Leaving and
Finding the Church, (Santa Rosa, Thomas Nelson Books, 2015), 125
[6] 1 Corinthians 11:33
[7] Ibid., Evans, 127
[8] Ibid., Evans 142-143
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