When I was a child, travelling was an entirely different experience from what it is today. Fewer cars meant more people on trains, buses, and coaches – they were often overcrowded. Even relatively short journeys by today’s standards took ages due to the combination of winding roads (no motorways) or old railway tracks and unreliable rolling stock and coaches. There were very few eateries along the way, and they were practically all unaffordable to mere mortals like me. So, taking a packed lunch, dinner or breakfast – or all of them – for the journey was as essential as the ticket and toothbrush. One of the staples was hard-boiled eggs. Their distinctive smell has been etched in my memory because it hung in the air of the crammed train carriage compartment for the rest of the journey. It wasn’t rare that a fellow passenger peeled a hard-boiled egg soon after they had taken their seat, even before the train left the station. Then, at different stages of the journey, different people would unpack and consume their hard-boiled eggs, sustaining and reinforcing the atmosphere of the trip. My memories were so painful that since my coming of age, I have hardly ever had hard-boiled eggs for a meal. However, when I think about it, it is a kind of wonder food for the journey. It offers a mouthful of pure protein without any artificial preservatives, colouring or taste-enhancing ingredients such as salt or sugar. Its natural packaging is superbly environmentally friendly. Arguably, unlike modern junk food, a hard-boiled egg doesn’t offer much for the taste buds while a bit too much for the smell receptors, but having been consumed, it staves off a sense of hunger for a surprisingly long time. Let’s be honest: the lingering smell of junk food can be as bad as that of the humble hard-boiled egg, while the latter is incomparably healthier. Perhaps the old ways weren’t all that bad…
I mentioned last week that we’re listening to parts of the “Bread of Life” discourse in the gospel readings over four consecutive Sundays. It took the form of a conversation between Jesus and his audience; the text is difficult to interpret as it’s steeped in ancient Jewish religious and theological traditions, the Semitic way of thinking and specific challenges faced by the Christian communities of the first century; all of those highly unfamiliar to us two millennia later. Thankfully, the first reading has cast some light on the gospel passage of the day, offering a key to its interpretation.
We found the prophet Elijah in the middle of nowhere, lying under a bush and wishing to be dead. The situation was highly unusual for this powerful man of God, who had successfully battled against the influence of pagan idolatry promoted by the infamous queen Jezebel, which was taking root among the people. The prophet Elijah had always acted boldly, with the unwavering conviction of representing the one and only God of Israel. He had gone from strength to strength, from one victory to another, until the furious queen Jezebel promised a painful retribution. Suddenly, the all-powerful and all-conquering prophet found himself helpless and defenceless, seeing his death as the only option. Incidentally, note that he didn’t intend to take his own life but left it in the hand of God: “O Lord, I have had enough. Take my life.” It might sound familiar to those of us who have experienced something similar when everything seemed to conspire against us, when everything was going wrong, and no matter what we did, nothing seemed to work. The only thing left was an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. The prophet Elijah’s state of despair was reflected in the desolation of his hideout. The miraculous food offered him twice was meagre and unappealing: “a scone baked on hot stones and a jar of water.” However, its purpose wasn’t to please the prophet’s taste buds: “Eat, or the journey will be too long for you.” Elijah obediently consumed it, and “strengthened by that food, he walked for forty days and forty nights until he reached Horeb, the mountain of God.” In the Bible, such a specific period of time has a symbolic meaning. It’s a time of spiritual battle, trial, and discernment; it is hard to go through, but it leads to finding a solution and a clear purpose at the end of it. So, having had the miraculous food, the prophet Elijah was not out of the woods yet; there was still quite a distance to cover, both physically and (more importantly) spiritually.
It corresponds nicely with today’s gospel. Jesus, having proclaimed himself as “the bread that came down from heaven”, caused some confusion among his audience: “How can he now say, I have come down from heaven? Surely, this is Jesus, son of Joseph. We know his father and mother.” In other words, how could someone so ordinary make such extraordinary claims? Suddenly, his pronouncements looked baseless and unjustifiably grandiose. And yet, Jesus not only reiterated His outrageous pitch but doubled down on it: “Your fathers ate the manna in the desert, and they are dead; but this is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that a man may eat it and not die.” It echoes the words addressed to the prophet Elijah: “Eat, or the journey will be too long for you.”
Jesus offers himself to each one of us as food for the journey of life. This might not seem attractive in terms of modern consumerism and self-centred hedonism. It might not offer instant gratification or quick solutions to our problems. But it offers long-term sustained support for growing into greater versions of ourselves, finding a deeper meaning to our lives and a lasting sense of fulfilment and satisfaction that no retail therapy can ever match. How does He do it? Tune in next Sunday to find out.
Image by congerdesign from Pixabay
