"This is Difficult" (Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost)

John 6:56-69

56 Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. 57 Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. 58 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." 59 He said these things while he was teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum. 60 When many of his disciples heard it, they said, "This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?" 61 But Jesus, being aware that his disciples were complaining about it, said to them, "Does this offend you? 62 Then what if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? 63 It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life. 64 But among you there are some who do not believe." For Jesus knew from the first who were the ones that did not believe, and who was the one that would betray him. 65 And he said, "For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted by the Father." 66 Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. 67 So Jesus asked the twelve, "Do you also wish to go away?" 68 Simon Peter answered him, "Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. 69 We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God."

It was one of the most difficult things I had ever attempted, but I wasn’t really sure why it was so hard. I mean, I had watched several people do it before me; it was like they didn’t even have to think about it—and a lot of them were a lot less smart than me. It was a simple enough thing, but every time I attempted to do it, I looked like a fool, like I didn’t know how to do something even a child could do without so much as a thought.

It was my first spring training for the football team at the high school. We were in full pads, divided into our positions, and going through our warm up routines. I did the sprints, the stretches, the lunges, the grass drills—everything, just like everyone else. But then the offensive line coach (Coach Chambers) had us get in three lines side-by-side for one final warm-up exercise. It was almost comical to watch at first: the first three guys in line crouched down like they were about to take off running, but when Coach Chambers tweeted his whistle, they didn’t break loose from the grass, tearing across the field. No, those three, burly, offensive linemen began to skip! Then, the next ones in line, they began to skip. It was like watching three overgrown kindergarteners in shoulder pads and helmets skipping across a playground. I’m not going to lie to you: I may have snickered at the whole thing just a bit—that was, until it was my turn in line.

You see, here’s the thing: I don’t think I had ever really skipped before in my life. I may have when I was a kid, but I had no real recollection of skipping, and as the two other guys were getting ready for the sound of coach’s whistle, I was sort of frozen in the moment—in the realization that I had absolutely no idea how to do the thing we were supposed to do. When Coach blew his whistle, the two other guys skipped right off, and I—well, I started into some strange combination of jumping, hoping, and running that made it appear as though I were having some sort of stroke, because as all the other guys were laughing at me, coach came over, smacked my helmet and said, “Thomas! What in the world is wrong with you son? You think this is a time to be funny?” How do you tell your football coach (who clearly already thinks you’re an overrated player who talks back too much) that you don’t know how to skip? He made me try three more times, and when it was obvious that I really didn’t know what I was doing, he let the embarrassment be punishment enough. I went home, and the rest of that week, I practiced trying to skip (which, remember, was a warm-up exercise) until it finally just clicked, and I could skip like everyone else. To this day, I’m not sure why that was so hard for my brain and body to figure out, but once they did, it was pretty easy; I didn’t even have to think about it all that much.

To tell the truth, I think I a lot of those difficulties in our lives are like that. Whether it’s the difficulty that comes with learning a new skill at work, the difficulty that comes with growing older as joints ache and glasses thicken, the difficulty that comes with moving to a new place or waking up without someone who was here yesterday, it seems to me there inevitably comes a moment, a day when things sort of fall into their new groove, when we accept (whether consciously or not) this new reality and the difficulty fades or forms a callous and life goes on. But what if the difficulty doesn’t fade? What if a callous never forms and we are reminded of the raw reality of the present difficulty? What if life itself is just plain difficult, and what if its difficulty is of our own making?

We are faced, this morning, with a difficulty in the passage before us. At least that’s what the disciples say in verse 60, after Jesus wraps up his sayings about the “bread of Life.” They say, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?" What teaching is difficult? “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." Alright. I can see how that might be difficult. Eating flesh. Drinking blood. Who’s lining up to join that cause? Cannibalism is indeed a difficult teaching, I suppose, and who would accept it? Certainly not a people for whom there were strict dietary laws concerning the practice and the consuming of any blood whatsoever. “Eat my flesh…drink my blood.” Yep, that’s a difficult teaching, or is it? I mean, let’s be honest, people have done some weird things for weird reasons all throughout human history, right? Perhaps all the more since the advent of “reality television.” And Jesus’ teaching is made less difficult, I suppose, if one considers that Jesus is somehow projecting forward to the Lord’s Supper, to the symbolic flesh and blood of the bread and wine. Yes, if consuming Jesus’ flesh and drinking his blood is about sharing in some ritualistic meal, then perhaps this teaching isn’t as difficult as it seems.

But what if Jesus meant something else? What if it had less to do with eating and drinking and more to do with believing? Yeah, that’d be more religious, right? After all, believing something can be difficult, can’t’ it? There are people who refuse to believe all kinds of things—even things proven beyond a reasonable doubt. Why, there are people who still think the earth is flat, that the moon landing was faked, that Barry Bonds didn’t take steroids, that professional wrestling is real! Believing something that is contrary to what you’ve believed your entire life is hard. Believing something that runs counter to your worldview is hard. Believing something that cannot be proven with physical evidence, believing in something that cannot be proven beyond a reasonable doubt, believing in something that runs counter to your overall well-being—all of that is difficult. So maybe what the disciples are calling difficult has to do with what Jesus is asking them to believe, to accept. Perhaps what Jesus is placing before them is a new idea, a new notion for them to consider, something more to believe:"Does this offend you? Then what if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life. But among you there are some who do not believe.”

Of course, this is only true if one thinks that what Jesus is talking about here is a singular moment of intellectual acceptance. If Jesus meant, “Change your mind about this one thing (his divinity, relationship to God, or whatever), and you’ll live forever,” who wouldn’t sign up for that? Seriously, it’s something I’ve asked myself for as long as I’ve been a believer: if it’s just about a decision, about some cognitive consent that Christ was who he said he was, then why aren’t more folks lining up to sign on the dotted line? If this whole faith/religion/Christianity thing is just about siding with the right team, checking the right box, or acknowledging the correct God, then why aren’t folks jumping on the bandwagon? I have a hunch, and it involves what I think Jesus is really driving at in this difficult teaching that some of the disciples can’t quite get behind.

Yes, it has to do with belief, but not belief as some surface-level agreement with an argument or conclusion. No, the Greek word for believe is pisteu, a word that means a bit more than just “agreement;” it implies trust, as in the way one believes a bridge will hold a car up as it travels over a river, the sort of trust that leads one to make big, life-altering decisions that others might find irrational, the kind of trust that compels one to follow a rabbi who proclaims his own death as a way to God. So maybe what Jesus is teaching that’s so difficult for some of his disciples is the notion of believing in him to the extent that they make otherwise rash decisions, trusting him so fully that they’ll leave family and friends to follow him. I think that’s part of it, really. I think that’s part of what’s so difficult about Jesus’ teachings; trusting him so deeply that one might be willing to sell everything he has in order to follow him, trusting Jesus so much that one is willing to pack her bags, kiss momma goodbye, and move halfway around the world to serve him. I think that’s part of it; I really do, because those things are hard, and a lot of folks don’t want to follow Jesus that far. A lot of folks are willing to believe the whole, “get me into heaven and keep me out of hell” Jesus, but fewer are willing to answer that more challenging call from Jesus, but what may be more difficult still—what may be the truly difficult teaching of Jesus here, is found right after his words about eating his flesh and drinking his blood. Did you catch them?

“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.” “…abide in me, and I in them.” That word “abide” (meno in Greek) plays like a bass note throughout the Fourth Gospel. It’s a word that means “to continue to be, not to perish, to last, endure.” It carries with it the weight of a vow, a promise to endure through whatever may come. If I’m honest with you, that may be the most difficult part of Jesus’ teachings. I think it’s easy to take hold of some religious promise about going to heaven when you die. That’s why you’ll seldom sit in a funeral service where someone will stand up and act as if the promise of heaven was some passing fad or some new age idea that the recently deceased missed. It’s easy to simply agree to the terms and conditions, to bow your head, close your eyes, repeat after the preacher, so you can claim your spot in line outside the pearly gates. It’s a little harder to give up an otherwise comfortable life, to leave the family business, to forsake your own personal dreams of fortune and comfort in order to follow Jesus wherever the calling takes you, but it isn’t without its joys, celebrations, and triumphs. But what is truly hard, what is absolutely the most difficult part of this life of faith, is that whole abiding thing, hanging in there with Jesus no matter what. That is most certainly a difficult teaching.

To abide with Jesus in the waiting room outside the ICU, watching the second hand on the clock grind on as you wait for a word from the doctor saying she’s going to pull out of this, that’s difficult. To abide with Jesus after another collect phone call wanting to know if you can come pick him up one more time from the county jail, that’s difficult. To abide with Jesus after praying and praying and praying for relief from the pain, relief from the agony, freedom from the torture, but you wake up the next day and it hasn’t left you, that’s difficult. To abide with Jesus as you make sacrifice after sacrifice only to have to give more and more and still feel as if nothing is changing and things are only getting worse, that’s difficult.

Is it any wonder then that “Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him?” Can you blame them? I mean, I don’t mind hanging out with Jesus once or twice a week, maybe inviting him over for supper every once in a while, but abiding with him, staying in his presence all-the-time…? That’s just not practical. Staying with Jesus when there are folks looking to get in the same line with him that aren’t fit to be in any sort of group I’m willing to associate with…I don’t know about that now. If Jesus wants me to abide with him in the right places, among the right people, doing the right things, I might could see my way to doing that, but I know Jesus winds up with a lot of folks on the margins, folks on the outside of what society and religious folks call “acceptable,” so I’m not so sure I want to abide with Jesus if he’s going to tangled up with those sorts of folks. No, I don’t blame those disciples who turned back and no longer went about with him. I mean, if you’re just looking for a savior, someone to pull you out of whatever hell you think you’re headed for, but instead you get Jesus asking you to hang in there with him and maybe go through a little hell with him…I can understand turning back. I really can.

But then, there are those words from Simon Peter when “Jesus asked the twelve, "Do you also wish to go away?" [and] Simon Peter answered him, "Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God." “To whom can we go?” Peter, in this moment at least, gets it. You see, whether you abide with Jesus or not, those dark days are going to come. Whether you abide with Jesus or not, those heavy moments of doubt and uncertainty will come. Whether you abide with Jesus or not, you will walk through the valley of the shadow of death, you will feel the keen sting of heartache and pain, you will shudder in the cold emptiness of loneliness. Whether you abide with Jesus or not, those people you’ve sought to keep at arm’s length will inevitably cross your path. But the truth to which Peter testifies here is this: when you abide in Christ, when you stay with Jesus, Jesus stays with you. No matter how dark the days get, no matter how great the pain is, no matter how wrong your thoughts, desires, and notions are—Jesus abides with you so long as you abide with him. And isn’t that the good news ,the gospel? That no matter where you go, no matter what you do, when you take hold of Jesus, when you seek to trust Christ, when you hang in there with him, he hangs in there with you. That’s a difficult teaching, but thanks be to God it just the one we all need. Amen.