Twelfth Sunday after Trinity 2024

 

Lectionary readings: Proverbs 9.1-6 and John 6.51-58

I wonder, what is your favourite meal? [This is not a rhetorical question.]

And what is it about that meal that makes it your favourite? [Again, not a rhetorical question.] Perhaps it has to do with the flavours and textures of the food. Perhaps associations with particular people or special memories are factors too.

I wonder whether there is a meal that you like to make, to share with others? That is, of course, a labour of love. And I wonder whether you have ever taught someone else to make that meal; or, indeed, whether someone else taught you? There is a world of difference between following a recipe from a cookbook and a family meal passed down from generation to generation.

In our reading from the Old Testament today, wisdom is personified as a hostess. Again and again throughout the Bible relationships between people, and between people and God, are built around a table. This is the place of encounter, to which we are invited, and to which anyone who wants to live in harmony with their neighbour comes.

There is something we need to note and take to heart here. We need to learn to eat with others, not simply to feed others. When we feed people but do not eat with them, we create a power dynamic that places them in our debt; but when people eat together the barrier between ‘us’ and ‘them’ is dismantled. I appreciate that some people are shy around folk they don’t know, and the kitchen is a safe place to hide in—I am one of those people myself, and my neurodivergence is a big factor; whenever I spend time with other people, I need to go away and recharge. But, collectively, we need to learn to eat with people, not just feed them. It isn’t, primarily, about physical hunger, but about our common need for connection.

There is a proverbial saying that You Are What You Eat. At a physical level, a healthy diet increases our fitness, while, over time, an unhealthy diet harms us. The same is true spiritually speaking. What we consume shapes us, for good or evil. If our daily diet is a particular newspaper or other news source, it will shape us in very particular ways, and largely, in a context of constant and instant news, towards anxiety. If our daily diet is social media, we will be intentionally shaped by algorithms to be quick to judge, harshly, on matters about which we are very largely uninformed, and to never be satisfied but to always want more. Social media might be an alien world to you, but we all consume something, and we are all being consumed by the thing we consume, whether by hate or by love.

Jesus says, make me your daily bread. Eat of me. Take me into you, and see how you will be transformed, over time, into the fullness of what God intends for you.

How do we do that? By building our lives around him. By finding, through experimentation, daily, weekly, and less frequent patterns that enable us to eat his flesh and drink his blood. Patterns such as setting apart some time each day to prayerfully read and meditate on scripture, perhaps a psalm or Gospel passage, perhaps using the daily prayer resources of the Church of England so that we are reading along with many others, or perhaps using resources prepared by 24/7 Prayer or Scripture Union or BRF with people of different ages and stages of life in mind. Patterns such as taking communion week by week; and by eating food with others, at a table, on a weekly basis. I know of at least one member of our community, who lives alone, who goes out or breakfast with friends every week. And patterns such as reducing or restricting less healthy food. Watching television is not wrong, but if we are watching too much, perhaps we need to set ourselves limits, not in a legalistic way, but in a way that sees it as a treat rather than a staple of our diet.

Wisdom says come to the feast. We feast on God in worship, in acknowledging that God is good all the time, in every circumstance and situation, and in contrast to the impact of sin and death in the world, which is insubstantial in comparison and fleeting, but gets a lot of attention.

And if this is already your pattern, who might benefit from what you have learnt?

 

Eleventh Sunday after Trinity 2024

 

I wonder how your days are? Collectively, it might be said that we are going through difficult times; though I am not sure that these times are very different from any others. At a personal level, as we grow older we may become more comfortable in our own skin; and as we grow older still, we may feel that our bodies begin to let us down. You don’t have to be an Olympian to know that our moments can have real highs and lows – and that sometimes the deepest lows come hard on the heels of the most dizzying heights. That was certainly so for the prophet Elijah. I wonder whether you can relate to his story? Let’s take a closer look at it.

As we do so, a couple of things to be aware of. Ancient Hebrew has far fewer words than modern English, and so the same word can have multiple meanings. Also, language conveys our understanding of the world, and ancient Hebrew works at both a literal/material and metaphorical/spiritual level.

We read that Elijah ‘went a day’s journey into the wilderness.’ Let’s break that down.

The word for wilderness/desert is, at root, also the word for mouth/speech. This is both fascinating and unsurprising, as the wilderness is the place where God speaks, or, more accurately, where humans speak with God.

The word for journey is also the word for Way, as in a way of life, which is worked out through conversation – which is also the same word.

The word for day is also the word for daily.

So, at a literal/material level, Elijah ‘went a day’s journey into the wilderness.’ And at a metaphorical/spiritual level, it is Elijah’s practice to be in daily conversation with God. We would call that prayer.

Now, some would argue that we work out which of the possible meanings a word should be given by the context. But I would argue that where a word can be understood in more than one way, it should be understood in more than one way. Because the context for the spiritual is always material, and the material is always spiritual. They belong together.

So, I would take it at face value that Elijah, whose practice it was to be in daily conversation with God, took a walk into the wilderness. And there he sat down under a broom tree.

Now, the broom tree also appears in Job chapter 30 and Psalm 120. For Job it is a symbol of those expelled by society, which Job applies to himself to say he feels rejected by God. That is interesting, given the days we live in, where some are calling for immigrants to be expelled from our society, and others are calling for the expulsion of racists. Are we brave enough to see ourselves in the eyes of immigrants and racists, alike, and to lament where we find ourselves as a society? Psalm 120 links the wood of the broom tree, which was prized for how well it burned, with a peacemaker dwelling amongst those who hate peace. That also feels pertinent to our days. In any case, this is where Elijah chooses to sit down, to stop walking on the way, to end his conversation. He has had enough. Perhaps you have had enough, too.

God sends a messenger, an ambassador, who comes to Elijah as he sleeps, breaks off some branches from the broom tree, heats some flat stones on them, and bakes flat bread on the stones. (I love cake, but it is a misleading translation.) That is to say, God answers Elijah (who was not asking a question or seeking a continuation of their conversation) with food and drink. Again, I would take this at both a material and a spiritual level. Sustenance for body and soul. These, also, go together.

Elijah awoke, ate and drank, and lay down again to sleep. Later, the ambassador returns, wakes him again, provides him with more food and water, and tells him that he needs to eat and drink if he is to have the strength [this word also means chameleon; weird, huh?] that he needs to undergo the journey ahead of him. That journey takes him to Horeb, the mountain of the Lord.

Horeb means Desolate. God waits for us in the place of our desolation. In the place where nothing else can console us. God waits for us, and, moreover, sustains us on the conversation that will bring us to that place, to confront ourselves, stripped of all the many outer layers with which we have tried to blend in, to mask ourselves [chameleon].

This is necessary work, and it is hard work. To find ourselves standing before God, defenceless against divine love, is not something we can do in our own strength. It is only possible because we are strengthened by Jesus, we are incorporated into him – and through him, into the inner life of God – because we are clothed in Christ [chameleon].

God sends his Son into the world, saying, ‘Get up, eat and drink. Come to me, feast on me. You shall find rest for your bones and healing for your soul.’ Day by day, walking with him on the Way, meditating on God’s word, sharing in this communion.

So come, eat and drink.

 

Tenth Sunday after Trinity 2024

 

Tenth Sunday after Trinity: Exodus 16.2-4, 9-15 and John 6.24-35

Our Gospel reading this Sunday (John 6.24-35) gives us the aftermath of the feeding of the five thousand. The context is this. Galilee was a hotbed of rebellion against Roman rule. There had been an uprising in 6 CE sparked by a tax census (this is the census that gets mentioned in Luke’s account of the birth of Jesus, albeit badly handled in translation: Luke’s point isn’t that this was the census that displaced Joseph and Mary, but that this was the most famous—or, notorious—census; and it was the most famous because of the rebellion it sparked). There will be another uprising in 46 CE and yet another in 66 CE, but at this point, in the early 30s, a crowd of men are chasing Jesus around the Galilean countryside with the intent of making him the focal point of an uprising. There are five thousand of them, plus women and children; but the unnumbered women and children aren’t an afterthought: the point is this, that five thousand men is roughly the size of a Roman army legion. They are coming to Jesus and saying, ‘Look, we have a legion at your disposal: lead us!’ [1] Jesus responds by instructing them to organise themselves into groups of between 50 and 100—that is, the size of a ‘century’ of soldiers led by a centurion (‘At last! Now we are getting somewhere!’)—but then, instead of handing out weapons, he hands out bread and fish.

When it becomes clear that the crowd still intends to make him their king by force, Jesus slips away. They don’t realise until the next day, when eventually—and confused as to how this had happened—they find him once more on the other side of the lake. ‘How did you get here?’ they ask.

And Jesus engages them in a wide-ranging conversation. A conversation about what it is they truly desire, and how deep that longing goes. A conversation about work, and how or even whether God can be encountered in everyday life or revealed through our everyday actions. A conversation about wisdom, someone in the crowd quoting from the Wisdom of Solomon (a Jewish text translated into Greek in Egypt; Wisdom chapter 16, which speaks of divine judgement and mercy, of God’s word as nourishment and healing, and of God leading mortals down to the gates of Hades and back again).

And in this conversation, Jesus calls them—and us—to believe in him: that is, to be with Jesus, in order to become like Jesus, and do the things that Jesus did (this is what distinguishes disciples from the crowds) [2].

In that conversation, Jesus claims to be the bread—the sustenance—of God that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world: ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’

Many in the crowd will decide that this is not what they are looking for, will go back to their homes and wait for someone else to come along. But some will take Jesus at his word, as God’s daily provision for their deepest desires, to live in harmony with God, with themselves, and with their fellow human beings.

Jo and I have just spent a week camping with some fourteen thousand other people—including two thousand children and another two thousand teenagers—at a festival of worship and hearing from God. And we have heard testimony from around the country of how hungry the younger generations—children, youth and young adults—are for God. 95% of them aren’t in our churches. Their hunger is, in part, because they are starving, because they haven’t been fed, spiritually, by the generation that raised them. But we have heard, and even seen with our own eyes, stories of children and teenagers asking their parents to bring them to church (that is to say, bringing their parents with them). We have heard stories of young adults having dreams about Jesus and turning up at churches saying, ‘Tell me about this Jesus I have been dreaming about!’ At St Nic’s we have welcomed children and prepared them to receive communion, because they are hungry for Jesus, who feeds us with his very self in word and in sacrament. And my expectation is that we will see more of this, over the months to come; and that we need to be ready.

This weekend we have seen violence on the streets of our city. People without hope, whose fear is exploited, who feel that they need to project a show of strength to hide how scared they are. People offered scapegoats and a society to rail against. These people, many though not all of them young, are hungry too. We can turn their anger back against them and perpetuate division; or we can love them and pray for them, pray that they might meet Jesus, and that we might have opportunity to introduce him to them.

And if you are hungry for the bread of life today, come, take, eat. There is more than enough to share.

 

[1] With thanks to Bishop Ruth Bushyager for highlighting this, in her bible readings on Mark’s Gospel, at the New Wine 2024 festival.

[2] John Mark Comer writes about this well in ‘Practicing the Way’ (SPCK 2024).