Where else would we go?

 

 

“This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?”

A Sermon preached at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Georgetown, DE

and simultaneously live broadcast via Facebook Live

Sirach 26:10

Pentecost XI11 - Proper 16 B
August 22, 2021 

 

His name was John. He was a doctoral student in one of the first classes at University of Lowell to train and credential the fairly new and rapidly growing paramedical profession known as physiotherapy.

 

A scientist at heart, John had a lot of questions. Lots and lots of questions, as I recall. As a new graduate, newly ordained priest and new university chaplain, my seminary days could still be seen clearly in the rear view mirror. Even so, his questions challenged me, probably more than they would challenge me today.

 

It took me a while to lower my natural defenses and realize that he was not picking on me, to see if, as a woman, my IQ and credentials passed muster. He was just curious, is all. Seriously curious. Dead-seriously curious. I confess that, sometimes – not often but sometimes – I cringed when I heard him knock at the door of my office. There were days when I welcomed his questions and other days when … well … I didn’t.

 

I remember clearly the Sunday afternoon we had a conversation about this very gospel reading. “Are we supposed to understand this literally or metaphorically?” he asked, demonstrating that he had, in fact, heard me that time when I had made this distinction in reading some of the sayings and teachings of Jesus.

 

“Oh, I think it’s pretty safe to assume that Jesus was speaking metaphorically here,” I responded, “but then again, I’m an Episcopalian. We've never met a metaphor or paradox we didn’t like.”  John was quiet and thoughtful. “Yeah, I don’t think so, chaplain,” he said. “I think he was being quite literal. Besides which,” he added, “Jesus is just about The Worst salesman – evangelist, I think is the term you use – I’ve ever seen.”

 

“How so,” I asked, happy for the opportunity to stall off the inevitable difficulty. If I had learned nothing else in seminary, I learned that there are just some questions that are unanswerable. I would love to be able to say, “Right! Here’s the answer for you,” instead of “Well, in this passage, Jesus has just handed us a paradox wrapped in an unsolvable conundrum placed in the middle of a Rubric’s Cube that you will wrestle with for the rest of your life.”

 

“Look,” he said, “At the beginning of this sixth chapter of John’s Gospel, Jesus has fed 5,000 people. That’s amazing. He literally had the people eating right out of the palm of his hand. He could have had 5,000 newly baptized, newly commissioned Christians right then and there.”

 

“He could have told a few more engaging stories or dropped some pearls of wisdom,” he continued, “but, no! Instead, Jesus launches into this long, convoluted whatever-the-heck this is about eating his flesh and drinking his blood. Which – are you kidding me? – is just flat-out creepy!”

“No wonder his followers started grumbling: “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?”,” he said. Many turned away and went home, never to be seen again. And, Jesus just let them go! He didn’t try to explain it or break it down for people.”

 

 “I understand why even some of his disciples ‘turned back and no longer went about with him,’” he said, “Jesus even asked his 12 disciples, “Do you also wish to go away?”

 

John shifted in his seat, looked me straight in the eye and said, “Well, I’m not Peter. I mean, I want to know more about Jesus and I think a lot of his teaching is really good and important and can make me a better person, but, you know, I can and will go other places. I’m not that kind of Christian, much less an Episcopalian. I’m not locked into this Jesus-guy the way you are, but I admire your faith. So, what’s the deal here? How am I supposed to understand this?”

 

I started by explaining to him that I had always heard Peter’s response differently than I had understood it to have been traditionally explained, which is Peter’s loyal, unwavering declaration of Capitol F.A.I.T.H.

 

Instead, in my religious imagination, I saw a man every bit as exasperated as John was, standing right before me, saying with great exasperation, “Look, Jesus, I don’t understand you any better than these people who are leaving you in droves. There are lots of other guys in Palestine, claiming to be The Messiah who knows The Truth. But, honestly? You’re the best game in town. I’ve come to believe that you are the Real Deal. So, what other choice do we have?”

 

I think what is taught by some scholars as “Peter’s Confession of Faith” has deep resonance for people in our time and culture who don’t understand everything Jesus is saying and have more unanswered questions than answers. We also have lots more choices for spiritual enlightenment as well as opportunities to learn ethical behavior.

 

Even my little backwater town of Long Neck has Transcendental Meditation groups, a Yoga Spirituality Center and a group of Christians and Jews who study the Kabbalah together. There’s even a local someone on Facebook who sits zazen and just chants and moans for 15 minutes. That doesn’t float my particular boat but I understand she does have a bit of a local following.

 

We have all these choices and yet we keep coming back to Jesus. Maybe that’s because, even though his words are sometimes confusing and perplexing, we’ve heard something – one thing – that rings true. Maybe because, when we make our way to receive communion, even though we’re not at all sure what EXACTLY is happening, we feel his presence – however inexplicable – and we feel more at peace, more aware, more connected, more alive than we do anywhere else.

 

Something about Jesus, something about his teaching, something about the mystery of the Incarnation, keeps bringing us back, even if we don’t always understand exactly what that is.

 

I explained all of this to John and he listened carefully and respectfully before he answered, “Well, you know, I think this reading just crossed a line for me. I’m giving it my best shot but, you know, I’m beginning to think this is just not for me. I don’t know if it’s Christianity in general or being Episcopalian in particular, but, well, thanks for your time, and I wish you all the best.”

 

I didn’t see John for more than two months after that. I admit that, even though I knew it wasn’t me, I felt a complete and utter failure. I did take heart when I began to hear from a few of my brother clergy in town. John had been spotted visiting the Methodists and the Lutherans, and had even stopped in at both the Armenian and Greek Orthodox churches and the Roman Catholic Church in town.

 

Maybe, just maybe, all was not lost.

 

And then, early one Sunday evening when I held the service of Holy Eucharist at the University of Lowell, I saw John walk in. He took his usual place – fifth row back, on the right – said all the prayers, sang all of the hymns and listened intently to the lessons and my sermon.  I sought out his face in the congregation to see if he was saying the words of the Nicene Creed. He wasn’t. For some reason still mysterious to me, it made me smile. Still does. I guess seeing integrity lived out like that will always warm my heart.

 

But, when it was time for Eucharist, much to my surprise, John came forward. I was dying to know what had changed for him since our talk. What had he learned from the Methodists and the Lutherans and our sisters and brothers in the Orthodox churches?

 

I had six-dozen questions floating around in my head when he appeared before me in the communion line but I didn’t ask one. Instead, I just looked him square in the eye, reached down to a place of deep truth in my soul, opened my mouth and said the truest words I know, “The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven,” and placed a broken piece of pita bread in his hand.

 

At the end of the service, I greeted John at the door. “Good to see you again, sir,” I said. “Good to see you, too,” he said a little sheepishly. I took a deep breath and even though I told myself I shouldn’t say anything more, I heard myself say, “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

 

At which point, John just shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands by his side and just smiled a quiet smile. That’s exactly the posture I imagine Peter had when he said to Jesus, “Well, Lord, to whom can we go? There are lots of other guys in Palestine, claiming to be The Messiah who knows The Truth. But, honestly? You’re the best game in town. I’ve come to believe that you are the Real Deal. So, what other choice do we have?”

 

Well, that’s not exactly what Peter said, of course, but it’s close enough to the truth to be good enough for me. And, in the end, being close enough to the truth is probably as good as it gets in this life before we move onto life eternal where we will stand face to face with The Truth – and know.

 

And then, all the unanswered questions with which we have been struggling all our earthly lives – all the conundrums and paradox and mysteries – will finally have answers and there will be a loud CLICK and all the colors on the Rubric’s Cube will all line up properly. Until then, we’ll just partake of the Body of Christ, the bread of heaven, and struggle along. Together.

 

Because, honestly, when you think about it, this really is the Best Real Deal in Town.

 

Amen.