Abiding in Christ Through the Eucharist

A sermon by Rev Andrew Colman on John 6:42-52

Depending on who you ask, Trinity Sunday is either the most fun or frightening Sunday of the year to preach.

Much of that depends on how gravely the preacher and people take themselves, their theology. The more sure they must be about what is right and wrong the more frightening that Sunday will be, because you are guaranteed to get something very wrong.

I don't mean that we should not take our lives with God and our theology seriously or be flippant about it, but rather, the more clearly we understand that we cannot get things perfectly correct and that humour and play is shot through the Bible the more comfortable we can in talking about the hard stuff to understand.

But that doesn't mean we don't give it our best shot. We are shown this most clearly through the parables of Jesus; there was a shepherd with one lost sheep, a farmer who sowed seed on rocky ground, and a landowner who went on vacation. All of which apparently have something pround to teach us.

Only a few did he explain - the rest he left to the work of the hearers to listen to and wrestle with on their own. Depending on who is hearing it and when - that message will take the shape that it needs to for the one hearing it and wrestling with it at that moment.

That's the Power of the Living Word of God. Though written thousands of years ago, it is new to us each day because it is a living text waiting to be invited in to shape our lives.

All of that said, this particular Sunday is something like Trinity Sunday. It's got the readings that gave the opponents of the early church fodder for calling the early Christians cannibals.

Some of the most famous theologians from the Early Church wrote extensively to dispel heresies. St Irenaeus wrote against the Gnostics and St Augustine against Palagias—if you're curious, those battles still rage today, but not this evening.

Less known was Justin Martyr, the earliest Christian writer. In his Second Apology, he actually had to write to say that Christians were not cannibals—instead, he said, "We have been taught that the food which is blessed by the prayer from his word, and from which our blood and flesh by transmutation are nourished, are the flesh and blood of Jesus who was made flesh."

He is saying - it is the bread, and it is wine - that changes /somehow in some way/ to feed and nourish as the Body and Blood of Christ.

And then in the Gospel Jesus attaches of myriad of things to what that eating and drinking means and accomplishes. It grants us eternal life, fills us with life, raises us on the last day, and makes it so that Christ abides in us and, most peculiarly, that we abide in Christ.

The first part of that makes some sense. Christ abides in us; however it happens, we take the body and blood of Christ into our bodies, and Christ enters into our being.

We are at that moment one with Christ, with all the mystery therein.

It is a favourite image that when we come to the table, eat the bread, and drink the wine, we are caught up in the dance of the Trinity as one with Christ.

There is an inexplicable cosmic event in which we, as made one with Christ himself, spin in that glorious triune dance with the creator of the cosmos and the one who brooded over the water as the world was being created.

An endless stream of poems, stories, photographs, paintings, songs, bowls, systems, and icons could be made that would not even touch the majesty of that reality. But they certainly would be able to give us a glimpse.

And in pursuit of that majesty, we make.

But like a parable, because they are so outlandish, there are countless ways to play with the ideas, images, and implications.

In case you're wondering, "Eat and drink of me, and you will abide in me" is an outlandish statement.

Jesus would have known that the Pharisees would have known that, and the early church Christians would have known that. Given that it is outlandish and yet coming from the mouth of our saviour, it must contain a deep truth, and so we are all but forced to play with the images to find out how they take shape in our lives.

One of the headlines we've been seeing for years now is that we are more connected than ever with TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, email, and endless ways of communication, yet we feel more alone than ever.

Either disconnected from friends and family or disconnected from God.

In large part, this is because our direct, vulnerable personal relationship patterns have been so disrupted from the ways they have been for millennia.

Combined with that we live in a world where each individual seemmingly must have their own truth, and their own hard fought and won identity, where individuality trumps community almost always… it’s difficult to think of a situation where it does not. (I am not say that individual identity is bad - God created each of us as unique and different so that is good - it is pitted against potentially healthy relationships, that just might take a little extra work to work out the kinks, that it becomes toxic.)

And so so many communities are brittle. They are held together by thin and rigid ties, and if there is any attempt to make room and flex to allow others who are a slightly different shape into that structure, things fracture and break apart.

In so many places, we can feel this literal tension and are afraid to be the ones to cause the break if we feel even a little descent from the rigid and thin ties that hold things together.

That is isolating.

But being a part of abiding in Christ by way of the Eucharist, we find that things are different in a way that is entirely out of our control.

And maybe this is why some of us find a kind of peace in church where we don’t find it elsewhere in life. Exactly because it is in God’s control.

Take that cosmic image of yourself being made one with Christ and being lifted into that Triune dance of God, Father, Son and you, and the Holy Spirit!

But now look around you and imagine every other person who will be standing around this table being lifted up in the same way.

All of a sudden, the enormity of God's capacity for embrace takes centre stage rather than our individual participation.

There is nothing brittle about this community—it is as buttressed and as flexible as we can possibly imagine. It makes up for all of the things we've done better left undone or the things we've failed to do.

The abiding space for us in this could of witnesses on the cosmic dance floor is made by the radical Grace that knows no limits. Whether it's our first time stepping foot in a church or fourth time, for better or for worse, that day.

But there is another part of abiding in Christ through the Eucharist that we can play with.

That the church is the Body of Christ and in the Eucharist we abide him here on earth not is that mysterious cosmic place, in an unbreakable way with one another. No matter our experience with each other or the church. We are just bound to the best of one another by the sheer grace of God.

In the Eucharist, we are made to abide with those around us who are here to be Christ for each of us. We’re are to hold up faith when it's being challenged or feeling lost, or conversely, here to be the one to hold those who need holding fast in the Lord.

This sermon feels a bit like a scattershot of what eating and drinking the flesh and blood of Christ is or could be.

Some history, some heresy, some parables and mystery, some apology, some life of the Trinity, some what it means to be part of a community (that's a lot of ending in y, but it just ended up that way).

But when we hear things in the Bible that are outlandish, that make little to no sense on the first, second, or third read, or just strike you as wrong or have been wrongly preached, that is an invitation from the Holy Spirit to dig in.

To explore, ask questions, to doubt, have faith, deconstruct, and reconstruct who and where we think God is and what God is doing in our lives and the lives of those around us.

We are two thousand years into this Way of the Lord, and the signs of work being done, of creating and trying to work it out, show no signs of slowing down. That work is not only for academics or soup kitchens; it is for each and every one of us to explore and work out together.

So, at this table tonight, as we take the Body and Blood of Christ, we abide in Christ in all the ways that we can imagine and more. What could they possibly be?

Amen.