Receiving Jesus - John 6:51-58 - Living by the Word - Column

Christian Century, July 27, 1994 by Martin B. Copenhaver

Friend of mine who left the church as an adolescent and never returned traces his disillusionment to several incidents, including a memorable discussion about the Lord's Supper in his confirmation class. He asked his teacher how the sacrament was any different from the ritual cannibalism practiced in some tribes in which they eat the body of the departed leader in the belief that by doing so they will manifest the leader's powers. The teacher was obviously agitated by the question and responded, "What a disgusting suggestion! It has nothing to do with cannibalism. We're talking about a blessed sacrament, not some primitive ritual. It's completely different." The teacher refused to continue the discussion.

There are times when the sacrament seems like a refined expression of religious devotion. The communion table may be set with starched linen and a gold-plated chalice, as if for an exclusive banquet. The pastor may speak the words of institution in mellifluous tones, adding a soothing dignity to the proceedings. But occasionally the startling imagery and even crudeness of the sacrament come slashing through all of our refinements.

On one occasion when I repeated Jesus' familiar words, "This is my body broken for you. This is my blood shed for you," a small girl suddenly said in a loud voice, "Oh, yuk!" The congregation looked horrified, as if someone had splattered blood all over the altar - which, in effect, is just what the little girl had done with her exclamation.

John's Gospel does not include an account of the Last Supper, but the sixth chapter is soaked with eucharistic imagery. Jesus first speaks of himself as "the bread of life" that has "come down from heaven" and invites his hearers to partake of this bread - that is, to believe in him - and promises that those who do so will have eternal life. Through this metaphor Jesus compares himself to the manna that came down from heaven to sustain the people of Israel in the wilderness. It is a palpable image, but not an unpleasant one. Jesus makes clear that the way to respond to this bread is with belief, a refined response to a dignified God.

But then, in the 51st verse, the image turns ugly. Jesus says, "The bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh." According to John, "the Jews" then ask the obvious question: How can this man give us his flesh to eat?" Perhaps they responded in this way to give Jesus a chance to explain himself. They , might have thought: Surely Jesus meant to say something else. After all, to eat someone's flesh appears in the Bible as a metaphor for great hostility (Ps. 27:2; Zech. 11:9). The drinking of blood was looked upon as an abomination forbidden by God's law (Gen. 9:4, Lev. 3:17; Deut. 12:23).

Nevertheless, Jesus responds to the question by repeating the image in still more explicit terms: "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." You don't have to be a good Jew to want to avert your eyes from such an image and cover your ears at such language. It does sound like cannibalism. Please, Jesus, would you mind if we talked about something else?

The inescapably base imagery employed by Jesus in this passage forces a kind of "in your face" (or perhaps we should say, -in your mouth") confrontation with the incarnation. Gone are the abstract, almost disembodied terms about abiding" in him that Jesus used earlier. Now he uses such starkly corporeal images that even the most determined dualist cannot soften the scandalous paradox of the incarnation. Neither he nor we are disembodied spirits. To encounter Jesus means, in part, to encounter the flesh and blood of him. The Hebrew idiom "flesh and blood" means the whole person. To receive the whole Jesus entails receiving his flesh and blood.

The New Testament uses many different images to express the intimate relationship between Jesus and those who believe in him, and John gives us many of the most familiar expressions of this relationship: Jesus is the shepherd and we are the sheep; he is the vine and we are the branches; he abides in God and we abide in him. In this passage, however, language is pressed to the limits to express the indissoluble union and inextricable participation of one life in another. For those who receive Jesus, the whole Jesus, his life clings to their bones and courses through their veins. He can no more be taken from a believer's life than last Tuesday's breakfast can be plucked from one's body.

In our cerebral approach to religion we often assume that what really matters is believing some important religious truths. Receiving Jesus can be reduced to a matter of intellectual assent. There are times, however, when we can be particularly grateful that the presence of Christ is not something that can be recognized only the intellect, but can be received by other means as well. A woman suffering from Alzheimer's who cannot grasp a point in a sermon long enough for it to make any real difference can still hold the cup of blessing to her lips and receive the presence of Christ. A child for whom theological affirmations about Christ are as incomprehensible as molecular biology can still receive the blessings of this table. For these, and for all who seek the presence of Christ, John's affirmation is good news indeed: You are what you eat.