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but I have discovered who the Anti-Christ is. I know, I am the guy who repeatedly writes that he doesn’t care about eschatology or the Book of Revelations. The firm adherent to the Doris Day School of End Times. I know. But I now have this secret knowledge, and I think a holiday weekend is the best time to spring it, so you can come to grips with it over the long weekend. For my international readers, you may want to delay reading this until a local holiday of your own rolls around.
But you must read this. It is that important.
Sit down. Breathe deeply. Try to control your shaking. Here is the Anti-Christ:
Hmmm, you think to yourself…looks like David Hasselhoff.
It is. “Knight Rider”? I don’t think so. Night Rider is more like it.
Anyway, if you remain foolishly unconvinced, you can find all of the sordid details, including a probing analysis of the St. John’s Apocalypse here.
A huge celebratory banquet was thrown tonight to honor Minor Clergy for completing one year as a celebrity in the blog-o-sphere. One year ago today, the first pointless blog entry was put up, to be followed by many, many more, most of which were equally pointless. The stars were everywhere at the invitation only affair: P-Diddy, both the Jennifers, Bill and Hillary and many more too dazzling to name. A good time was had by all.
Crowds line the red carpet outside the Holiday Inn
The limos of the rich and famous drew up to the curb, disgorging the stars!
The man of the hour plots his next move
To St. Paul and the authors of the synoptic Gospels, the Eucharist was understood primarily as a manifestation and remembrance of the Passion and Resurrection of Christ. The Apostle John, however, offers a strikingly different theology of the Eucharist, one that finds its roots more in the Incarnation than in the Passion. This does not mean that St. John saw a different or qualitatively dissimilar Eucharist. Rather, the Apostle and Theologian offers a perspective, which gives greater depth to the Mystery, with important implications for our understanding of the divinization of man.
The Word made Flesh
Above all else, the Gospel of John is the story of the Incarnation. That seems a mildly paradoxical statement: the Apostle says nothing about the physical birth of Jesus. Such details are left to Matthew and Luke. John, however, uses heavenly eyes to describe the same truth set forth in the other Gospels. He describes the Incarnation as it might be seen from Heaven itself:
In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God….And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth, we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father.
John 1:1, 14. Jesus is the Word, He is the true light, but in John’s view He is more.
St. John’s use of symbol is startling. In his Gospel, we find that Jesus is the living water of eternal life (4:4-15), that water turns to wine (2:1-11) and Christ Himself is the heavenly bread, come from above for all men (6:52-59). While we refer to these as symbols, they are not “symbols” in the modern sense of the word. John means what he says, and he demands that we take these concepts seriously, just as we must believe that, in all truth, the Word indeed became flesh. More than the synoptic Gospels, the Gospel of John is wholly steeped in sacrament. The absence of a Eucharistic model or exchange in his account of the Last Supper becomes virtually superfluous in the light of a Gospel saturated and transformed in bread and wine.
The Word as sustenance
In Chapter six of the Gospel, John offers a highly developed theology of the Eucharist. That is not to say that the rest of his Gospel lacks Eucharistic significance. The wedding at Cana (John 2), Jesus’ teachings to Nicodemus (John 3) and the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4) all offer important insights into the meaning of the gifts. Yet it is in chapter six that we find the theme most clearly developed.
The feeding of the 5000
John 6 is a lengthy chapter, which may be divided into four parts. The first is found in John 6:1-15, the feeding of the 5000. The story parallels in many respects one found in the Gospels of Mark and Luke. Mk 6:32-44, Luke 9:10-17. In each case we find Jesus and His disciples in a place some distance from any town or city. They are followed by a great number of people. Each Gospel details the feeding of the multitude with five loaves and two fishes.
In John’s gospel, the distribution of the bread immediately takes on overtones of the Eucharist. What follows is highly reminiscent of the institution described in other Gospels:
Jesus then took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted.
The only difference in this institution is that Jesus did not break the bread. This serves, however, to focus attention on the distribution, which in John’s Gospel is the most important aspect of the meal.
It is in the distribution that we find a very important difference between the version related by John, and those set forth by Luke and Mark. In Luke, it is clear that the miracle that occurred was in the multiplication of the loaves in order to feed the crowd. Mark does not expressly say that the loaves were multiplied. John, however, clearly precludes the possibility:
So they gathered them up and filled twelve baskets with fragments from the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten. When the people saw the sign which he had done, they said: “This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world!”
John 6:13-14. John’s insistence that the five loaves alone fed the people is crucial to understanding his theology of the Eucharist. The miracle lay in the extraordinarily nourishing quality of the bread distributed by Jesus. It is not the quantity. Instead it is in the ability of Christ to perfectly meet the needs of each individual. Eugene LaVerdiere argues that:
What the stories actually is confront the listener with the mystery and the extraordinary nourishing quality of the bread Jesus gives. To call the event “a multiplication of loaves” provides a rational, albeit miraculous, explanation for it, and draws attention away from its intended Eucharistic significance.
Immediately following the description of the meal, John inserts a short account of the disciples crossing the sea, and Jesus walking on the water to meet them. John 6:16-21. In some respects, the importance of the story lies in the revelation that is made. The account of the meal concluded with the exclamation of the people that Jesus was a new prophet, and His realization that they wished to make Him king, followed by His solitary withdrawal. While the intent and meaning of the story in Mark’s gospel is arguably different, John sees it as Jesus’ revelation to His disciples of His divinity. As he walks on the water to the boat, He says “It is I, do not be afraid.” John 6:20. That short phrase, very similar to that spoken by God to Moses (see Exod 3:14) is a clear indication that Jesus is not simply a prophet, but the Son of God. The disclosure at this point is especially important in light of the more detailed revelation which immediately follows the passage.
The Word as the Bread from Heaven (John 6:22-59)
On the next day, John says, the people whom Jesus had fed discovered that he was gone, and crossed the Sea of Galilee to seek Him out in Tiberias. When they find Him, he is teaching in a synagogue. Jesus readily identifies the reason that they have followed Him: the bread with which He fed them on the previous day. What follows is one of the most challenging discourses to be found in Scripture.
The first part of the passage identifies Jesus as the bread from heaven. The basis for the teaching is in Psalm 78:24: “He gave them bread from heaven to eat.” His listeners understood the passage to refer to the manna with which God fed their ancestors in the wilderness. Jesus, however, extends that understanding beyond simple provision for the body to provision for eternal life. Those who ate manna were nourished, but still suffered death. He, Christ says, is the bread of life, and all who believe in Him will have eternal life. That assertion alone caused murmuring in the listeners. Jesus’ clear identification of Himself as the Son of God (v. 40) was, in their eyes, at least bordering on blasphemous.
It is the second part of the discourse, beginning at verse 51 that shocked the crowd the most. Eating His flesh and drinking His blood, said Jesus, is an essential prerequisite to eternal life. Yet this is precisely the heart of John’s Eucharist of the Incarnation. The Word became flesh, in order that we may live. The Word became flesh, so that we may partake of the Word, of the flesh, and receive eternal life. Thus, the Apostle presents the Eucharist not in terms of a sacrifice, as did the synoptic authors and St. Paul, but as the continuous and everlasting incarnation of the Word.
St. Symeon the New Theologian captured the essence of the Incarnational aspect of John’s account. He points out that Jesus is careful to distinguish the Bread of heaven from earthly bread by saying on several occasions “I am the bread who comes down from heaven”. (vv. 33, 38). St. Symeon remarks:
He says, “Who comes down,” clearly because He is always and forever descending on those who are worthy, and that this occurs both now and at every hour.
(Third Ethical Discourse, 133). In this view, the Eucharist is not only a sacrifice, it is a continual and constant gift from Heaven.
It would not be accurate to say that this understanding of the Eucharist is the only proper understanding, or that the understanding expressed by St. Paul and the synoptic authors is incorrect. Together, the two views provide us with a full understanding of the role of the Eucharist in our salvation. Yet it is important to understand the Incarnational view of the matter, in at least two respects.
The first of these is in the view of the Body as spiritual nourishment. The body and the blood is given to us not simply for salvation, but for transformation. The bread which Jesus distributed to the 5000 served to nourish, renew and transform the body. That which is distributed to the faithful in the Eucharist serves the same function in a spiritual sense. Jesus told the crowd in the synagogue that:
Truly, truly I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you; he who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is food indeed and my blood is drink indeed. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me and I in him.
John 6:53-56. The mutual abiding points the way to divinization. In his first epistle, St. John elaborates: he who abides in Him does not sin (1 John 3:9), loves his brother (4:12) and keeps His commandments and overcomes the world (5:4-5). Indeed, writes St. John, “…we know that when He appears. We shall be like Him.” I John 3:2.
The second aspect involves the Christological implications. Throughout John’s writings, there is never any doubt that Jesus is the Son of God, the second person of the Trinity. This passage confirms that understanding, particularly when taken in context with His earlier statements regarding manna. Manna was sent from heaven, was nourishing, but was also corruptible, and was useful only for sustaining physical life. The bread sent from heaven is incorruptible, and provides and sustains eternal life. Clearly, the heavenly bread is of a higher nature than manna; indeed, it is clearly on a par with He who sent it.
The Aftermath with the Disciples (John 6:60-71)
The Theologian does not disguise the fact that this teaching was hard. Many of His disciples left Him, and followed Him no more. Yet for those who remained, Jesus characteristically provided additional teaching that completes the words that he gave to the crowd. “It is the spirit that gives life,” He said, “the flesh is of no avail; the words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life.”
This in no wise changes the teaching of the actual, real Body and Blood. Rather, it is a question of the manner in which it is partaken, the condition of the receiver. Just as many in Israel saw the Lord but failed to recognize Him as the Messiah, it is also possible to partake of the Eucharist without recognizing what it is. That spiritual component of the Eucharist is an essential one. It must be rightly received in order to be effectual. St. Paul warned his readers in Corinth that “…any one who eats and drinks (the body and blood) without discerning the body eats and drinks judgment upon himself.” 1 Cor 11:29. The reception is conditioned on spiritual preparedness. The Jews, for example, met the Incarnate word face to face, but did not believe. Similarly, those who commune without spiritual eyes consume only earthly bread and are deprived of life.
St. Symeon addressed this teaching at length. The involvement of the spirit, he says, involves the individual Christian:
Therefore, if you, yourself a believer, partake of mere bread and not of a deified body when receiving Him, the whole Christ Himself, how do you hope to take life from Him, and with full awareness possess within yourself Him…? It is the Spirit Who is really the true food and drink. It is the spirit who changes the bread into the Lord’s body. It is the Spirit who really purifies us and makes us worthy to partake worthily of the body of the Lord.
(Third Ethical Discourse, 134). We see the same thought in our epiclesis prayer, where we pray that the Lord send down His Holy Spirit both upon us and upon the gifts.
Thus, at bottom, St. John’s theology of the Eucharist returns to a familiar theme. Our partaking of the Eucharist in a worthy manner is a synergistic matter. Certainly, as Christ explained, He is the heavenly bread, but we must receive in the spirit. Our partaking may not be mechanical. It may not be casual. We must approach the chalice in the fear of God.
In many respects, the teaching of the Eucharist in the Gospel of John is immensely challenging. It offers us concepts and visions that are uncomfortable and difficult to grasp. Heavenly bread, eating flesh and drinking blood, doing so in the spirit: these are notions that can leave us befuddled. We can only approach this mystery in fear and in faith, having sincerely prepared ourselves, and with ultimate confidence in the gracious nature of the Lord. Like the Apostle Peter, we say “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”
I was preoccupied today with leaving tomorrow for Johnstown. As always, I have been looking forward to the trip, but today my eagerness had the effect of making me cranky toward other people. I didn’t offer any obvious irritation — I don’t think — but there was a lot of muttering and quiet snarling. So as I approached evening prayers, I was very conscious of my failures.
My bishop has given all of us in my class a small prayer rule to add to the usual evening prayers, consisting of two of the pre-communion prayers each evening. Certainly not burdensome, but it helps to sharpen one’s focus as the day comes to an end. Tonight, one of the prayers was that of St. Symeon the New Theologian, a fairly long, highly poetic, prayer. My entire evening had been more or less focused on my failures during the day, and I daresay my prayer was not particularly fervent, when I ran up on this:
I know, O Savior, none beside
Hath sinned against Thee like as I,
Nor done the deeds which I have dared.
But yet again, I know this well,
That not the greatness of my sins,
Nor my transgressions’ multitude,
Exceeds my God’s forbearance great,
Nor his high love toward all men.
But those who fervently repent
Thou with the oil of lovingness
Dost cleanse, and causest them to shine,
And makest sharers of thy light,
And bounteously dost grant to be
Partners of Thy Divinity;
And though to angels and to minds
Of men alike ’tis a strange thing,
Thou dost converse with them ofttimes –
A friend with Thine unfeigned friends.
I’m no St. Symeon, and I certainly do not claim any unusual spirituality. But after prayers, I felt buoyed. A bad day — a bad year — a life mostly bad, even — does not condemn us if we turn in true repentance after each bad day or year or whatever.
I think I’m ready to travel now.
Glory to God for all things!
In honor of the Nativity Fast, which began today, my wife dusted off her vegetarian cooking skills. For dinner tonight, she made her famous Navy bean chile, and something new, pumpkin corn bread. The pumpkin serves to help bind and give a light texture to the bread. It was extremely good, so good that a person might forget that we are now in the fast.
Even with the fine cuisine, though, I was glad to remember that the fast started today. While I love any fast, in my mind the Nativity fast is second only to Lent itself. That may be in part a reaction against the fluff that passes for Christmas these days, a sad state of affairs which shows no signs of improving. Certainly there is not a surplus of repentance nowadays, or even much in the way of quiet contemplation. Mind you, when I speak the indictment, I indict myself. I am notoriously frivolous, and nobody can hold a candle to me in the area of shallowness. So for me, discovering that such a thing as the Nativity Fast existed was a breath of fresh air. The whole notion was one of the most wonderful things I had ever heard of.
When I first heard of it, I was not Orthodox, but served as a pastor in the Methodist Church. My last year there, I was invited to preach at a community Thanksgiving service, attended by all the local churches. I was uncharacteristically thoughtful, and in the sermon mentioned the Fast in passing, as an illustration, in the context of the usual “let us make this Advent different” message that protestant pastors desperately put forth every year. Afterwards, the senior pastor in the area, a guy with a D.D. from Duke University, approached and eyed me suspiciously.
“What’s this about a Nativity Fast?” he asked. “I’ve never heard of that.”
I launched into an explanation, but I could tell he wasn’t satisfied. I suspect that to this day he believes I made it up, as kind of a dramatic device.
Thank goodness I didn’t. I would hate to be eating pumpkin corn bread to honor some vague thought of my own. That would be beyond silly. On the other hand, thank God that this a real fast, a real tradition, one that millions and millions of us are embarking on, full of joy and repentance. What could be better? And on the Nativity, amidst the widespread depression and disappointment, we can all wake up to the realization that the joy is just beginning.
I am working on my next paper, a very interesting (to me anyway) examination of the Eucharistic theology of the Apostle John. Briefly — and my unfortunate readers will get more of this in the next week or two than they really want — the Theologian’s take on the matter is more focused on the Incarnation, especially as compared to the synoptic gospels and St. Paul. The latter tended to tie the Eucharist to the Passion and Resurrection, a connection made obvious by the close proximity of the Passion to the Eucharistic institution at the Last Supper.
Oddly enough, St. John does not include that at all in his account of the Last Supper. Some people speculate about the whys and wherefores of that exclusion, but frankly, it doesn’t really make any difference. The entire Gospel is steeped in the sacraments. Jesus is the heavenly bread, He is the water of life, He turns water to wine, His side is pierced and water and blood flow forth. It is similar to John’s treatment of the Incarnation. There is no Bethlehem narrative, a la Matthew and Luke, but there is a perspective on the Incarnation that can only be characterized as divine: the Word made flesh. In the same fashion, the elements and meaning of the Eucharist are unmistakeably presented: “…unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.” John 6:53.
Of course, this is not to say that St. John is right and St. Paul is wrong. It does not work that way. Rather, it is in the fullness of the Scripture we find the true meaning of the Mystery.
Believe it or not, though, that is not what I wanted to write about tonight. Instead, I am mulling over something I ran across on the way. Eugene LaVerdiere, a Roman Catholic scholar who writes extensively about the Eucharist, noted that the very earliest Christians — say, in the first 20 years after the Ascension — coined an entirely new word to refer to their eucharistic celebration. This word, which had never appeared before, is found in three writings: the rendering of the Lord’s prayer in the Gospels of Mark and Matthew, and in the Didache. The word is epiousios. In form, it is an adjective, and it is typically translated as “daily”, as in “give us this day our daily bread”. But it is not really the word for daily. LaVerdiere argues that the word was coined to describe the eucharistic nature of the breaking of the the bread of the Christians.
The notion is fascinating to me. I think most modern Christians (i.e., me) think of the phrase “give us this day our daily bread” as a plea that the Lord meet our minimal material requirements. To give the phrase a Eucharistic emphasis changes the entire concept. To then give it the Johannine emphasis on the Heavenly bread and its meaning simply makes the whole phrase…well, mindblowing. Can anyone say theosis?
Ancient Church 