20th Sunday Year B - Homily 2

Homily 2 - 2009

When you have been truly loved, and have believed and accepted that love, you have changed; you have grown. A new you was created in the process.  Whenever one you love has revealed to you their dream, and you have come to share that dream, you have found, not only new direction, but new energy as well. You have been created in the process. When one you love has helped you to see things the way they are, has opened your eyes to reality, has helped you see the truth of themselves, the truth of yourself, the truth of the world we live in, you became what you weren't before; you have become wise. A new you has been created in the process.

In today's Gospel, Jesus said: As I draw life from the Father, so whoever eats me draws life from me.

Let's take that one step at a time. Jesus spoke of himself as drawing life from the Father, as growing, changing, as being created anew. What was he referring to?  I think it may have been something like this: As he explored the Father's love for him, and believed it, and surrendered himself to it, he experienced himself becoming more alive.  As he came to understand the Father's dream for the world - that the world might become ever more alive - as he came to share that dream and let it take him over, he felt himself energised, and becoming more alive.

As he let the Father show him the truth: the truth about himself, and the way that the world really is, as innocence gave way to wisdom, he saw himself becoming what he hadn't been before - he drew life from the Father. And then he added: Whoever eats me draws life from me. Actually, the translation is too sanitised - the original language says something like: “devours”, or “chews”.

Let us look at that metaphorically, first, before we consider it sacramentally. It's a graphic metaphor, to say the least - to devour him, to chew him. There is a sense of deep hunger, of intensity, of urgency. He is inviting us to engage with him profoundly, to get inside him, or, rather, to get him inside us, and to draw life from him, just as he draws life from the Father. What he seems to be saying is that, to the extent that we let him love us, and believe his love for us - and that we let it flood our consciousness ... to the extent that we explore his dream for our world and gradually let it captivate and excite us ... to the extent that we let him show us the truth of himself, of ourselves and of our world ... then we become alive in ways we could never envisage - with a new spring in our step and a sparkle in our eye.

But, there's more: We eat him, not only metaphorically, but sacramentally.  The Gospel that we heard today said: The bread that I shall give is my flesh for the life of the world. What do we eat, what do we devour, in the Eucharist? He says it's his flesh. It's him in his humanity, and in all his vulnerability.  It's his crucified flesh, because that's what the world he loved did to him - what the world that he loves, does to him. That's what we eat: his flesh given for the life of the world, his flesh tortured, and exploited by the world for the life of the world. Eating his flesh given for the life of the world – identifying with him honestly, with intensity and with urgency – engages, too, our vulnerability: loving can be costly.

Still, that flesh given for the life of the world on Friday was the same flesh raised by the Father on the Sunday. Life is strange, isn't it? fascinating, puzzling.  Whatever shape it takes, it's life. Whoever eats me will draw life from me.