I've spent most of the day sermon writing in preparation for this weekend. After spending the obligatory 15 minutes feeling bad for myself because I have to "work" over Thanksgiving weekend and I'm stuck inside while my wife went hiking in the snow (I promise I'm not still feeling bad for myself. Maybe a little.), I queued up my Grooveshark playlist and began to dig into the sixth chapter of John. As I began to ponder the strange paradox of exclusivity and inclusivity found in the gospel proclamation of Jesus, my headphones were filled with David Bazan's Curse Your Branches. It was an odd juxtaposition to say the least, and I was struck anew at the mysterious workings of the Spirit, and the offensiveness of a Savior who requires me to eat his flesh and drink his blood.
It seems I can't remind myself enough of the fact that Jesus came to me to give me life, not to improve me, not to help me, not to fulfill me: to give me life. It's tough, after all, to improve or fulfill a dead person. I'm also in need of constant reminding that I am not to be a PR representative for Jesus Christ, Incorporated. He's offensive and there's nothing I can do to get past him. If I could look at my situation honestly, I'd realize I'm a corpse in a morgue, and Jesus is the mortician. Unlike any mortician that's ever been in any movie I've ever seen, he's there to tell me he loves me enough to bring me to life, not just tell me he loves me and then leave me dead. No, he lifts my head off the sterile table, breathes life into my lungs, and offers me food and drink: the food of his flesh, the wine of his blood. Do I dare spit this offense out of my mouth? Or do I drink down to the last drop the cup of the new covenant, and continue eating? After all, man can't live by bread alone, we need to eat the Word, or should I say, the Word-become-flesh.
Tomorrow, when I tear into the flesh of turkey, the bread of stuffing, and gulp down blood-red wine, I hope I'll remember that he is the bread come down from heaven, that life is found when I eat his flesh and drink his blood.
Happy Offensive Thanksgiving.
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