Catching up on posting sermons…

August 25, 2024

Where do you come from?

Proper 16B

August 25, 2024

         Corrie and I lived in the upstate of South Carolina for ten years, five in Spartanburg, five in Greenville. Though it has its charms, it’s a very conservative area both politically and religiously. Greenville is the home of Bob Jones University, a fundamentalist Christian university, the center of a network of people and independent churches that is diffused across the nation and world. We bought our house in Greenville from Bob Jones alumni, and when we took possession of it, the first thing we did was paint over a ed stenciled bible verse prominently displayed in the dining area: “But as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.”

You may think nothing of this verse, you may even be inclined to appreciate it as an expression of pious sentiment, but it is suffused with patriarchy—individuals, wife, children, have no agency in this statement. Joshua is speaking for everyone in his household, declaring that they will serve the Lord, whether they want to or not. And although that was almost twenty years ago now, we can see clearly where such statements and sentiments have morphed into a religion that doubles down on sexism and misogyny, prioritizing procreation and denigrating “childless cat ladies” and the like, not to mention demonizing relationships and families that express themselves in ways other than heteronormativity.

The verse is part of a larger narrative, what is called a covenant ceremony that comes at the very end of the book of Joshua. These past few weeks, we’ve heard a few snippets from the book of Exodus: the story of the Passover, the gift of manna in the wilderness for example. Now, we’re catching up with the narrative after the Israelites have entered the land of Canaan. The book of Joshua consists of stories of the conquest: the defeat and destruction of the residents of the land. And now at the end of the book, as Joshua, who succeeded Moses as the leader of the Israelites, is near the end of his life and wants the Israelites to renew their covenant, their commitment to the God who brought them out of the land of Egypt.

Coincidentally, in the daily office, the book of Joshua was the appointed old testament text earlier this summer. I found it jarring to read alongside the daily reminders in the press of Israel’s military operations in Gaza, the killings of thousands and the destruction of homes, and hospitals. The book of Joshua with its brutal tales of violence and destruction has had a pernicious legacy through the centuries, as Christians have justified colonial conquests in North America, and radical Israelis have seen in it justification for the expulsion and murder of Palestinians.

In fact, I was a bit puzzled why the lectionary editors chose this particular passage to couple with today’s gospel reading. I noticed one troubling connection that I doubt the editors had in mind. At the beginning of the reading, Jesus refers to God as Father, something he does throughout the Gospel of John and in the synoptics as well. It underscores the intimacy of the relationship between Jesus and God and at times, even their identity. At the same time, to twenty-first century ears, it can be as jarring as the words spoken by Joshua. It, too, evokes images of patriarchy and male supremacy, and listeners who may have broken relationships with their fathers, or suffered abuse from them, it may resurface trauma. It’s important for us, even those of us who find thinking of God as Father to be life-giving, that others have different responses to such language.

Truth be told, my hunch is that the choice of the Joshua text has to do with them seeing a connection between the question Joshua asks the assembled Israelites, and the question Jesus asks the twelve after the crowds have dispersed: “Do you also wish to go away?”

The chapter begins with the feeding of the five thousand. Following that miracle, Jesus withdraws from the crowd because he realized they were going to proclaim him king. Then he and the disciples cross the lake. This is when Jesus is seen walking on water. Eventually they make their way to Capernaum, where Jesus engages in a lengthy dialogue and discourse, during which opposition to his words escalates. The discourse culminates with Jesus saying, “I am the bread of life.” He continues, verses we hear last week:

‘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. ⁵⁴Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; ⁵⁵for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. ⁵⁶Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.

This is the hard saying that the disciples have trouble hearing. To us, they sound fairly innocuous. Jesus wasn’t speaking literally. He was referring to the Eucharist and whatever he meant, he didn’t meant that we are literally eating his body and blood. 

But there’s more for us to think about here. Jesus is not speaking only of the Eucharist. He is also speaking of himself. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood, abide in me and I in them. Discipleship in the Gospel of John is about relationship with Jesus. Throughout the gospel, from the very first chapter, those who follow Jesus are invited to abide with him, to be with him. 

In today’s gospel, Jesus’ listeners are presented with a choice. They can turn away or reject him, or they can listen to him, hear his words, and follow him. After some of those who had followed him walk away, Jesus asks those who remain, “Do you also wish to go away?” 

Peter’s answer isn’t yes or no. Having walked with Jesus thus far, he can’t imagine life without him. “To whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.” Peter has already experienced relationship with Jesus, abiding with him, and the prospect of life without him is incomprehensible. Jesus’ words are eternal life; his words are spirit, all else seems empty in comparison.

Now the Gospel of John has the characteristic that simple ideas, words, concepts can suddenly seem to be remotely abstract, foreign to our experience and lives. Spending time in the gospel of John can be disorienting and alienating. The words wash over us. We have, after all, been spending five weeks hearing this chapter from John’s gospel. If you read it through in one sitting, it comes across as repetitive, to some, even nonsensical. Many of us, including your preacher, will be happy to return to Mark next week, whose language and message is much clearer, though perhaps equally difficult to make one’s own.

What matters above all in John, once we cut through the verbiage, is relationship. What matters is the life-giving relationship with Jesus Christ, offered by Christ. What matters is the experience of abiding with him as he abides with us. John is trying to help us understand, but more importantly to experience, the life that he experienced with Jesus Christ. All of the language, all of the discourses, all of Jesus’ miracles, are directed toward this.

Most of us struggle with our faith. Most of us wonder at times, if God exists, whether Jesus was the Son of God, or whether he truly was raised from the dead. We wonder about heaven and hell. We have lots of questions, doubts, uncertainties. Some of us probably aren’t even sure why we bother coming to church. Does any of it matter? Is any of it true?

But there is something that draws us here, something that speaks to our deepest yearnings and hopes. We might not even be able to articulate or name what it is. We come here and find something. For the Gospel of John, what we find here is relationship, life. We experience in the community gathered, in the bread and wine, in the word read and proclaimed, in all of that, we experience life. Jesus offers us that life. He invites us to stay, to abide with him, to live in him as he lives in us. When we say yes to him, we are not proving an argument or saying yes to a proposition. We are inviting and experiencing relationship. When say yes to him, we say yes to life.