Bread. Again.

This sermon was preached at our Sunday morning Eucharist on Sunday 8th August 2021, following a few weeks of relaxation of the UK's covid restrictions. The Gospel was John 6:35,41-51.

Hope you enjoy reading it!

Raising children can be repetitive sometimes. Mealtimes especially. Don’t get me wrong, my two are very, very good, but we still have those conversations every parent has:

“Come on now, eat up!”

“Don’t liiike it!”

“You do! This is your favourite!”

“Want ice-cream.”

“After. Eat up your meat and potatoes first. And you, eat up your bread.”

I swear I have these conversations in my sleep sometimes; “Eat up! Eat your bread!”

 

Eating bread

There is – surprisingly – a link here to today’s Gospel. When I read it out earlier, did it feel oddly familiar? A bit repetitive? If you were here last Sunday, or even the Sunday before, you’d be forgiven for thinking that maybe I’d read out last week’s Gospel instead, or maybe that of the week before? “Hear the Gospel of our Lord according to St John; it’s all about bread.” Well, rest-assured, I read out the right passage – this week: bread. Last week: bread. The week before that: bread. And… just in case you didn’t get the message any of these three weeks in August, next week? Yup, bread. And the week after. Spare a thought for preachers everywhere this month, trying to come up with something different to say each week in August.

But actually, my job is a bit easier than I made out. And that’s for two reasons, the first is I actually preached in this slot three years ago, so, if you find this sermon slightly familiar there is a reason for that – I’ve said it before. I think that’s appropriate though, in a sermon that’s introduced by repetition!

The second reason my sermon is easier than others in this month of bread-themed sermons is that, actually, despite all appearances, today isn’t about bread. It’s really about something else. Today, Jesus does the bait and switch.

In today’s Gospel, we re-join that 5000-strong crowd after that miraculous feeding of every single one of them with five rolls and two fish. And today, they’ve come back for more of the same. They want yesterday’s miracle today; Jesus did it before, and now they want him to do it again; they’ve probably even brought their friends this time, to show off just what this Jesus can do, to bring them into this miraculous inner-circle of faith in Jesus.

But Jesus says no. Not today. That miracle was for yesterday, and today is a new day.

And the crowd do not like that. Just who does this Jesus think he is? Much like we heard the other month, when Christ was preaching in the temple, and the crowd grew offended, the crowd are once again affronted. Again, they appeal to their knowledge of his family. Having seen him grow up, he owes them; he’s their Jesus.

Just what right does Jesus have to withhold the miracle again today? He did it yesterday; he can do it again today. He needs to do it again today – the people need bread; they’ll die without it.

 

They’ll die anyway, says Jesus. Their ancestors died, and they ate actual manna from Heaven. If that didn’t give them eternal life, what good will standard sliced-white do?

“Do you want bread?”, asks Jesus, “I am the bread!” And, like in a scene from a cheesy Hollywood movie, he tells the crowd to follow him, if they want to live. Don’t just flit from place to place, looking for the latest, greatest thing since the last slice of bread you ate, Jesus says; Consume Me.

But… he is not what the crowds want. If Jesus won’t satisfy their earthly hunger, they’d prefer to find someone who will. The crowd know what they want; they want the miracle, the glitz and the glamour of multiplications of multi-seed loaf, the story to tell their grandchildren about. They want to fill their bellies today, and come back for more of the same tomorrow.

They don’t want a Jesus who mixes it up; who changes things from day to day. They especially don’t want a Jesus who might tell them ‘no’. They want the Jesus they grew up with; the one they knew how to handle, the one who they could run to his mother and to Joseph about should he do something they do not like. They want the Jesus who gave them bread.

But, as I said, today is a new day. Bog-standard bread was for yesterday. There’s more here, something deeper, if you’re willing to look for it.

 

The world has changed, irrevocably. And we stand at a turning point; it’s rarely been more clearly signposted that we’re at a point where things can change. And so, we’ve got a choice. What do we want? To go back to the way things were before this virus stopped us in our tracks? To find the comfort in our previous routines and structures? To return to singing hymns and shaking hands, and eating bread and drinking wine, and to continue doing the same thing, week after week after week, coming back each Sunday for our taste of bread and our hour-or-so of Jesus? Don’t get me wrong; that all sounds good. It sounds comforting; a return to the norm. But that was yesterday. Today is a new day.

“Consume me”, says Jesus. It’s not about the bread.

It’s not about the singing and the hand-shaking. It’s not about eating bread and drinking wine. It’s not about an hour of fellowship and a return to the world, having tasted our Jesus-fix.

Sure; taste – taste and see that the Lord is good, but do more than taste. Eat, feast on Christ. Consume and be consumed by him. They say you are what you eat, so devour him so deeply that you are Christ and Christ is you.

Eat, and live.

Because, that is how we change the world. Not with manna from heaven, or miraculous baskets of overflowing bread; not even – despite its incredible importance – by sharing the Eucharistic meal together. It’s by feasting on, consuming, becoming obsessed with Christ.

The world stands ready for change. It waits with baited breath and an empty belly. You – yes honestly, you – are able to change it. So, what are you waiting for? Eat up.