Dr. William A. Ritter
First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: John 6:60-71
There is a story I have come to love, told to me by a man you will come to love. The man’s name is John Claypool (a preacher out of Mississippi, by way of Kentucky). John will spend a weekend with us next March, at which time he will probably not repeat this narrative.
It concerns a Mexican bank robber, Jorge Rodriguez, who operated along the Texas border around the turn of the century. He was so successful in his thievery that the Texas Rangers deployed a whole extra posse along the Rio Grande to try and stop him. Sure enough, late one afternoon, one of the special Rangers saw Jorge slipping quietly across the river into Mexico. So he trailed him at a discreet distance until the bandito returned to his home village. He watched as Jorge mingled with the people around the town well and then went into his favorite cantina to relax.
The Ranger slipped in and managed to get the drop on Jorge. Pointing a pistol to his head, he said: “I know who you are, Jorge Rodriguez, and I have come to get back the money you have stolen from the banks in Texas. Unless you give it to me, it is my intention to blow your brains out.”
There was, however, one flaw with the marvelously conceived and (to this point) exceedingly well-executed plan. Jorge Rodriguez spoke no English and the Texas Ranger spoke no Spanish. They were two adults at a verbal impasse.
About that time, an enterprising little Mexican approached the Texas Ranger and said: “I am bilingual. Would you like me to translate for you?” The Ranger nodded, whereupon the bilingual Mexican told Jorge Rodriguez who the Ranger was and why he was pointing a gun at Jorge’s head. Nervously, Jorge answered back: “Tell the big Texas Ranger that I have not spent a cent of the money. Then tell him to go to the town well….face north….count down five stones….find the loose stone….pull it out….reach behind….where he will discover the money. Please tell him quickly.”
Nervously, the Ranger inquired: “What did he say? What did he say?” Leading the bilingual Mexican to respond in perfect English: “Jorge Rodriguez is a very brave man. He says he is ready to die.”
* * * * *
Make no mistake about it. In a picture-driven culture, words are still important. And attention will be paid to anyone who can speak them clearly and in ways that lead to connections. We are hurt by what we can’t say….and by what we don’t hear. Ask the bandito in the cantina or the Ranger who chased him there. As a preacher, I have learned that I can open wounds with words and I can close wounds with words. In my professional life….and in my personal life….words have gotten me into trouble and words have gotten me out of trouble.
But why should I be any different from other people….like you….or you….or even Jesus? Who, more than once, got into trouble by what he said. In our little text of the morning, Jesus finds himself very much in trouble because of what he said. Not that I read enough of the text so that you can see all the trouble. To do that, I would have had to take you all the way back to the beginning of chapter six and read 60 verses more than I did. Suffice it to say that the unifying theme of John’s sixth chapter is bread….and the degree to which Jesus gives it (as in “here, take and eat”) measured against the degree to which Jesus is it (as in “here, feed on me”).
Trust me when I say there is plenty in chapter six to offend. The offense begins when Jesus says that he is God’s own bread….come down from heaven….and that whoever eats of it will live forever. Which pretty much equates him with God. And which pretty much elevates him over us. Which does not strike our ears harshly. We’re used to hearing this by now. But picture yourself hearing it for the first time. Picture yourself hearing it from another human being who looks and sounds like you (“I am God’s own bread, come down from heaven; whoever eats of me will live forever”). It would probably make you scratch your head….at the very least.
But Jesus notches things to a higher level by choosing some rather gory words to describe what he means. In the earlier gospels, Jesus calls this bread “his body.” In John’s gospel, however, he calls it “his flesh.” In the earlier gospels, he calls upon it to “be eaten.” In John’s gospel, however, he uses the words for “chomp” or “gnaw.” So a more literal translation might go like this: “Those who chomp my flesh and guzzle my blood have eternal life….for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.”
This is language more appropriate to butcher shops than churches. And when you add the fact that Hebrew law clearly forbids the drinking of blood, you can understand why Jesus’ followers began pulling away from him. Twice, in the text, we are told that they began to “murmur among themselves.” I love that phrase, given that I have known what it is like when people in the congregation begin to “murmur among themselves.” Finally, John tells us that many who were disciples (suggesting that, at this point, there were far more than 12) said: “This is a hard saying. Who can listen to it?”
But rather than making it easier for them, Jesus makes it harder. “Does this offend you?” he asks. “Well, if it offends you, what would you say if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before he came?” Meaning: “What if I were to take off right now (like an over-filled helium balloon), leaving you with nothing to show for this little encounter but stiff necks?”
To which you can almost hear them say collectively: “We don’t get it. We don’t get any of it. We don’t get the living bread bit. We don’t get the gnaw-my-flesh bit. We don’t get the guzzle-my-blood bit. And we especially don’t get the up-up-and-away bit.” To which Jesus says: “No, and you probably won’t, unless it be granted you by the Father.” Meaning that your lack of comprehension probably means you haven’t been chosen….and that you don’t belong here.
Picture yourself in class….a very high-powered class….in a very high-powered school…. listening to a very high-powered lecture…..delivered by a very high-powered professor…..whose words are floating in a very high-powered way….right over your very low-powered head. In short, you’re not getting it. Which frightens you, until you look around and realize that nobody else seems to be getting it, either. So you suddenly get very brave. And you raise your hand very high. But, when called upon, all of the courage leaks out of your voice as you hear yourself mumble: “Could you please back up and go over that again? Some of us are not getting it.” Only to hear (in response): “Then I guess you don’t belong here.” That could take the wind out of your sails or the starch out of your socks. And it might even make you fold your tent and depart.
Which several did. Depart, I mean. People do, you know. At all kinds of times. And for all kinds of reasons. What’s more, it’s hard not to take it personally when they go, even if they say things like “Nothing against you, preacher” or “Ritter, this really isn’t about you.”
But allow me to let you in on a little secret. You can’t do this work without getting your ego caught up in it. A lot of people say you’re not supposed to. But they’re stupid when they say that. Simply stupid. No one of us will ever become a sufficiently pure messenger of God, so that all you see is God and nothing that you see is me. There’s always ego there. In greater or lesser amounts, to be sure. But I would advise you to never trust a preacher who says there isn’t. Instead, trust the preacher who is honest enough to name it, because it is only the preacher who names it who has half a chance to tame it.
People leave. All the time. Which hurts. And irritates. Probably both. This is true, even for Jesus. I can’t speak for you, but I can hear it in his voice. We are now at the end of chapter six. Most of the room has bailed. And to the few who remain….to the dozen who remain….he says: “Do you also wish to go away?” And for all Jesus knows, maybe they do. I’m not sure he’s sure about any of them….about any of us….or about me, for that matter. Oh, I’ll stick it out. In part, because I’ve already stuck it out. But there were times….not that I want to talk about them. But there were times. Everybody has times when they could just as easily go with the flow, when the flow is going for the door.
Maybe what Jesus said was: “I suppose you guys want to go with those other guys”…..all the while hoping they don’t (or won’t). Which is how it turns out, of course. They don’t. But not because they haven’t considered it. Peter speaks for them. And what Peter says is: “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.” Meaning: “We don’t fully get it either. But we sense we can hear something here that we can’t hear any place else, from anybody else. Which is why we haven’t left. And don’t plan to.”
The phone rings late at night in the house where I live. It is you on the other end of the line, phoning from the house where you live. You have just hung up that very same phone, following a call from the hospital where your loved one lives. “You’d better come,” the voice from the hospital says. “He has taken a turn for the worse.” Which often means that your loved one has died. But since the caller does not possess hospital authority to tell you that….or because the hospital does not want to be responsible for your driving if you know that….the caller does not say that your loved one has died
So you go. And I go. To see the one who is already gone. Upon arriving at the hospital, everyone is ushered into a designated meeting place they call the “family room” (which is where families come together before they come apart). And the floor nurse says: “I’ll call the doctor. She’ll be here in just a minute. Meanwhile, can I get anybody any coffee?” And the doctor comes (before or after the coffee). But the doctor does not stay long. Her job is done. She did what she could. For as long as she could. Working as hard as she could. But it wasn’t enough. Which, whether she tells you or not, makes her uncomfortable.
Strangely enough, this is often where I (as a pastor) feel most useful. Not that I have anything in my bag of tricks that the doctor did not have in hers. Indeed, it is past the time for tricks (hers, mine or anybody’s). Just as it is past the time for techniques (hers, mine or anybody’s). Suddenly I am forced to go to work, precisely at the point where all the things that are supposed to work, no longer work. When the machines no longer work. When the mechanics no longer work. When the technology and the technicians no longer work. When the wonders of science and the well-cultivated intuitions of the medical staff no longer work. When everything and everybody we have counted on to keep the work working no longer work. And when we are confronted (in the face of all we do know) by all we don’t know….and (in the face of all we can do) by all we can’t do….how ironic it is that I am the only person left who is still working.
Not that I was ever taught what to say. Which used to frighten me. But it frightens me no longer. For I know something that the doctor didn’t know (when she said: “We tried everything we could, but we lost him”). What I know is that he wasn’t ours to lose. He was God’s. Or, more to the point, he is God’s. And God translates the language of victory and loss far differently than we do.
“Do you also wish to go away?”
“To whom would we go, Lord? You alone have the words of eternal life.”
* * * * *
Two months ago, a young man died….suddenly and tragically. His grandmother called a friend and said: “See if you can reach Dr. Ritter, he’ll know just what to say.” Notice that she did not say: “He’ll know just what to do.” So her friend called me. I called the boy’s grandmother. And I spoke words that I didn’t really think about beforehand….nor was I scripted to say beforehand. Words which changed nothing. But may have altered something.
Two weeks ago, after praying with a cancer fighter who is now in her 17th round of a 15 round title fight, she said: “Those words are beautiful.” To which I said: “I don’t have the faintest idea where they came from.” To which she said: “I know where they came from.”
But this is not about me, don’t you see. The title of today’s sermon departs from the text. My title is not “To Whom Shall We Go?” Instead, it is “Where, Then, Shall We Go?” I am talking “church” now. For this is where we would come to know the Holy One, whose thoughts are not necessarily our thoughts and whose ways are not always our ways. This is where we try to penetrate what the Celts call that “thin membrane” that separates things temporal from things eternal. And this is where we come to tell the stories which take some of us years to “get”….and then, in a transforming moment, get us. Life saving stories.
Do you remember Scheherazade? She was one of the wives of the Emperor of Persia. And Persia’s emperor was a man who was convinced that all women were unfaithful. So he vowed he would marry a new wife each day, have his way with her at night, and would have her executed early the next morning. Which constitutes a rather large problem. Except that Scheherazade was a very clever woman, who set out to save all the women of Persia. So on her wedding night she began to tell the emperor a tale that so fascinated him, he decided to stay her execution for an additional night so he could hear the rest of the story. You know the outcome as well as I do. Scheherazade kept on talking and so fascinated the emperor that he listened to her tales for 1001 nights, after which he was sufficiently convinced of her fidelity that he made her his consort.
Let me ask you a pair of questions. How do you get from one day to the next in a world where, sooner or later, everything “dear” dies? And where do you hear the stories that stay the execution.…or point beyond them?
Friday morning….48 hours ago….58 of us are walking through the sanctuary of Hartford Memorial Baptist Church in Detroit. What we are not doing is going to the front of Hartford Memorial Baptist Church in Detroit. That’s because there is a casket at the front of Hartford Memorial….an open casket….holding a 12-year-old girl….outfitted in her very best and prettiest come-to-Jesus dress. She is lying there because she was the little girl who was raped and murdered, just a few days previous, by an 18-year-old boy whose family is also a part of that church.
We weren’t there for the service. We were there for a tour. We just happened upon the casket. As we left, people were gathering. And I suppose the preacher, Charles Adams (who’s as good as any, and better than most), was sweating over what in the world he could say. But the truth is, there is nothing “in the world” to say. He could (and probably should) agree with everyone in the house that it doesn’t get any worse than this.
But somewhere, in the midst of the utter hopelessness of it all, he should hint….maybe just hint….that it doesn’t get any better than this, either.
“Will you also go away?”
“Where shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”
Note: John Claypool’s story of Jorge Rodriguez is drawn from his Beecher Lectures at Yale Divinity School, published under the title “The Preaching Life.” I am also indebted to the biblical scholarship of Barbara Brown Taylor who cleverly and carefully unwrapped the “offense” of John’s sixth chapter, leading many of the disciples to “murmur among themselves” and “go away.” Unfortunately, I was not able to stay and hear Charles Adams’ sermon or eulogy for 12-year-old J’Nai Glasker. But given his homiletical skills, I have reason to believe it was as helpful as it was excellent.
Additional Note: In the Detroit Free Press of Thursday, September 14, it was suggested that murder and rape charges against 18-year-old Michael Gayles (accused of the crime that took the life of J’Nai Glasker) may be dropped because of insufficient evidence. Michael Gayles’ attorney has suggested that his client’s DNA did not match DNA taken from the victim’s body, even though he allegedly confessed to the crime on September 4. I include this information in order to update my closing story in a timely and responsible fashion.
