Today’s worship service, in its entirety, is available here:
If you prefer to listen to the gospel reading and sermon, you may do so here:
Today’s sermon is based on John 6:56-69.
[Jesus said,] 56“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. 57Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. 58This 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.” 59He said these things while he was teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum.
60When many of his disciples heard it, they said, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” 61But Jesus, being aware that his disciples were complaining about it, said to them, “Does this offend you? 62Then what if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? 63It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life. 64But 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. 65And he said, “For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted by the Father.”
66Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. 67So Jesus asked the twelve, “Do you also wish to go away?” 68Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. 69We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”
Beloved of God, grace and peace to you in the name of Jesus. Amen.
What To Do
by Joyce Sutphen
Wake up early, before the lights come on
in the houses on a street that was once
a farmer’s field at the edge of a marsh.
Wander from room to room, hoping to find
words that could be enough to keep the soul
alive, words that might be useful or kind
in a world that is more wasteful and cruel
every day. Remind us that we are
like grass that fades, fleeting clouds in the sky,
and then give us just one of those moments
when we were paying attention, when we gave
up everything to see the world in
a grain of sand or to behold
a rainbow in the sky, the
heart leaping up.
I’ve been wandering from room to room this week hoping to find words that might be useful or kind in a world where so many of God’s beloved ones are hurting—hurting in ways I know and hurting in ways I can only imagine.
I’ve picked up words and examined them from every angle. Is this word true? Is it useful? Is it kind? Is it kind in an obvious sort of way or is it kind in a way that stings a bit before it settles in and goes to work bringing healing? And if it’s kind in that not so obvious way, can it really be heard?
Jesus taught in the synagogue at Capernaum—stood up among his fellow believers, right there in the midst of his community of faith—and raised these words: 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.
Were his words useful or kind?
Jesus himself describes them, in the face of his disciples’ complaining, as spirit and life—not useless, like the flesh, but useful. His disciples, though, describe his words as difficult. They complain about his teaching. They’re offended. And it is in response to these words that many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him.
Now, these particular words from Jesus may not strike us as being particularly offensive. We’re accustomed to thinking of Jesus as one who has been sent by God, from heaven, for the sake of life. We’re even accustomed to envisioning Jesus as bread and wine. We receive holy communion on a regular basis. We’ve been shaped and formed by these words: This is the body of Christ, given for you. This is the blood of Christ, shed for you. We understand, as much as anyone can, that in this sacred meal where Jesus is both host and feast we are given the gift of life—freedom, joy, peace.
But there are other words Jesus spoke that perhaps we would just as soon forget—words that may be offensive to our ears, words we might even deem dangerous to our way of life if we really took them to heart.
Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation (Luke 6:20, 24).
I was hungry and you gave me no food. I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink. I was a stranger and you did not welcome me. Just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me (Matthew 25:42-43, 45).
Love your enemies. Bless those who curse you (Luke 6:27-28).
Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I tell you? (Luke 6:46).
The teachings of Jesus are hard. Living as a disciple of Christ—then and now— is hard. Discerning which words and deeds are true, and faithful, and loving is hard. It’s so much easier to use words as weapons, to share them without really thinking, or to give up and not say anything for fear of offending someone. It’s so much easier to wander from room to room hoping to find words that could be enough to keep the soul alive—taking matters into our own hands, relying on our own strength and will—when the only word we need has already found us.
Many of Jesus’ disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. So Jesus asked the twelve, “Do you also wish to go away?” Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.”
In a week where I went searching for words, and every word I lifted up to examine fell short—it was the Word of God that searched me out. I was driving home from Canoe Ridge after an evening meeting and the Good Shepherd led me to still waters on the side of a dusty gravel road and I was given just one of those moments when [I was] paying attention, when [I] gave up everything to see the world in [the setting sun and the rising moon.]
And then, when it was time to write this sermon, and I was in tears because I had no words to offer to you, no words to give, the Holy Spirit answered my cries with the poem I shared with you to begin this sermon: What To Do.
I had read it before, but I hadn’t really read it. And I certainly hadn’t heard it as a word from God. At the heart of it—at the very center—is this perfect line in which the speaker seems to move from addressing the reader to addressing God:
every day. Remind us that we are
At the heart of life is not we were, not even we will be.
We are.
WE are.
And it’s not up to us to find the words. It’s up to God to find us.
Remind us, God. Give us just one of those moments when we’re paying attention. And let your Word—even when it stings—course through this body and bring healing. Let your Word free our collective heart, wearied by worry, to leap up here and now. Amen.
* I highly recommend the collection of poems How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope edited by James Crews and with a foreword by Ross Gay. In it, you’ll find What To Do, along with so many other beautiful, accessible, truly hope-full poems.
**If you, or someone you love, is heading back to school soon, here is a blessing (one blessing, two different formats from which to choose) I’ve written just for you.
