The Magical and the Mundane

A sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California on the occasion of the baptism of Leo Ategeka Acquistapace.

This morning Jesus is among his people, still in the days following the Feeding of the 5,000. And he has made the big proclamation, “I am the bread of life.”  

And his people have a totally relatable response.

Wait a minute. Isn’t this Joe and Mary’s kid? I remember him playing around with our Sarah when they were little, kicking a ball around, and getting their clothes dirty before Temple. What is going on here? What does he mean?

I love this detail in John’s Gospel because for those of us with the benefit of millennia of history and tradition behind us, the story is, well, kind of unsurprising. We’ve heard it before. Over and over. So, it doesn’t come as a shock.  

But these people in the crowd are reaching through time and space to tap us on the shoulder and say, “um hey – this is actually a shocking thing to consider here. Just because you’ve heard it before, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be surprised. Again and again and again.

“Because Jesus was right here with us. A full, messy, feeling human. He cried as an infant, learned to walk and tottled around, ran into his parents’ house with cuts and bruises, learned to read and write, made friends, lived and grew. Right here. With us!

“And through all of it, he was God.

“He was God not just during the walking on water, and the sparkle of the transfiguration. But during the leftover weekday dinners; the days stuck in bed with sniffles

“Through the extraordinary, and the mundane. The once in a lifetime and the every day. This Jesus was God.”

I think this truth that God’s realm and God’s presence is not limited to that of the extraordinary remains one of the most surprising things about our God. It can be so hard to believe that God is not that movie or hallmark card image –  an old white man, sitting on a throne, above the clouds. Removed. Distant. Unaware of the daily ins and outs that make up this human life. 

But God is in and of all that stuff of this human life. Not just the magical but the mundane.

Not just in the most beautiful works of art hanging in the Louvre, but in the noodle necklace made by a preschooler. Not just in the technology of the Webb Space Telescope, but in the humble turning wheels that move strollers, and wagons and cars along. Not just in the unforgettable farm-to-table gourmet meal. But in the untidy morsel of crumbly bread. Plain old bread. 

Scripture brings us news that God is in bread over and over and over. The Manna from heaven of Moses’ Day, the angel cake given to Elijah, the baskets of food that fed 5,000.

It’s all, in the end, just bread. Food. A staple. Calories that make us funny little creatures run. And it is all, in the end, from God.

And it is God.

In Matthew, Mark and Luke’s Gospels, we hear accounts of Jesus at the last supper, introducing (or “instituting”) the Eucharist. “This bread is my body.” “This wine is my blood,” he says.

John’s gospel doesn’t include such an account.

The closest we get is right here, this morning. With the crowd. Closer to the everyday stuff of life, in the midst of Jesus’s ministry; feeding and healing and teaching. “Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh,” Jesus says.

These are the extraordinary promises God makes this morning.

 The promise of “eternal life” – not some imagined future fantasy puffy cloud heaven, but “living now in the unending presence of God,” in other words, “the always just-at-hand Kingdom of God.”

 It is here in the everyday. That we find the presence of God.  In one another. In bread. In wine. And in water. This is the promise.

But back to those folks wondering how this could be that this skinny child from Nazareth was also somehow God. We might, and I do find myself wondering that sometimes.

 Find myself saying, really? Even this mundane stuff? Even this day? Even this bread?

And that is why I need sacraments.

Because sacraments say, “yes. This mundane stuff. This day. This bread. This wine. And this water. Yes, God is present and alive in these things.”

In just a few minutes this gathered community (in this room and online) will bless this everyday, water together with our love; we will mark it as holy, and God-filled. And that water filled with God and filled with our love will wash over sweet Leo’s head. And those promises of everlasting life. Those promises of God’s eternal presence. The truth of all this love. Will become real. For Leo. Forever.

 And this special gathered community blessing this water today — those visiting St. John’s for the first time or the 10,000th time; Leo’s wonderful parents Christopher and Caroline, Godparents Jeremy and Natalie, his grandparents, extended family members and friends. We are promising to hold this reality for him. To believe it. To remind him of it, when he needs it. To say, over and over and over, “Leo, you are a child of God.” “You are marked as Christ’s own.” “You are loved.”

 And as he cries as his little infant self, and learns to walk and tottles around, and runs into his parents’ house with cuts and bruises, and learns to read and write, makes friends, lives and grows, God will be with him. And God will know what it’s all like. Because God lived it too. And lives it still.

In the magical moments and the mundane.In all the stuff of life. In all the Bread of Life.