John 6:51-58
[Jesus said,] “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.” The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?”
So Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.”
I read an article back in March, written by Leigh Stein for the New York Times, that coined a phrase as far as far as I can tell: “Instavangelists.” (You can read the whole article HERE.) The article highlighted the prevalence and popularity of online theologians and self-help gurus who have gathered such a following so as to take the place of, if not threaten, the traditional role of pastors and theologians and the very notion of the Church in our Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter kind of culture. Many of these “Instavangelists ” – based on the popularity of a best-selling book, followed by a sold-out book signing, book-reading, speaking tour, or Ted Talk – have become the primary theological influence and outlet for millions of their followers. I’m a fan and follower of many of them, myself.
And, full disclosure, I’m pea-green with envy about most of them. I’m talking about authors I’ve read, seen speak on said speaking tours, and who I follow, like I said, on multiple social media platforms – people like Glennon Doyle, Brene Brown, Nadia Bolz-Weber, Lenny Duncan, and Rob Bell.
I’ve admired the way pastors Nadia, Lenny, and Rob, in particular, have started thriving ministry in their respective churches, built communities of faith that have done beautiful, amazing, faithful, church work in the world. And I’ve wondered so many things when I’ve seen them leave those ministries for these not-so-traditional, 21st Century callings. And it looks, to be honest, like the greener grass of internet fame and some kind of fortune I can only make guesses about.
They are social media influencers of the highest order – not hawking shoes or make-up or energy drinks or whatever. But marketing stuff that really matters: the Good News in 280 characters or less. Calls to do justice and love kindness by way of a perfectly parsed and fantastically filtered photo on Instagram. Grace, mercy and peace in the form of a Facebook feed that gets liked, loved, shared, and listened to … around the world in 80 seconds.
And on my good days, I don’t begrudge them any of it. But, like that New York Times article did, I have to remind myself that it’s not Church. And, as much as I get a boost from a well-timed tweet or feel inspired, edified, and justified by the way someone on my end of the theological spectrum can put into a few words what I would like to say more loudly and clearly myself for all the world to see, I realize that there’s not much meat on those virtual bones when it comes to really engaging the world around me.
See, I feel like Jesus calls us to more than that, because Jesus was called to more than that – as he describes so colorfully, if not a bit oddly – in this morning’s Gospel.
Now, there’s kind of a joke, or maybe more of a lament, among preachers about this run of Gospel stories we’ve had the last five weeks – each of them about the “Bread from Heaven,” I mean. If you’ve been around, you know we started back in July with the story of the feeding of the five thousand and every week since has been an extension of and continuation on this “bread” theme. This week’s Gospel begins with some of the very same verses, we heard last week, that bit about the living bread that has come down from heaven. And it’s good stuff, don’t get me wrong, but it can feel like more of the same-old, same-old, re-run of it all.
(Speaking of Pastor Lenny Duncan – one of those pastors I like who left his ministry a week or so ago – just a day or so after announcing his resignation with all sorts of meaningful, powerful, reflective, theological clarity, he joked that it was really the “Festival of the Bread” – this long series of Gospel stories about bread – that did him in.)
All of that said, today’s talk from Jesus seems to kick it up a notch if we’re still willing to pay attention. It seems kind of gross … graphic, even … if you ask me. He hits the “eat my flesh” and “drink my blood” stuff hard, doesn’t he? See, the other problem with hearing this over and over again – and in the confines and context of worship – is that we might take for granted just how graphic and gross and strange it was – and maybe should still be – for us, just like it was for those faithful Jews who were hearing it for the first time way back when.
“…unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.”
“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.”
“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.”
Out of context, Jesus sounds like a madman. It’s no wonder people had questions, suspicions, doubts and fears about what he was up to and what he was calling them toward.
And what he was calling them toward – what he calls us to, still – is community that gathers around bread and wine; a community that eats and drinks together; a community that gathers in the flesh, up close and personal; and a community that is sent out into the world – like Jesus was – to be God’s hands, God’s feet, and God’s voice; to be God’s very real presence; to be the body of Christ – flesh and bones – for the sake of those who need the kind of grace, mercy and peace; the kind of love and forgiveness and second chances; the kind of healing and hope; the kind of food, clothing, and shelter you can’t offer by way of a post on social media; that you can’t receive from a tweet; that your Facebook feed won’t actually feed.
Again, don’t get me wrong. There is beauty and faithfulness and God’s work is done by some of these online personalities. Glennon Doyle, for instance, has raised thousands, maybe millions, of dollars for worthy causes on a whim, with a click of the keyboard from her faithful followers. Nadia Bolz-Weber’s podcast “The Confessional” is an exercise in grace, mercy, forgiveness, and blessing. Lenny Duncan’s social media presence is a no-holds-barred, righteously indignant, faithful call to social justice for ALL of God’s children. And you and I know how necessary, valuable, faithful, holy, and sacred an online presence can be during the trying times of a global pandemic.
But Jesus’ words today – all of this up-close, down and dirty, nitty-gritty, flesh and blood stuff – remind me about why we do what we do as a community of believers called and bound together by the bread we break; by the wine we pour; and by the body of Christ we experience, share and become when we are gathered together and sent out for the sake of the world.
The pandemic has made it hard over the last year or so – and it may make it hard again, if we’re not careful – but one thing I hope we’ve learned is how much it matters that we gather bodily, to share and to be the Body of Christ, for and with each other, and always for the blessing and benefit of the world.
We need to see and to share, not just the broken body of Jesus in the bread we break around the table, but we need to see the brokenness of our brothers and sisters in Christ, just the same. We need to see the blood of Christ – poured out for us and for the sake of the world – so that we’ll be challenged and encouraged and reminded of our call to be poured out, ourselves, for the benefit and blessing of others. We need to chew on the hard, holy words of Scripture, in the company of others who might hear or understand them differently, so that, together, we might be surprised, challenged, and filled up by the depth of their meaning.
And, my God, how we need to nourished by all of this – bread, wine, flesh, blood, the Body of Christ that surrounds us in this place – stained and stinky and sinful as we can be – because we are called to be the influencers, you and I, as followers of Jesus.
Influencers who teach kids or volunteer in schools and around our community.
Influencers who share meals and friendship with prostitutes on the east side.
Influencers who build homes in Haiti
Influencers who are more forgiven than we are sinful, and who try to live differently because of it.
Influencers who welcome, love, and feed people with this body and blood that too many others refuse to share so generously.
Here, we are called to be influencers, in the flesh. Not just with words, but with deeds. Not just with proclamations of grace, but as ones who keep those promises and share it, for real. Not just in our own circles or social media silos or from the comfort and safety we find behind the shield of our cell phones. But we are called and blessed and better when we do God’s work in person, in the flesh, blood and bones we have in common with Jesus, himself, crucified and risen for the life of the world.
Amen
