Sermons

The Eleventh Sunday after Trinity
Sunday 27 August at 10am

Simon Cowling
Readings: Joshua 24. 1-2a & 14-18;John 6. 56-69

None of the twelve of us knew it at the time, but the turning point really came in Capernaum. In the synagogue. It had been a crazy twenty-four hours in Galilee. It all started with that huge crowd at the lake - thousands of them. They'd wanted to make Jesus a king after he'd fed them, but a crown wasn't for him. Not that kind of crown anyway. He just disappeared when it looked as though the crowd was getting too eager. Off, up into the hills. Jesus often did that……

Anyway, we didn't see him again until much later that night. We were crossing the lake to get back to Capernaum, but it started blowing a gale. Then suddenly - there he was. A real shock, I can tell you, but at least it stopped us being worried about the weather and we made it safely to shore. Jesus hadn't managed to slip the crowds though. They soon came looking for him the next day. All of them. All five thousand of them. I've never seen the synagogue in Capernaum so full. But they got more than they bargained for; well, something different anyway. No miracles this time, no children healed on their deathbed or cripples being told to walk. Just a sermon. Don't get me wrong. I haven't got a problem with sermons - I've preached a few myself over the years. But it's just that - well sometimes Jesus' sermons were a bit risky, frankly. He had this way of talking about God which some people found difficult, a bit blasphemous, if you know what I mean. The twelve of us were used to it, of course; we knew that there was more to Jesus than turning water into wine or healing people. He was more than a miracle man. But then we were with him all the time. If he started talking about himself as God's Son, or the light of the world or the bread of life, then we knew we'd have a chance to ask him about it afterwards. It was different for people who only heard him here or there. They didn't have the same kind of relationship with him - not that it mattered to Jesus of course: he'd talk to anyone, anytime and anywhere. It's just that he didn't pull his punches, wherever he was. It was like that in the synagogue in Capernaum that day. "Whoever eats me will live because of me," Jesus said. I can hear those words now as though they were yesterday…….

The crowd got a bit edgy, a bit bad-tempered. They couldn't work out what Jesus was saying. They began to drift off, even some who'd seemed interested in taking things a bit further with him. Looking back, it's easy to see why. Jesus was, well I suppose you'd say he was a bit uncompromising that day. He even pointed the finger at some of the crowd and accused them of not believing. Then he turned to us: "and you - would you like to leave as well?" Just like that. Thanks very much, I thought. That's a fine way to treat friends who've left home and family for months on end. That was my first reaction anyway. But Jesus carried on staring at us, waiting for an answer to the question……

I've always been the type to blurt things out. I never even waited until my mother-in-law was out of earshot before I blurted out my proposal of marriage. Not sure she ever recovered. Anyway I just came out with it: "Lord", I said, "who else can we go to? It's your words that are life-giving. It's you who've come from God." Sometimes you're just given the right words to say. I knew that day that I'd been given the right words, that I'd found out the truth about Jesus…….
And this is where the truth has brought me half a lifetime later. A prison cell. In Rome. A couple of thousand miles from Capernaum. Just one short walk tomorrow and my journey will be over. The authorities have decided on crucifixion. They like doing that to Christians. I've asked them to nail me upside down and they've agreed. Novelty value for them, I suppose. For me? Well it's my small way of saying that I'm not even fit to die the same way up as Jesus. But deep down I know he's forgiven me for telling everyone I didn't know him on that Thursday night; he knew I was just blurting out the first thing that came into my head because I was scared. He understood me. He always did. He always does. And I know that he'll be waiting for me tomorrow, just as he was waiting for Mary in that garden in Jerusalem one Sunday, thirty years ago. Life. Death. New Life. It's a simple message really. Simple, but true. He really does have the words of eternal life.

© St Edmund's Church, Roundhay