Jesus was lifeless in the tomb. Stone cold, stone-sealed.

His disciples were also lifeless. Their inner lives executed along with their rabbi, their physical lives under threat of the same kind of death.

The Eucharist is partly a remembrance of Christ’s death. “Whenever you eat this, remember me.” It is also a re-identification with his death. “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.”

The old, “Is Jesus talking about cannibalism?” question. It’s crazy talk. It really is. So I find it rather disingenuous and judgy to come down hard on those who couldn’t really swallow what Jesus was saying. (Pun intended).

We have the benefit of hindsight. We have the story of the Last Supper. We have been handed down the practice of the Passover meal transformed into the Eucharist. We are mostly inoculated to the shock of the flesh-blood metaphor.

If you feed on Jesus, the Bread of Life. The promise is not that Jesus will satisfy you once and for all. As if one bite is all you will ever need…at least not just yet. Just like natural bread, you can fill your belly, you can get energy from those carbs, but eventually your body uses up those resources and you feel hungry again.

Still, nothing satisfies like Jesus.

You can’t experience everything. You can’t see or hear or taste or touch everything for yourself. Really, your own personal experience in the world is only a minute fraction of all that has actually taken place. For the other nearly 99.99999999999999% of everything else, what you need is an eyewitness. Someone else whose experience you can trust.

Trust is the key. An untrustworthy eyewitness is no help at all. Even if what they experienced was legit, if you find it hard or impossible to believe them, well, then they’re just witnessing to the wind. And you’re missing out on something, or at least wasting your time.

It is a response. Faith is not so much about making a lifestyle decision as it is accepting an invitation. Faith is not adherence to a creed but an exchange of love.

At least in my tradition, it’s common to use language like this when talking about someone first coming to faith, the moment of conversion, as if the invitation of God is only to conversion. But conversion is only the first response to invitations that have been going on for a lifetime, and will continue for a lifetime.

What they’re about, where they’ve come from, where they’re going, or what they’re made for. All based on our biased perspective and limited experience with them. What we think of someone along any of these lines often reveals more truth about us than it does about them.

So it was with Jesus. He said he was the bread that came down from heaven. Others said that wasn’t possible because they knew he was a human being who came from human parents.

What God wants is to give everyone to Jesus. For no one to be boxed out, forgotten, ignored, or left behind.

What God wants is for Jesus to lose none of them. For not a single person to be dropped, misplaced, or stolen.

What God wants is for Jesus to resurrect them all. For everyone to be raised to an existence that is forever new, fresh, vibrant, flourishing, and untouchable by disease, decay, and death.

Is a powerful and life-limiting force. Because acceptance is never guaranteed. There are simply too many factors outside of our control. We can’t make anyone say “yes” to us. Taking a step towards someone always bears inherent risk.

We fear being rejected, so we don’t make the phone call. We don’t apply for the job. We don’t send out the invitation. We don’t ask for the date. We don’t make the appointment. We don’t give the presentation. We don’t try out for the team. We don’t publish the book. We don’t record the song. We don’t perform the dance. We don’t hang the painting on a wall. We don’t say, “I love you.”

To those in first-century Palestine Jesus said, “I am the bread of life.” Their culture’s cuisine centered around a common, easily-made, filling carbohydrate. Something that was almost impossible to exclude from a meal.

What he’s getting at is, “You know how when your stomach feels hungry, you fill it with bread? Well, when your soul feels hungry, fill it with me.”

If Jesus had arrived on the scene in a different culture, maybe he would have used a different metaphor.

Is filling the world with the warm aroma of his love.

For a summer in college I lived across the street from a panadería in Lima. Every morning I’d walk out the front door to be greeted by the alluring scent of fresh bread and pastries. So I’d cross the street for breakfast.

Few things in this world are as satisfying as fresh baked carbs.