The Rev. Allan Sandlin, associate rector> click here for the Scripture for the day
Where did the summer go? Wasn’t it just yesterday we were celebrating the Feast of Pentecost, wearing our best red ties and red dresses, listening to the cacophony of languages in the reading from Acts? Wasn’t it just yesterday our children were coming home from the last day of school, anticipating summer vacation and wasn’t it just yesterday we were still hopeful that the Braves might win the division?
This summer did seem to go by quickly, though if you’ve been coming to church lately and paying attention to our readings from the gospel of John, it might seem things have really slowed down. Back on the last Sunday of July, we listened to the first of five readings from the 6th chapter of John’s gospel. And if you’ve stayed the course over the past few Sundays, you’ve perhaps gotten your fill of stories about Jesus and bread. Jesus has had lots of words to say about bread, hasn’t he?
You’ll remember that all this started with John’s version of the feeding of the 5,000—a story so important to the church that it’s included six times in four gospels. It’s the story of Jesus taking a few loaves of bread belonging to a young lad, blessing that bread, breaking it into pieces and putting it into the hands of hungry people. And out of that story, Jesus has been talking about bread, the bread of life, the bread of heaven. Bread that reminds us of the manna God gave our ancestors in the wilderness, but bread that contains deeper meanings and a life-giving promise. Jesus promises us that he is that bread and that if we eat that bread he will abide in us and we in him.
And you’ll recall that earlier in the story, this kind of talk caused some rumblings among the crowds. At the end of last week’s reading and repeated again this morning, we listen to Jesus say "Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them." And today it’s the very people following Jesus, his disciples, who are mumbling and complaining. One or two of them are overheard to say "This teaching is difficult, who can accept it?"
Even with the benefit of 2,000 years of Eucharistic theology behind us, we still struggle with the question. "What does it mean, Jesus? How are we supposed to understand this talk about flesh and bread, wine and blood?"
I talked with a friend of mine in Louisiana the other day. She’s a Presbyterian pastor and I knew she’d be preaching on this text today. I was also curious what a Presbyterian would have to say about John’s Eucharistic theology—in a congregation where they normally have Communion once a month. I was surprised to hear Patti say that during the month of August, they were celebrating the Eucharist every Sunday, alongside listening to the readings from John about the bread of heaven. We laughed together because I’ve been telling her for years that she really is an Anglican at heart and this proved my point. In her preaching and in their worship together, I take it that they’ve been exploring the mystery of the Word made flesh, dwelling for a little while in the mystery of bread and wine becoming the very presence of Jesus in the Holy Eucharist. Now, that’s where we live as Episcopalians, but for these Presbyterians who are so very saturated by the spoken word on most Sundays, it represented a new opportunity. And then I came back to today’s lesson and found myself drawn to this verse:
It is the spirit that gives life;
the flesh is useless.
The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life.
Yes, the words Jesus speaks today may unsettle us, may cause us to wonder what he’s talking about. But you sense the truth in these words. Jesus’ words give us spirit and life. They have the capacity to empower us, to compel us, to change us. The words Jesus speaks abide with us, as Jesus who is the Word incarnate abides with us.
Anything is possible when the Spirit has invaded our hearts and inspired and enlivened us. Anything.
But the opposite of that is true as well. When we try to limit the meaning of scripture, to coral it and say things like “It means this and only this” we end up killing the possibility.
Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Who can understand this?
Jesus gives us ideas, Jesus gives us words that suggest, not define. Our friend, author and priest, Barbara Crafton, who led Holy Trinity’s Lenten Quiet Day last March writes
The words of scripture are never just one thing. They aren’t true in the two-dimensional way a newspaper story might be true: “Yesterday, so-and-so did such-and-such at such-and-such a time in such-and-such a place.” The truth of them plumbs truth to its very bottom, and searches it out to its widest expanse. It is as much the truth of possibility as it is the truth of history. By its very nature, it is bigger than we are. We must never cut it off at the knees by insisting that we know exactly what the words say. We do not know. We will never know, not here. We struggle to understand them, but we cannot know, because we can’t see what comes next. We can only read them, discuss them, pray them and then trust them to reveal their mystery to us…
Let me tell you about one such moment of mystery, a moment of spirit and life, from the summer of 2006 and the last time the Episcopal Church gathered for our General Convention. It happened on a Sunday morning, in Columbus, Ohio. Several thousand of us or so were gathered in a huge convention center for the Eucharist that morning. After worship, the bishops, all 300 or so of them, departed in a solemn procession and were transported by bus to Trinity Church a few blocks away. There they were sequestered to vote for the next Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church. The candidates before them were all fine bishops of their own dioceses. They were mostly white and they were, of course, mostly male. With one exception.
Conventional wisdom held that one of the 4 or 5 male bishops would be elected. This was the first time a woman had even been nominated and no one, I mean, no one, thought she had a chance. We heard things like There is too much controversy in the church already, there is no way the bishops will elect a woman this time and even if she is the best candidate, it’s not the right time.
And then the moment came when the chairperson of the Nominating Committee came to the microphone, looked out at the 800 of us in the House of Deputies and another thousand or so observers awaiting the results and announced:
“On the 5th ballot, the Right Reverend…Katharine”…and there were gasps of surprise and scattered applause…”Jefferts Schori was elected.”
Later in the afternoon, after the allowed time for debate had ended and the House of Deputies had voted to confirm her election, Bishop Katharine was escorted into the hall. She was greeted with a prolonged standing ovation and loud, enthusiastic cheers. It was an unforgettable moment. It was a risky thing those bishops did, it offended a few people, it thrilled many others and it was clearly the work of the Holy Spirit.
So what does this have to do with the Gospel today? Just this. If we, as a Church, were bound to a literal reading of scripture that claims women cannot speak in church, that women must submit all their spiritual questions to their husbands, Bishop Katharine would never have been made a priest, much less a bishop. For beloved St. Paul says exactly that in his first letter to the church in Corinth. Robyn and Deborah (and my predecessors, Anne, Melissa, Alicia and Susan) would never have been able to serve at this altar, you’d have never heard them preach, or benefited from their teaching. But the words of scripture are never just one thing. The truth of scripture takes us places that surprise us, that startle us and disturb us because it is the “truth of possibility every bit as much as it is the truth of history.”
None of us, not me, not you, not any bishop or your Sunday School teacher or college religion professor or the Archbishop of Canterbury, has a corner on scripture. This side of heaven, the complete, full meaning of Holy Scripture will remain hidden from us. I believe each generation will continue to find new meaning, new depths of understanding in the timeless words of life.
Every now and then, we will get glimpses of truth, glimpses that show us the way home. They will come to us in bits and pieces, something like the bits and pieces of bread that fall into our hands, as we come to the feast of abundant life prepared for us today. Amen.
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