Sermons

“Hard Teaching/Words of Life”

Ephesians 6:10-20; John 6:56-69 – Rev. Rebecca Littlejohn

Vista La Mesa Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), La Mesa, California – August 26, 2018

Holy God, bless the speaking and the hearing of these words that our hearts might be humble and bold in following your Son, our Lord. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

Our two scriptures today illustrate beautifully the preacher’s main problem. Some of you want me to preach good news. And some of you want me to tell you what you want to hear. Some of you want me to preach about sin, specifically, other people’s sins. And some of you only want to hear about mercy, preferably without even a decent pause for confession. Some of you need comfort and assurance. And some of you want a multi-media presentation. Some of you want me to preach the gospel. And some of you aren’t going to be listening all that carefully regardless of what I say.

The story that is at the heart of our faith is good news. Jesus did give us “the words of life” as Peter called them. But it is also, very often, a hard teaching. In order to embrace the gospel and live it out, we need to understand that. So let’s take a look at what is hard about our readings today, starting with the passage we just heard.

At first glance, from our perspective, it doesn’t seem complicated to understand why people might be turned off by what Jesus was saying. ‘You must eat my flesh and drink my blood.’ An invitation into a cannibalism cult is not that attractive to most folks. And indeed, there is some hint that one of the accusations against the early Christians was that they were eating human flesh, not least because they talked this way. But if we dig a little deeper, it becomes clear that the cannibalistic overtones were only the most superficial reason this teaching was difficult.

More important at the time and for the observant Jews in Jesus’ audience, was the fact that he was comparing himself, the Bread of Life, to the manna their ancestors had received in the wilderness. The manna in the desert was one of the foundational miracles that shaped Hebrew identity. For Jesus to remind them that after the manna was eaten, “they died,” as evidence that what he was offering was way better, was flat out offensive to many. Who does he think he is, anyway? If manna was good enough for our ancestors, it’s certainly good enough for us, right? Why would I want to live forever anyhow? I’m already counting how many more years I’m going to be willing to put up with this knee and my back. Bread of Life, my foot!

Or maybe the offensive sideswipe at the manna in the wilderness isn’t what makes this hard for you. There’s more. There is something within many of us that recoils at the idea of being in anyone’s debt. We don’t like to ask for help or even to receive gifts because then we feel like we owe something. The idea of a religion where our salvation comes not from our own good deeds or spiritual accomplishments, but rather from someone else – God even – offering themselves up to die for us is horrifying. A life lived forever indebted for something so big we can never re-pay it? No, thank you. Please keep your flesh and blood; we wouldn’t want to put you out.

But finally, and most deeply, the reason this teaching is so difficult is that it’s not just about accepting the sacrificial gift of Jesus’ body and blood. John’s depiction of the eucharist here isn’t just about the crucifixion. It’s about entering into the life of Jesus. When we partake in that meal, we invite Jesus to abide within us, which means we commit to living like him. That sacrificial love becomes not just a gift but a commandment. This is perhaps the hardest part of all. There are so many reasons to try to avoid that kind of commitment. And yet…

There is another hard teaching in the reading we heard from Ephesians 6. And it can serve as an example for us of what we’ve often done with hard teachings in order to make them more palatable. As a pacifist, I’ve always been uncomfortable with this “armor of God” passage. There is a strain of Christianity that is dangerously fond of words like “victory” and “triumph” and images of armor and warfare. Humans have an unholy penchant for violence and winning, and far too often it overcomes our understanding and reception of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Rather than letting the gospel transform our tendencies toward domination by the power of the gentle, sacrificial love of Jesus, we assume the goals of the gospel and try to reach them by our own crude and violent means.

You can see this in the way we depict the metaphors Paul is using here in Ephesians 6. The “whole armor of God” is illustrated as it is described most basically, as the uniform of a soldier or knight, form-fitting and appropriate for battle. There are hundreds of examples of this visual misinterpretation, each more glorious and mighty than the last. Never mind what the scripture says; the message here is: God has given us these wonderful weapons and defensive measures. We can defeat any foe!

But what if we’ve done that to Ephesians 6 because it’s really a harder teaching than we’re comfortable with? There are some hints that preparing for battle with our “enemies” is not really what this passage is about. First of all, there’s verse 12, in which we are told that our struggle is not against “enemies of blood and flesh” but rather against “cosmic powers” and “spiritual forces of evil”. Then there are the words attached to the gear: truth, righteousness, faith, salvation, the Spirit. These are not weapons of domination, but tools of transformation.

We are told that for shoes we are to “put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace.” That’s both a mouthful and a conversation-stopper. What makes you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace? Love? Abundance? Spiritual groundedness? Enough rest? Compassion for the hurting? Regular time spent in prayer? The answers might be different for each of us, yet they likely follow some common themes. And none of those themes have much to do with victory over enemies.

I would like to invite you to imagine a different image than this one of the victorious knight. I couldn’t find one that quite gets at what I’m thinking about, so we’ll have to see it in our minds’ eyes. The closest image available is what it was like when David tried on King Saul’s armor before going to take on the giant Goliath. He ended up abandoning the armor, because it was so much too big for him that it hindered his capacity to move. Rather than offering protection, it was going to be a liability. But what if that is exactly the fit this passage is offering us? Can you picture a knight in armor that is way too big? So much too big that it makes fighting impossible? I don’t know about you, but if I’m going to take on the belt of truth, I need it tied around my tongue, not my waist! What if the breastplate of righteousness is not there to protect us from external enemies, but rather to protect us from acting on the sinfulness within our own hearts?

Paul said we are battling against “the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places”. How much better prepared will we be once we admit that some of the “heavenly places” where those “forces of evil” lurk are our own hearts? This is what makes this teaching hard. We are quick to glorify conquest and victory, if the opponent is an external enemy. But when we admit that the things we’re struggling with also live within us, our understanding of the types of “weapons” required shifts. And once we fully grasp that we only overcome our own sinfulness and bad choices and resentments and weakness through the power of transformative compassion, we may begin to understand that the same thing is true about our supposed external enemies. We do not win anything through dominance, not in the long run anyway. This is the teaching of the gospel, and it is both hard and wonderful.

“Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life,” Peter declared. The words of life are not an easy teaching, but they are an invitation to abundance. The words of life do not invite us into brief dramatic battles with external forces of evil. Rather, they invite us into a lifetime of gentle transformation, a path of humility and wisdom and peace. The words of life invite us into a long, steady discipline of righteousness, transforming our hearts as we transform our world. The words of life invite us to receive the sacrificial love of Jesus, as a gift and as a commandment. The words of life invite us to put on the armor of God that impedes our human tendencies toward violence and domination, toward jealousy and resentment, towards pride and selfishness and all else that diminishes life.

There is no doubt that there is struggle going on all around between the spirits of goodness and evil. But we do well to remember that same struggle is not just around us, but within us. We only become equipped to take on the evils outside us once we are fully aware of what’s going on inside us as well. This is how we know that Jesus’ teachings are the words of life: Because he offers us the Bread of Life, so that we might have the strength to face all our struggles faithfully. Let us rejoice and give thanks that God has not left us to fend for ourselves, but sent Jesus to transform and redeem us. Alleluia and Amen!