Try to imagine a Stone Age hunter-gatherer who has taken his flint spear into the hills in search of a mountain goat, but comes to realize that he is being hunted by a sabre-tooth tiger. Watch as he hides, trembling, behind a large boulder. Suddenly inspired, he tosses his loincloth to the side, attracting the tiger to his scent. When the big cat pauses to sniff at the worn leather, the naked hunter emerges to drive his spear deep into its chest, shouting in gleeful triumph.
Later, around the campfire, he shares teeth or claws with the elders and meat with the rest, but reserves the heart for himself. Chewing the tough flesh, he thinks to himself that the strength of the sabre-tooth now dwells in him.
Imagine again, if you’re not too squeamish, a head-hunter from Borneo, as recently as two centuries ago. After a battle, he slurps the blood of a rival warrior and pictures the power of the vanquished now coursing through his veins. [DD]
Not a comfortable thought, right?
Right.
So try to imagine how some of the people surrounding Jesus would have reacted when he said plainly “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you” (v. 53).
That might have been too much for us, too.
A long lead-in …
Today’s text is just eight very repetitive verses long, and the first of these (v. 51) was also the last verse in our previous study: the lectionary overlaps them so we can’t miss the connection. The subject at hand, however, had been a long time coming.
John 6 begins with the Fourth Gospel’s version of the “Feeding of the 5,000” (vv. 1-14). When some rabid followers were so impressed that they sought to railroad him into sparking a rebellion by declaring himself king, he slipped away from the crowds, meeting the disciples on the water as they rowed toward Capernaum (vv. 15-21).
The next day, a mixed crowd of fans, opponents, and a large share of curiosity seekers gathered around Jesus again. Some appeared disappointed that he was more interested in teaching than in feeding them again: Jesus called their bluff, accusing them of looking for him “because you ate your fill of the loaves” (v. 26).
Jesus then began a discourse, speaking of himself as the “bread of life” that far surpassed the manna their ancestors ate in the wilderness. Their ancestors died, Jesus said, but they had the opportunity to “work for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you” (v. 27).
So far, so good. Nothing too mind-boggling. But then Jesus began to get graphic. “I am the bread that came down from heaven,” he said (v. 41), “so that one may eat of it and not die” (v. 50).
Some may have begun to get uncomfortable, wondering where he was leading, and then Jesus spelled it out: “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (v. 51).
Gulp! What?
Jesus’ troublesome talk (vv. 52-58)
The crowd surrounding Jesus would have been overwhelmingly Jewish, and some were more willing to give Jesus the benefit of the doubt than others. They “disputed among themselves” over the almost unthinkable question: “how can this man give us his flesh to eat?” (v. 52). Don’t you think we’d be asking the same question?
You might think Jesus would back away a bit, or explain carefully that he was being metaphorical, but he plowed ahead, speaking in even more graphic terms: “Very truly, I tell you,” Jesus said, “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.”
Can you imagine? But that was not all: “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever” (vv. 53-58).
What?
Jesus’ talk about eating his flesh and drinking his blood was not only shocking and offensive: it represented a blatant violation of Jewish law. Jews were not allowed to consume the blood of animals, much less people. Had Jesus never heard of Leviticus? [DD]
According to Lev. 17:10-14, blood was the source of life, and belonged to God alone. The only thing humans were allowed to do with blood – other than bury it – was to sprinkle it on the altar during sacrificial offerings for the purposes of atonement. Anyone who violated the prohibition would be “cut off” from Israel. Neither vampires nor rare steak eaters were allowed! [DD]
Opponents in the crowd had to wonder. Did Jesus not realize that his teaching was not only offensive, but heretical? Did he expect his followers to become cannibals, feeding from the flesh and blood of their master? How long could that last, anyway?
No one who heard Jesus teach that day went home comfortable, and they were probably no longer hungry, either. If we try to read the story on its own terms, not colored by nearly two millennia of church tradition, it can still leave us a bit queasy. Is this kind of thing what we come to church for?
We may even be a little put out with Jesus. Why did he have to be so controversial? Why couldn’t he pick a nicer metaphor? And it was a metaphor, wasn’t it?
We sure hope it was a metaphor.
But Jesus really got our attention, didn’t he? And that was certainly part of his strategy. When Jesus made outrageous statements like this, you can almost hear him saying “Made you think!”
Jesus wanted the crowds around him to think, not just look for miracles. Consider again how Jesus has moved through this chapter. He began by feeding thousands of people through the miraculous multiplication of a few fish and flat barley cakes. When the hangers-on came to him the next day with food on their minds, Jesus declared that he was the bread of life, “the true bread that comes down from God in heaven.”
That statement wasn’t so shocking. We can handle talking about Jesus as the bread of life, so long as it remains in the abstract.
But then Jesus added blood to the metaphor, possibly because he did know Leviticus, where blood was used only in the course of sacrifices for atonement, and he would soon be shedding his blood in the process of atoning for the sin of others.
Jesus’ scandalous words simply took the metaphor to its natural conclusion. If Jesus is the bread and blood of life, then one who wants life must seek Jesus. Food has no effect until we eat it and it becomes a part of us. Thus, coming to Jesus does no good unless we find a way to bring Jesus into our lives, and the natural metaphor Jesus used was eating and drinking. Still sounds edgy, doesn’t it?
I think Jesus stuck with this troublesome metaphor because he wanted his hearers to understand that God did not just come to us through some intangible essence, but through the physical reality of Jesus himself. God is not just an eternal principle: but an active participant in our lives. And it is only through participating in Christ’s life that we can find the abundant and eternal life that he came to give us. We participate through trusting Jesus and accepting his grace.
Our remarkable opportunity
Digging into this troubling text helps us to appreciate why Jesus chose to have his followers remember him through the observance we now call “the Lord’s Supper,” or “Holy Communion.” What did Jesus say as he distributed bread and wine to his friends? “This is my body that is given for you … this is my blood that is shed for you … do this in remembrance of me.” Then we eat it and drink it.
With the institution of the Lord’s Supper, Jesus provides the interpretive key to understanding his earlier discussion that seemed to border on cannibalism. Jesus never intended for his disciples to take a bite out of his arm, but he was totally serious about their need to receive his living reality into their lives.
The material substance of bread and wine remind us of the present reality of Jesus Christ. It is not necessary for us to get involved in endless theological debates about transubstantiation or consubstantiation, trying to imagine if the bread and wine truly become the body and blood of Christ, and if so, when. [DD] The issue is not about eating, but about believing, about trusting.
These tangible symbols, broken and crushed, bring to us in a present way the incarnate reality of Jesus Christ, who truly came to live among us, who taught us the way of life, who died for our sins and rose again to God’s glory.
They bring us into the presence of Jesus, who said “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” (v. 55).
Isn’t that where we want to be?