By Kristin Berkey-Abbott
John 6:35, 41-51
It’s that time that happens every four years: the Summer Olympics! And this year, something even rarer happens: the Olympics happens while our Revised Common Lectionary has us meandering through a month of bread.
I’ve been thinking about bread and about track and field, even though I haven’t really been keeping up with this batch of Olympians. I’ve been remembering the running that I did in my youth, and wow--it’s been since I ran a long race, something that I did regularly when I was young.
I’ve been thinking about this sermon, and about the sermons for coming weeks, as I’ve been watching this group of Olympians shatter records. I’ve been wondering about their training regimens and their approaches to nutrition. I’ve been remembering my own training regimens, from long ago, the days of carbo loading that led up to a road race. It’s an idea that’s fallen out of favor, this thought that runners could load our bodies with carbs which would then fuel the runners to get to the finish line faster. Those were the days when the goal was the breaking of one’s own personal best in terms of time.
In many training circles, carbs have fallen out of favor, which makes me wonder how these bread passages are received in these days when so many people are avoiding carbs, avoiding gluten, a new eating disorder that I only heard of just this week, orthorexia, a disease where one gets so obsessed with healthy eating that they become isolated and even malnourished when they can’t find acceptable versions of the nutrients they need. In the U.S., we are still in a time of fairly easy food availability for most of us, even if costs are variable. We forget about food scarcity in the time of Jesus.
It's not that long ago that getting enough calories required substantially more effort. Think about a few generations ago in this very church. I think about my great grandparents who lived on a farm and raised much of their own food, as did so many in that time period. Think about how easy it is for most of us to get a single meal of one thousand calories—go to a fast food restaurant, plunk down a $10 bill, and you could probably get two thousand calories with a burger, fries, soda, and maybe a shake.
But in the time of Jesus, getting one’s daily bread was not nearly so easy. That’s one reason why Jesus’ offer of bread that satisfies for longer than just a few hours is so appealing. A dependable food source—what a revelation.
We know that Jesus offers far more than nourishment for our flesh. Jesus here uses bread as a metaphor, and it’s a metaphor that people would understand differently than we do. It’s worth remembering how people used bread in the time of Jesus. In our time, we often serve bread on the side or as an appetizer. Many of us bypass the bread so that we aren’t full for the main course, which for many of us is meat. We might be surprised that Jesus would use bread imagery, instead of something more healthy, like fruit or nuts.
This metaphor of Jesus as bread also speaks to his own culture powerfully about the way that food got to the mouth. In the time of Jesus, most people weren’t eating meat, except perhaps at a festival time. Most people didn’t have utensils. They would have scooped food into their mouths with their fingers – or with a hunk of bread. Bread would be used to scoop up lentils, for example, or to sop up the broth. Bread is the way to deliver nourishment to the body, to make sure that more nourishment gets to the body than would happen otherwise.
With that image in mind, let me read the last verse of this Gospel: “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."
Indeed, Jesus is the delivery mechanism for so much nourishment, so much sustenance. He delivers this sustenance verbally, by telling us of God’s love and by showing us what that love looks like in action. He delivers this sustenance when he heals and when he feeds, when he attends to physical bodies so that humans are free to tend to larger matters—of spiritual sustenance and of making sure that others have this experience of healing and feeding. Jesus is the delivery mechanism of God’s grace, the way that bread delivers the protein of a pottage of lentils or beans or gravy.
If we continue with this idea of Jesus as nourishment, think about what it means in terms of our bodies. Food is metabolized and becomes part of our bodies. You may remember this principle from your nutrition or biology classes: proteins, carbohydrates and fats become muscle and bone. Carry this idea back to Jesus. Today’s Gospel ends with an idea that Jesus will develop further. Jesus is sustenance that lasts. We take the nourishment that Jesus offers and Jesus becomes part of our very bodies. We become more than our flesh.
I am now seeing a slew of ads and articles with the idea that we could all become better versions of our physical selves. Part of it is Olympic fever: you, too, could learn from Olympians and get in better shape. We are a nation of aging people, so there’s no shortage of ways to make us feel bad about ourselves in terms of our bodies.
Jesus offers a powerful countercultural message. Would we feel as bad about ourselves if we remembered that we are the body and blood of Christ? If we thought of ourselves as more than muscle and bone and flesh, would we treat our bodies better? Would we treat the bodies of other people with more reverence and respect if we thought of them as part human and part divine?
In terms of our larger society, the answer to this last question is no, no we would not. After all, we had Jesus here with us in the flesh, and we did not treat his human and divine body with respect and reverence. No, the people in charge crucified that body, as people in charge have been willing to do to human bodies in every age, and they did it in part because of his insistence on the sacredness of the body—his and everyone else’s body.
Today, as you come up to receive this sacrament, think about the words of Jesus again. As you take the bread, spend a minute thinking about the physicality of nourishment and digestion. Let Jesus become the protein that strengthens your body and allows it to go further and faster. Let Jesus become the carbohydrate that that your body uses to give you increased energy and stamina. Let Jesus become the fat that your body stores for the lean times, the days when we feel a gnawing hunger that seems insatiable.
Let Jesus feed us. Let Jesus become part of our flesh, blood, and bones. Let Jesus give us the bread of life. Let us say, “Please give us this bread always.” And then we can proclaim with the Psalmist: “Taste and see that the LORD is good; happy are those who take refuge in him.”
It's not that long ago that getting enough calories required substantially more effort. Think about a few generations ago in this very church. I think about my great grandparents who lived on a farm and raised much of their own food, as did so many in that time period. Think about how easy it is for most of us to get a single meal of one thousand calories—go to a fast food restaurant, plunk down a $10 bill, and you could probably get two thousand calories with a burger, fries, soda, and maybe a shake.
But in the time of Jesus, getting one’s daily bread was not nearly so easy. That’s one reason why Jesus’ offer of bread that satisfies for longer than just a few hours is so appealing. A dependable food source—what a revelation.
We know that Jesus offers far more than nourishment for our flesh. Jesus here uses bread as a metaphor, and it’s a metaphor that people would understand differently than we do. It’s worth remembering how people used bread in the time of Jesus. In our time, we often serve bread on the side or as an appetizer. Many of us bypass the bread so that we aren’t full for the main course, which for many of us is meat. We might be surprised that Jesus would use bread imagery, instead of something more healthy, like fruit or nuts.
This metaphor of Jesus as bread also speaks to his own culture powerfully about the way that food got to the mouth. In the time of Jesus, most people weren’t eating meat, except perhaps at a festival time. Most people didn’t have utensils. They would have scooped food into their mouths with their fingers – or with a hunk of bread. Bread would be used to scoop up lentils, for example, or to sop up the broth. Bread is the way to deliver nourishment to the body, to make sure that more nourishment gets to the body than would happen otherwise.
With that image in mind, let me read the last verse of this Gospel: “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."
Indeed, Jesus is the delivery mechanism for so much nourishment, so much sustenance. He delivers this sustenance verbally, by telling us of God’s love and by showing us what that love looks like in action. He delivers this sustenance when he heals and when he feeds, when he attends to physical bodies so that humans are free to tend to larger matters—of spiritual sustenance and of making sure that others have this experience of healing and feeding. Jesus is the delivery mechanism of God’s grace, the way that bread delivers the protein of a pottage of lentils or beans or gravy.
If we continue with this idea of Jesus as nourishment, think about what it means in terms of our bodies. Food is metabolized and becomes part of our bodies. You may remember this principle from your nutrition or biology classes: proteins, carbohydrates and fats become muscle and bone. Carry this idea back to Jesus. Today’s Gospel ends with an idea that Jesus will develop further. Jesus is sustenance that lasts. We take the nourishment that Jesus offers and Jesus becomes part of our very bodies. We become more than our flesh.
I am now seeing a slew of ads and articles with the idea that we could all become better versions of our physical selves. Part of it is Olympic fever: you, too, could learn from Olympians and get in better shape. We are a nation of aging people, so there’s no shortage of ways to make us feel bad about ourselves in terms of our bodies.
Jesus offers a powerful countercultural message. Would we feel as bad about ourselves if we remembered that we are the body and blood of Christ? If we thought of ourselves as more than muscle and bone and flesh, would we treat our bodies better? Would we treat the bodies of other people with more reverence and respect if we thought of them as part human and part divine?
In terms of our larger society, the answer to this last question is no, no we would not. After all, we had Jesus here with us in the flesh, and we did not treat his human and divine body with respect and reverence. No, the people in charge crucified that body, as people in charge have been willing to do to human bodies in every age, and they did it in part because of his insistence on the sacredness of the body—his and everyone else’s body.
Today, as you come up to receive this sacrament, think about the words of Jesus again. As you take the bread, spend a minute thinking about the physicality of nourishment and digestion. Let Jesus become the protein that strengthens your body and allows it to go further and faster. Let Jesus become the carbohydrate that that your body uses to give you increased energy and stamina. Let Jesus become the fat that your body stores for the lean times, the days when we feel a gnawing hunger that seems insatiable.
Let Jesus feed us. Let Jesus become part of our flesh, blood, and bones. Let Jesus give us the bread of life. Let us say, “Please give us this bread always.” And then we can proclaim with the Psalmist: “Taste and see that the LORD is good; happy are those who take refuge in him.”
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