Thirteenth Sunday After Pentecost (B) – John 6:56-69
I was a child during the age of television. For my brother and I, the TV was the primary form of entertainment we had growing up. Of course, our mother was careful to monitor our television-watching habits, and although I can’t ever recall feeling like any shows were particularly off-limits for us, Mom did tend to watch with us, so we could talk about anything that came up that wasn’t really age-appropriate, or she could gently change the channel if necessary. Of course, back then, we only had something like six channels, three of which were PBS affiliates, so there was only so much trouble we could get ourselves into on the screen. My mother insists that the short-lived “Electric Company” taught me how to read at a surprisingly early age. Naturally, Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood and Sesame Street were on every day in our household, watched faithfully by both my brother and I—and I would cite both as important factors in making me the loving, caring, wonderful person you all know me to be.
The story and characters of anything that you watch THAT frequently quickly find their way into your personal vocabulary and culture. There are still things that I say from time to time that come directly from those programs, despite the fact that I am now 35 years old and have put away childish things. For example, there are occasions, albeit very few of them, unfortunately, that call for one to speak a set of magic words. Most people, of course, go for the old standbys: “A-bra-ca-da-bra!” or the less frequent “Al-a-ca-zam!” I, however, being a child of 80’s PBS programming, can only repeat the words of that consummate Sesame Street magician, the Amazing Mumford. His words of power were—say them with me if you know them—“A-la-peanut-butter-sandwiches!”
The great thing about the Amazing Mumford, was, of course, that it didn’t work. Oh, once in a while it did, particularly in the earliest days of the character’s presence on Sesame Street. But in my time, the great fun of it was waiting for the puff of smoke to clear so that you could see what went wrong. In one bit, Mumford was trying to show his assistant, Grover, how to pull a rabbit out of a hat; instead of doing so, Mumford accidentally turned Grover into a rabbit. Another sketch had Mumford accidentally shrinking Kermit the Frog to a tiny size. You get the idea. And I suspect many of you have seen it and know exactly what I’m talking about. After all, 77 million Americans saw the show when they were children, and that doesn’t even include our parents or grandparents.
The Amazing Mumford’s magic words are no doubt the silliest incarnation of incantation, but the idea of magic words is a very old one. In the ancient world, the whole idea of language was treated with awe and respect, something we’ve kind of lost in our culture and its overload of information. It was believed that words had power—even ordinary words. We see some hints of this in the Old Testament, for example in the story of Jacob and Esau. With the help of his mother Rebekah, Jacob tricks his father Isaac into giving him the blessing intended for his brother, Esau. When Esau shows up later and the trick is revealed, Isaac literally cannot take back the blessing he’s pronounced over Jacob and give it to Esau instead. The words have already been spoken. And those words have the power to carry out what they have said.
Another example is that you will find, in the Bible, someone speaking the words of an oath. The formula literally is to say, “May so-and-so happen to me if I do not do as I have said.” So-and-so. The thing that will happen is never named, because if I were to say, for example, “May my children be taken away from me—“ Oh, but there, I’ve said it, and those words have power, so certainly what I have said will come true.
In ancient Greece, the idea took shape that if words have power, perhaps there are special words that have special power. This became codified in the popular mystery religions of the time, of which there were many, all promising to give the faithful some key to eternal life or salvation. The Orpheus cult, just as one among many, explained that when a person dies, their soul is led to a lake filled with sweet water, where they stoop to drink. These “waters of oblivion” have the power to cause someone to lose all of their memories, so that they can be reincarnated as a new person, repeating over and over again the weary cycle of life. The Orphics, however, were taught a special formula of words which, when spoken, would cause the person to be taken to a different pool of water, filled with the “waters of memory.” Through this water, instead, their memories would be solidified, and, unable to be reincarnated, they would be carried off into eternal life and paradise.
I’m sure you’re beginning to think to yourself, “Where, Pastor Aaron, are you going with this,” especially since what sounded like it was going to be a delightful story about my childhood has now descended into a historico-theological lesson about ancient Greek cults. Perhaps before I’m done, I ought to go into a complicated explanation of Greek words in the original Biblical text. Well, don’t worry, I’ll get to that, but first, I’d better get to the point.
In light of what I’ve just told you about magic words and salvation cults, what does it sound like to you when Peter turns to Jesus and says, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life?”
It sounds like Peter thinks Jesus has one of those formulas, one of those methods by which your eternal life can be assured, if you just learn from Him what to say and when to say it, as if Christianity were just another one of those ancient cults. In fact, when John was writing his Gospel, there were groups of Christians called Gnostics who believed exactly that. They scoured the sayings of Jesus trying to figure out what the secret was. And at this spot in John, he was writing directly to them. He wanted them to know there existed, in fact, the secret they were looking for. And John was about to give it to them.
Do you want to know what the secret words of eternal life are?
Well, I’ll tell you. In fact, John has been telling us for the last five weeks, as we’ve been reading all of chapter six of his Gospel. Or, better yet, John has been letting us know from the beginning of his Gospel, when we heard it back at Christmastime.
Now it’s time for that Greek lesson. I promise I’ll keep it short. You’re all doing a great job tracking with me today, and I’m overloading you a bit with information; this will be okay too. And it will get us to where we’re, finally, going with this Gospel text. You see, the Greek language has two words for the word, “word.” One is hremata. This is a word like we think of a word. A short collection of sounds that carries a specific meaning. Hremata. That’s what Peter says. “You have the individual words of eternal life, Jesus.”
But throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus over and over and over again uses the other word for word, logos. The logos is more than just a word. It’s a word that carries a message. It’s a word that has power. It’s a word that transcends to a deeper category of existence. And at the very beginning of John’s Gospel, it’s a word used to describe, not what Jesus says, but who Jesus is. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. And the Word became flesh.”
That’s why Peter isn’t done when he says, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.” Then he says, “We have come to believe and know that YOU are the Holy One of God.” The secret to eternal life isn’t some formula of words or magical incantation. It’s Jesus himself. And here’s the amazing thing: It’s not a secret, either. You don’t have to know the right person or learn the right steps or be initiated into the mystery religion in order to get that eternal life. Jesus is freely available to everyone.
That’s what we’ve been talking about the last few weeks. Jesus doesn’t give us a bunch of principles or doctrines or behaviors to follow. Some people think that’s what we need in order to be saved—to believe just the right thing or act in just the right way, be a part of just the right Christian community or have the right moral values or behaviors—but Jesus doesn’t give us any of that. Jesus gives us Himself. Jesus offers up His very own flesh and blood for us so that we can encounter Him and know Him. So that we can journey together with the Holy One of God. So that his death on the cross becomes our death, so that his resurrection becomes our new life. So that we have a share in Him who is the very Word of Eternal Life.
The very first time that the Amazing Mumford appeared on Sesame Street, he did a trick with pineapples. Our loveable, furry old pal Grover stood on and watched as four pineapples became three, and then two, and one, and finally zero pineapples. Grover is amazed at his subtraction trick, and he expresses that amazement effusively. And before Mumford can stop him, Grover proclaims, “And all you did was say, A-la-peanut-butter-sandwiches—“ And in a puff of smoke, Mumford disappears.
That’s not how magic words are supposed to work. Wielded by the magician, they have power, but on the lips of someone as plain and silly as Grover, they should fall flat. But on Sesame Street, Grover is somebody special, valuable, meaningful, just as we all are. The words are accessible to Grover, and in the imagination of a five-year old, perhaps they are accessible to us too. Which, I suppose, is how I got used to saying it in the first place.
Of course, for us, it’s not magic. This is reality we’re talking about. But the principle works the same. The gift of resurrection isn’t just for Jesus. It’s for you, too. God’s love for you is so immense that He’d give up His very self just to bring you new life. Jesus is the Word of Eternal Life. Come, and receive this powerful Word. Amen.