The bread of life

RCL Year B, Proper 14 I’ve been with you at ECA long enough that you probably have a pretty good sense of who I am. You see me parent my kids, you engage with me in meetings and conversations, you listen to me preach. You might think you know me well enough to predict what […]

RCL Year B, Proper 14

I’ve been with you at ECA long enough that you probably have a pretty good sense of who I am. You see me parent my kids, you engage with me in meetings and conversations, you listen to me preach. You might think you know me well enough to predict what I’ll do next. But here’s something you might not know. If I got to do everything my own way, I’d be living very differently than I do now.

I would sleep in in the mornings – not too late, just a little bit, later than I do now. Then I’d get up and go for a long run, sit and pray in silence, eat breakfast in peace. I’d go to work at a job that was high-powered and important (or as important as you can get in the church), something where I got to do all interesting things all day and never anything boring, and where I got to travel a lot and meet interesting people and have Sundays off. I’d wear better clothes and style my hair. I’d read a lot of books and I’d be current on my periodicals and I’d know all the most recent films. And in my time off, I’d be up in the mountains, backpacking for long stretches of time and climbing all the major peaks in the lower 48, maybe even Denali up in Alaska. I’d be terrifically interesting to talk to because of all this.

But instead, I’m who I am here in front of you now. Maybe you’re thinking, darn, that other one would be a much cooler rector to have. But I’m who you’ve got.

I get up earlier than I’d like to every day, because I have kids who get up early and a husband who also wants to fit in his exercise in our busy mornings. I run only as long as I’ve got time for, rarely more than an hour, because I have to get back to help the kids get ready and drive Benji to his school. I work in parish ministry because I love people like you, and I care about your walk with God, and how in all the little ways of daily life we can figure out together how to grow deeper in faith. I’m not at the office all the time or traveling to big conferences because I need to be there for my family as well. But I work Sundays because that’s when you all come to church. I don’t do much with my clothes or hair because sticky fingers are always grabbing me and there’s not enough time to get a haircut and besides, all of that costs money. I rarely have time to read. I can’t go on long backpacking trips – last week our family accomplished a one-night, 2-mile trip together, and that will have to do. And I don’t climb mountains anymore, because it’s too risky and I have to stay alive for my family. I’m less interesting, maybe, but I’m more reliable than I would be if I did everything for myself, my own way. And I wouldn’t give up anything I have now for what I had when I was single and more able to do what I want, either.

I tell you all this because we’re reminded yet again in today’s scriptures that following Jesus and being a friend of God means giving up a lot of our own agenda and selves. We’re hearing a stretch of several weeks from the Gospel of John, of Jesus going on at some length about being the bread of life. It might start feeling a little circular and confusing and repetitive, because John’s language can sometimes be that way.

But to take what Jesus is saying out of the abstract, he’s telling us not to spend our time and energy on what doesn’t really feed our souls, on food that doesn’t last. Instead, Jesus is what sustains and nourishes us, giving his life for us so we can live. And in him, God is teaching us about how we should live. Jesus’s life is the message for us about how to be: we also are supposed to give ourselves up for others. That’s where eternal life is; that’s how we also are nourished and truly, deeply live.

The opposite of this is what happens with David in today’s Old Testament reading. His son Absalom has risen up against David with a rebel army, and Absalom has done outrageous things in order to claim his father’s throne for himself. David has had to flee Jerusalem, but has gathered up his forces for an all-out attack on Absalom and his army. As they go out to battle, David gives the ambiguous order, ‘Deal gently with Absalom.’ David the king knows that Absalom must die so David can take back his throne; David the father is heartbroken about this. But David’s general Joab knows what needs to happen, so he finds Absalom and kills him, restoring David to his throne. David gains back his power, but loses his son, and grieves bitterly for him. David wins the bread that perishes, worldly power, but loses his beloved son, the deeper love that is the bread of eternal life.

David’s story is a powerful example of choosing self over the life of another, while Jesus is fully and completely about choosing others over himself. But for most of us the choice isn’t so stark. Sometimes as Christians we can make the path out to be so all-or-nothing – like the really good Christians are the ones who go work with Mother Teresa or give everything to the poor like St Francis, while the rest of us just muddle along, and God’s not so impressed with us, and neither are we. But the truth is that ordinary people like us choose others over ourselves in countless little ways throughout our lives. Every one of you has made choices like I have. You’ve balanced family over career, showing up to the clarinet concert instead of the important dinner. You’ve put the needs of your spouse over your plans for the evening; you’ve worked at something that needs doing instead of watching the show you wanted to see, you’ve volunteered at church instead of going shopping for a new outfit. In everyday, daily ways, you already live out the sacrifice Jesus represents. You already taste of the bread of life.

Because you also know that when you do these little sacrifices, it isn’t all sacrifice. It matters more later that you spent time with your kid then that you worked late at the office. Your marriage relationship is better because you cared for each other. You matter more to people at church because you’ve contributed to the community, and you know you can turn to them for help when you need it. The bread of life is the love that nourishes you and sustains you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

So you’ve done these things already. But the faith journey is always a journey of going deeper and deeper. What we do and how we are with God grows and changes and expands – or it should, anyway. Just as in our other relationships, we keep growing. So we are drawn deeper, looking for the next step, the next challenge, to live more fully into who God wants us to be. And so we give up just a little bit more, and eat more of the true bread.

So back to me. I was just tempted again by an opportunity to pursue greater influence and acclaim in the church. Or maybe not – who knows where it could have led. It was simply a question of putting myself forward to work on a commission from General Convention, something that could have had me in contact with more people around the country, maybe travel a little, shape the conversation about our church’s future a little more. But it would have taken time, and as I weighed the possibility, I realized that any extra time I can find now needs to go to my parents. They’re getting older, my dad is struggling some and my mom with him, and I want to do what I can to care for them and help them. So I let that other thing go. It’s not a big deal – it’s not a big heroic sacrifice. But it felt like the next thing on my spiritual path at least, another iteration of choosing others over myself. And whether I can actually help my parents or not, I think that our relationship will be the richer for the time spent. It will nourish me and them far more than me serving on a committee, however important that might seem. It will be more of the bread of life.

So I invite you to think, as this summer draws to a close and the fall looms before us: what is your next chance to choose? Is there something right now in front of you, an opportunity to set your own agenda aside in favor of another? Today, perhaps, in how you’ll spend your time, or in the near future as you decide what to commit to in the weeks ahead? Think of it in these terms: try setting aside the bread that perishes; try instead taking a bite of the bread of life. You might find yourself better satisfied.