“Are we nearly there yet?” Yes, it’s the summer holidays, and dads and mums up and down the country will be listening to variations on that question from the back seat as they head off on holiday or out for a day trip. I remember it well from when my kids were young; we used to try and head it off with I-spy games, spotting interesting pub signs, or things like first to see three mums pushing push chairs. These days kids can listen to their ipods, watch Peppa Pig on video, or play computer games on their tablets or smart phones. Not that it seems to make much difference - it’s still boring in the back of the car, and it still takes just as long.
At least we usually made sure we brought enough to eat with us. Not always - once we left a fully packed cool box with sandwiches and sausage rolls and cakes back at home. It wasn’t very cool or fresh inside that box two weeks later when we got back. But mostly we could shut the kids up for a bit with a bun or a packet of crisps, even if it did sometimes leave us with a major job clearing out the car once we’d got to where we were going. In our Old Testament reading the people of Israel had run out of food. They were miserable and hungry, and the promised land was still only a promise - and they were having to walk there. Moses and Aaron were beginning to get a little worried at the rebellious mood of the people.
But the Lord was on the case, to send quails and also manna, and at the same time to test the people and make sure they recognised who was giving them this food, food to be accepted as a gift and therefore harvested and used daily as the Lord commanded, not hoarded or treated as though it were the fruit of their own labours. This is true, isn’t it, of any present, that the giver is honoured in the way we use the gift. And that’s certainly true of God’s gifts to us - and he has greater gifts to bestow than the manna that saved his people in the wilderness.
Manna was a temporary fix, no more. It was given for as long as the people needed it. But it got them through, and it was long remembered. “Our forefathers were given manna in the wilderness,” said the people to Jesus. “That’s what Moses did for them. What are you going to give us? What can you give us, that’s as good as that?” “You’re mistaken if you think the manna came from Moses,” Jesus tells them. “It came from God, and now God has new bread to give you, bread that will last forever, the true bread of life.” “Give us this bread,” the people plead, “give it to us now and always!”
That sounds like a great prayer to make, but in John’s Gospel people are often found thinking in purely physical terms when Jesus is speaking of the spirit. People have just been fed in the wilderness, five thousand men plus whoever else was with them, women and children: enough for all and twelve baskets left over. Now the crowd want more of the same. But what Jesus is really offering is a different kind of bread altogether. He offers himself, a spiritual bread for the life and health of the world. A gift to be received and used in a way that truly honours the giver.
Before I think a little more about that, let me spend a moment or two reflecting on the verses we heard from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians - Paul’s writing there about receiving and using God’s gifts in a way that truly honours the giver. He says, “Each of us has been given some special gift, some special share in the bounty of Christ.” Our gifts are different and complementary; they enable us to build one another up; the gifts we’re given are facets of the nature of Christ, so when we use them as we should we ourselves become in some way Christ-like, and the whole body becomes all the more fully what we are called to be - the body of Christ - as we exercise these gifts in supporting one another and serving the community around us.
Paul speaks about “attaining the unity inherent in our faith” and “being measured by nothing less than the full stature of Christ.” If we use well the gifts we’re given our fellowship will be enhanced and enriched, and made (in the modern jargon) fit for purpose. That’s promise and challenge for the Church, just as the manna in the wilderness was both promise and challenge to the Israelites under Moses. Promise and gift given freely, the outworking of God’s love, not earned or merited - given because God claims us as his own. Challenge, because to use well what God gives us requires discipline and obedience; his gifts must be used according to the mind of the giver. As the body of Christ is built (quote) “the whole frame grows through the proper functioning of each part, and builds itself up in love.”
The people had asked Jesus “What must we do to merit God’s gifts and favour?” Jesus replied that the work God requires is simply this: that they believe in the one God has sent. That doesn’t sound too hard; to believe in something shouldn’t take too much effort, surely? Well, believing in something might not, but to believe in someone does, if we’re serious about it. Believing in something is an academic exercise. Believing in someone brings you into relationship with them.
Many people today speak negatively about the impact of religion on the world, and I’m not surprised. Far too often religion - even some versions of the Christian faith - present themselves in ways that are closed and rigid and at least potentially harmful, at times openly destructive. Such religion is more about believing things than it is about believing in the God who calls us into relationship with him. A comment I read this week about the sad shooting of Cecil the lion in Zimbabwe made the point that huge harm is done when we start thinking that one life is worth less than another one. The way is open to exploitation and abuse.
If that applies to the way in which we treat wild creatures (or some of us do), it’s also about the way we dehumanise those among our brothers and sisters who are in our way or not like us in looks or wealth or politics. Or religion. Religion can be a powerful dehumanising force, and we’ve only to look at the appalling violence in Iraq or Syria to realise that. This is not true religion. It’s false and even godless, I’d dare to say. To borrow some words written by the late Terry Pratchett, so-called religious wars are caused by “mad, manipulative and power-hungry men who cloak their ambition in God.” But not the true God; a god they’ve manufactured and distorted so as to give credence to their ambitions.
Genuinely godly faith will seek always to include, not exclude; to encourage, not oppose; to share and to feed, not grab and hoard or neglect. It’s a risky way to live, but it’s the life Jesus shows us. Jesus says, “Love one another, as I have loved you.” It’s not hard to love the crowd you’re with, people who think the way you think. The risky thing is that there are no limits to the love Jesus loves us with; his is the love of the father watching for his prodigal son who has walked out on him; his is the love which prays “Forgive them” from the agony of the cross. This is costly love, but who can deny that our world needs it so very much?
All that’s needed of us is that we believe in the one whom God has sent; but what does it mean? We need to receive and use the gifts God brings us, knowing where they’re from; and we need to honour the giver. We love because we are ourselves most wonderfully loved. And we need to understand that the skills and talents with which we’re gifted come with a duty, a responsibility - to play our full part in building up the whole fellowship, the whole body of Christ where we are.
Remember the question with which I began this address? “Are we nearly there yet?” Thinking back to when I was the child in the back seat of the car, I remember how frustrating it was that it took so long to get from A (boring old home) to B (exciting holiday place with sea and sand); stuck in the back seat there was nothing I could do to make the journey happen more quickly. Not much could be done from the front, either, since we were probably stuck in a queue of traffic.
Let’s apply that same question to our Christian journey. Are we nearly there yet? To a degree the answer’s yes, for every Sunday we celebrate God’s love triumphant over sin and death; our Lord is risen from the dead and in him we are already citizens of heaven. But of course our own individual journeys continue, and sometimes it’s boring, sometimes the road ahead is dark or tough going, and sometimes we’re stuck in a traffic jam. But our God resources us for the journey and travels with us; we know we’re loved by him, and that in love we’re gifted by him. The love in which we’re known and treasured is a love that’s cross-shaped, that’s borne our sins into that great conflict with death and has triumphed. So as our own life journeys continue our task is to travel with hope and joy and thanksgiving - proving our faith in our use of God’s gifts and in the risks we take with love.
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