A parishioner who had listened to my “hard-boiled eggs” sermon last Sunday asked me whether I would continue the theme today and say something about the scotch egg. I evaded giving a straightforward answer. Firstly, to pique their interest so they would come to Mass. Secondly, I have never had a scotch egg. I googled it, and it looks like a fancy version of the humble hard-boiled egg. So, it wouldn’t fit the overall theme of Jesus’ “Bread of Life” discourse from the Gospel of St John we have listened to over the last two Sundays; we just heard its third part today and will see its conclusion next Sunday. As I tried to briefly explain previously, it’s quite a challenging text to interpret for a number of reasons (see my two previous sermons). Thankfully, the first reading each Sunday offers us a sort of interpretation key for the particular part of the discourse. Funnily enough, the fancy scotch egg would seem to fit in as the passage from the Book of Proverbs paints the picture of a fine feast thrown by a certain Lady Wisdom.
She made a great effort to make it happen and attract her guests: “She built herself a house, she has erected her seven pillars, she has slaughtered her beasts, prepared her wine, she has laid her table.” The portrayal exudes this metaphorical feast’s highest order and finest quality, in the ancient world most often reserved for the rich and powerful. So, the invitation that follows went against the grain as it was addressed to the ignorant and the fool, two categories the powerful and influential rarely apply to themselves. The final part can be similarly surprising as Wisdom calls to feed on basic food, on staples: “Eat my bread, drink the wine I have prepared.” However, the offering doesn’t serve to satisfy the taste buds but aims to “Leave your folly and you will live, walk in the ways of insight.” In this way, it continues the main theme of the “Bread of Life” discourse, focusing on the superficially meagre and unattractive food that gives life of the highest quality and value: “I am the living bread which has come down from heaven. Anyone who eats this bread will live forever; the bread that I shall give is my flesh.”
The final line clearly baffled Jesus’ audience: “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” In response, He doubled down by proclaiming: “I tell you most solemnly, if you do not eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you will not have life in you.” On the face of it, Jesus insisted on doing something that the Law explicitly forbade while claiming that was the only way. We have to stop here and remind ourselves that the text in question was written decades after Jesus’ death and resurrection in the context of the early Christian communities.
Although the discourse was quite likely based on a real event, its content as we know it from the Gospel is much more a reflection of the theological challenges of the first century’s Christian communities and was a way of addressing them. The Semitic way of thinking present in the Bible and in the mindset of early Christians didn’t bother with philosophical definitions that we are so familiar with as the product of Greek culture. Initially, when the first Christian communities consisted almost exclusively of Jewish converts, there wasn’t much need for any kind of formal theological formulation. They took the new religion in their stride as a continuation and development of their religious traditions. The situation changed when the rapid spread of the Gospel led to a significant influx of the Gentiles, with their mindset formed by Greek culture. They wanted and needed to understand their new faith in the same way they perceived the world around them, using reason and logic, the principles of the Greek mindset. The Church leaders and thinkers faced a challenge: how could they apply them to Semitic ideas? Rising to such a challenge started a process of developing theology, a “logy-cal”, structured understanding of all things religious.
Let’s go back to the discourse. There’s a clear indication that Jesus’ insistence on consuming His flesh and blood as the condition of eternal life was connected to a future event: “The bread that I shall give is my flesh, for the life of the world.” He referred to His sacrificial death on the cross as the turning point. Everything done by Jesus prior to that event would be preparation, instruction, and foretelling, fulfilled and made into reality afterwards. It was something similar to writing a will, where everything has been decided, but it takes effect only after the death of the testator, the individual who wrote the will. As animal sacrifices were familiar to both Jewish and Gentile converts (though the specific meanings in both cultures differed), it created a bridge spanning two different mindsets, Semitic and Greek. Jesus’ sacrificial death was the central point, the axis of the Christian faith. The celebration of the Eucharist, known as “the breaking of bread” in early Christianity, was the commemoration of Jesus’ death as the source of redemption and salvation. However, it was celebrated in the time-honoured Semitic manner: the participants were not reminiscing about the past event but were actively taking part in it as if it were happening there and then.
It has never changed. Two thousand years later, we do exactly the same when we gather to celebrate the Mass. In the Eucharistic Prayer, we spiritually stand at the foot of the Cross where Jesus dies to set us free of eternal damnation. Then we receive His life-giving Body and Blood when we take Holy Communion in the meagre and unappealing form of unleavened bread and wine. However, when we receive it with faith, we unite with Jesus in the tightest, inseparable bond possible here on earth: “He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood lives in me, and I live in him. […] whoever eats me will draw life from me.” These words echo the invitation from Wisdom in today’s first reading: “Come and eat my bread, drink the wine I have prepared! Leave your folly, and you will live, walk in the ways of perception.” You might remember, though, that this invitation was addressed “to the ignorant and the fool, two categories the powerful and influential rarely apply to themselves.” In the eyes of the world, we, still clinging to our faith and its rituals, are fools and ignorant. It’s nothing new, really. St Paul addressed it: “God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength. […] He is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption.” (1 Corinthians 1:25.30)
