Jesus = Bread (don't forget, says John!)

For any of you who may be trying to maintain a low-carb diet, I fear this month’s lectionary readings may have been rather triggering. Over the past four or five weeks, we have heard at least 20 references to bread in the gospel passages alone, and several more references to loaves. So if we have been storming the snack table at coffee hour even more robustly than usual, perhaps that is the reason.

Why, I began to wonder, have we been lingering so long with this imagery of Jesus being the bread of life? Why did those tasked with designing our common lectionary, our schedule of readings, choose to put these words in our ears again and again and again?

Well, maybe it is because we need to hear them again and again and again, especially in the summer season when perhaps, just perhaps, we can slow down long enough for them to really sink in.

I don’t know about you, but it is in these (usually!) warm, slower-paced months that I can finally connect with that which is simple and healthful, not just spiritually but in all aspects of my life. I can easily invite wellness into my daily routine by walking after dinner, doing a five-minute stretch every morning, or putting my phone down more often.

I have learned, though, that what is obvious to me in summertime somehow becomes forgotten as the evenings get darker and the pace of life gets quicker. I am trying to let these lessons sink into my bones now, so that when things get busy perhaps I will have half a chance of remembering my good resolutions that seemed so easy back in August.

Similarly, one might think that the evocative and striking image of Jesus as the bread of life would a simple one for us to hang onto and keep at the forefront of our awareness. But today’s gospel reading, and our own lived experience, shows us that it is not so simple.

On July 28, we heard the story of the feeding of the 5,000, the first story in the sixth chapter of John. With five loaves, Jesus is able to feed everyone who has come to hear him, with lots left over. Everyone marvels and it’s a great day all around.

But - as we have heard on subsequent Sundays - things start to get trickier over the course of the chapter, as Jesus tries to shift his followers’ focus from physical bread and physical wellbeing, to himself as the living bread through which people can obtain eternal life. The disciples make reference to manna, the food sent by God to sustain the Israelites in the wilderness, but Jesus tells them that he is more than that - that he is the bread by which people will never feel hungry again.

That sounds like a pretty great offer. But just as the Israelites often grumbled and predicted doom even after God sent them the manna that kept them nourished, the people listening to Jesus also find it hard to fully get on board with what he is saying. In today’s gospel, many of the disciples say "this teaching is difficult; who can accept it?" Some cannot believe it; they turn away from Jesus and return to their own homes.

To be fair, it can be a difficult message. Jesus wants us to shift our focus from our immediate needs for sustenance and safety, never an easy task, to the less tangible concept of our spiritual health. Jesus wants us to trust that our eternal wellbeing is cradled surely and steadfastly in God’s hand, and to accept that this fact is more important than what’s in our stomach today.

When the skies of life are blue, the days are warm and our bodies are comfortable, we might find ourselves embracing this message quite readily - just as I might find it easier in the peace of summertime to identify and adopt a healthier path in life. It’s when the storms of life roll in that these things become harder, and our conversations with God take on the tone of some of the grumbling Israelites in the wilderness, or the grumbling disciples in the gospel:

It’s all very well to talk about eternal life, God, (we might say) but we need help in the here and now, with our wars and cancers and addictions and climate emergencies.

And I can’t help but wonder, God, why you are silent on so many things when I do seek your presence.

And by the way, Jesus, just for today can’t you be a little bit less about the living bread of eternal life and a little bit more about the five loaves that fed everyone in the here and now?

We’ve probably all had questions like these at some point, and they’re fair questions. But if you are here at church, you’ve likely come, or are coming, to the same conclusion that Simon Peter and the rest of the 12 disciples did in today’s gospel reading. That there is no other lasting port in the storm. That there is no other road to true health and wellbeing. That the world will flourish only when love of God and love of neighbour are at the forefront of our life together.

Sometimes that’s a simple message to accept, sometimes it isn’t - no matter how many times we hear it. But that’s just part of the human condition. German theologian and modern martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer counselled us to be patient with ourselves and with God when our faith seems too small, or when we lack the deep certainty we crave. Instead of hounding God to bestow upon us great spiritual insight, says Bonhoeffer, we should be thankful for whatever small measure of spiritual knowledge we have been given. He says that Christians "should not be constantly feeling their spiritual pulse," as he puts it, but giving thanks daily for whatever glimmers of faith we have experienced. It is when we are grateful for small things, he says, that God can build upon them with larger ones.

You may recall that the Israelites were only able to gather enough manna to feed themselves for one day; trying to hoard extra made the excess rot and stink. Similarly, Jesus counsels us to ask God to give us "our daily bread," not a lifetime’s supply. These verses should help reassure us that the aim isn’t to break records for our spiritual understanding or our incredible depth of trust - we just need enough to get us through the day.

Faith, after all, is sometimes compared to driving down a long country lane in the dark of night. You can only see as far as your headlamps shine, but even by this limited light you can make your way safely home. We don’t need to solve every mystery or understand how God operates. Jesus doesn’t ask us to know everything; he asks us to trust him in everything. He asks us to trust that in following him, all our needs will be fulfilled; if possible, in this life, if necessary, in the next.

So, as days of summer clarity turn toward the gloaming of autumn, let us give thanks for the gift of Jesus, the living bread, who sustains us throughout all seasons of our lives. May the daily bread we are given help us stay true to God’s love; and may our faith light the way for others, especially those who are navigating times of darkness. And though we may at times falter, let us look with confidence toward that day when all that perplexes us now becomes clear in God’s heaven; where we will, indeed, never hunger nor thirst, but have everlasting life. Amen.