Sometimes I think we get so used to hearing Jesus’ words read in church, with all these trappings and all this stained glass and two thousand years of interpretation and seventeen hundred years of the church being part of the power structure, often promoting the status quo, that when we hear Jesus’ words we don’t hear how threatening they were, how downright disgusting they were, how deeply scandalous they were.

This morning Jesus says, "I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever, and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh." We think that’s a great saying of Jesus. Bumper sticker stuff. We tend to focus on living bread that came down from heaven. And whoever eats will live forever. And the bread he gives for the whole world is his flesh. Ah, this is about life, and heaven, and eternity, and salvation for the whole world. That’s how we tend to hear it.

Well, there’s an old saying that in communication, it doesn’t matter what you said; it matters what they heard. And they didn’t hear our sweet bumper sticker. The people Jesus was talking to heard "eat my flesh." They find that (understandably, I think) perplexing at best, with the possibility of being really disgusting. But they seem to want to give Jesus the benefit of the doubt: "Surely he couldn’t have really meant that." So they start disputing among themselves.

Now, Jesus is a pretty sharp cookie; he knows what’s going on, so he’s got to realize that they’re taking this very literally and he’s in danger of grossing them out. If he were a politician today, his handlers would be whispering in his ear, "Back off; rephrase that; avoid the body imagery; you’re in danger of losing them; all our polls show that Jews are very opposed to this kind of talk."

So how well does he do at avoiding this controversial, even scandalous, imagery? Well, he responds with a speech that includes these phrases, "Eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood," "Eat my flesh," "Drink my blood," "My flesh is true food and my blood is true drink," "Eat my flesh," "Drink my blood."

He doesn’t do so well. Jesus would never get elected.

And even though we can probably understand something of why that imagery was disturbing to them, we probably can’t fully comprehend how disturbing the thought of this was to the Jews Jesus was addressing. An example of the difference between us and them is that when we cut our finger, just a little so there’s a drop of blood, lots of us, without thinking about it, will stick our finger in our mouth, kind of kiss the wound. Now, that’s not good medicine. It’s poor hygiene. But we don’t think of it as having any religious implications. But Jews would. For them, it would be a violation of the religious law.

For Jews, the "life principle" was in the blood (which is, of course, why Jesus uses the blood image), and the law utterly forbids consuming any blood whatsoever. Whoever violates this injunction is to be cut off from the community. (Lev. 17: 14-15; Deut. 12: 23). To avoid eating blood, Orthodox Jews wash their meat, soak it in water for thirty minutes, salt it, let it stand for an hour, then wash it again to draw out any residual blood before cooking it. The idea of drinking blood, and human blood at that, is horrifying, and disgusting to them, as it would be to us, but to them it was also a scathing religious scandal.

Jesus knew that. He was a Jew, raised with this stuff. He’s trying to convey to them that they must get the essence of life from him, and he’s using imagery that will shock, that will let them know that something new is afoot, that they have to change their thinking. And he will not back down in the face of their misguided literalism.

The reading for this week doesn’t get to it, but the gospel for next week does, and since we’re not going to have a sermon next week, I don’t mind skipping ahead to see the rest of the story. Jesus’ disciples complain. "Who can accept this?" they say. And many of them turn back and leave him.

This story reminds me yet again of the guts Jesus has, of his singular devotion to his mission, of his courage, of his utter disregard for concerns of popularity, or whether he’ll be liked, or whether he’ll be embarrassed, or whether people will consider him scandalous.

I want in my life to be there, to exhibit a lazer-like focus on my discipleship, to be courageous and never concerned about popularity, or what people think of me, or embarrassment, or scandal. I think of Jesus hanging out with the outcasts, breaking the religious law when it conflicted with compassion, refusing to change his message even if it meant losing much of his following, being willing to go to a death that was as utterly scandalous in his day as the electric chair or lethal injection is in ours. I would like not to be concerned with what people think of me. I would like to be focused only on what I believe God’s will is for my life. That’s a very mature way to live, don’t you think?

I do too. But I’m not there yet. I was reminded of that last week when the Episcopal Church went from being something that lots of folks had never heard of to the headline story in many newspapers across the country. Now, let me make clear that what I’m saying about this applies whether or not you agree with the decision to confirm the Bishop of New Hampshire. I’m not talking about your position with respect to that decision; I’m talking about our emotional response to the decision.

The day the Rev. Canon Gene Robinson was confirmed as the Bishop of New Hampshire, I was in the salad line at the Steak and Ale and a man I don’t know said, "Are you an Episcopal priest?" I said, "Yes, are you an Episcopalian?" He sputtered a bit and said, "No, but I went to an Episcopal school. What do you think of them making this man a bishop?" I took a deep breath and said, "I think it was the right thing to do."

I won’t give you a verbatim of the rest of the conversation, but suffice it to say that not only did he disagree, but he got quite upset, starting spouting some quite insulting little sayings, interrupted anything I tried to say, and practically stuck his fingers in his ears. A few parishioners were at lunch with me, and they can tell you that I was a bit rattled when I finally returned to the table with my salad (which was nowhere near good enough to have been worth what I went through getting it).

It wasn’t really just that encounter that rattled me. What really rattled me was that I knew that so many people were reacting just as he was, and that the Episcopal Church would be held up as an unholy example in many, many churches that next Sunday morning, some of them Episcopal churches. What really rattled me, completely apart from my support for or opposition to the decision, was the thought that we were being held up to ridicule and being viewed as scandalous. And even though I disagreed with those who view us that way, a part of me just was afraid, and embarrassed, and just wanted all this to stop so that other people (and many of our own people) wouldn’t think badly of the Church.

And then I read about Jesus sticking to his guns, doing what he believes is right, being unwilling to bend to public opinion, being unwilling to allow religious dogma to be more important than compassion, being unwilling to coddle misguided literalism, being unwilling to change to avoid scandal or embarrassment.

Whether you agree with the decision of the Church or disagree, don’t fall into the trap, as I did for a while, of letting yourself be influenced by how other people will react to that decision.

We will have different answers, but my point is that the question should never be, "How will this look?" Not only with respect to this issue, but with respect to all the issues we face, the question must be, "How is the Holy Spirit working through this, and what does the Living God require of us?"

If you want to see someone living that way, don’t look at me. I wish it weren’t so, but I still slip into worrying about my image, the Church’s image, how this and lots of other things will look. If you want to see someone living that way, look to our embarrassing, scandalous Savior. And eat his flesh. And drink his blood.