Proper 16.B.24
John 6:56-69
The Rev. Melanie McCarley

Have you ever wondered why so many people failed to recognize Jesus as the Son of God? If you haven’t pondered this, let me assure you, I have. And I find myself considering whether I would have been one of the faithful—or if I, like many people in the Gospel lesson for today, might have turned away.

I have sympathy for the folks who leave, for the words of our Lord are difficult. Jesus says: “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them…This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.” I imagine folks shaking their heads and hearing them mutter “Eeew” under their breath. Even the disciples recognized a public-relations disaster when they saw one. They confront Jesus and say: “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it? Jesus replies: “Does this offend you? Then what if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before?” Jesus knew better than all of us, that he wasn’t a politician or influencer. His success would not be based upon racking up a huge number of votes or “likes”. He was the Lord of Life, speaking Truth—offering hope to a world in which many people were and are simply too busy, too preoccupied or too skeptical to hear his words for what they are.

I find myself wondering, what if we were to see—or hear Jesus. Would we recognize him for who he is, would we pause to listen to his words, or would we hurry on by? There’s a lot of noise in the world. What would it take to catch our attention, divert us from our priorities and make us pause to listen, look and see the presence of the divine? Short of a nuclear explosion, what would it take?

In 2008, Michael Williamson, from the Washington Post, conducted an experiment with Joshua Bell, arguably one of the world’s greatest violinists and his Stradivarius, to see if people would pause and respond to beauty. So, on a weekday morning, Bell was positioned, with his fiddle, on a landing at the top of the L’Enfant Plaza escalator, smack dab, in the middle of Washington, DC.

Bell began with “Chaconne” from Johann Sebastian Bach’s Parita No. 2 in D Minor. Bell calls it “not just one of the greatest pieces of music ever written, but one of the greatest achievements of any human in history. It’s a spiritually powerful piece, emotionally powerful, structurally perfect.” It’s also one of. The most difficult violine pieces to master. Who among the multitudes would pause and listen? Would you?

Three minutes went by. Sixty-three people had passed when finally a middle-aged man altered his gate for a split second and then kept walking. In the three quarters of an hour that Bell played, twenty-seven gave money—most of them on the run—for a total of $32 and change. That leaves 1,070 people who hurried by, oblivious—many just three feet away, few even turning to look. There was never a crowd. Not even for a second.

But what about those people who stopped. John David Morteson was the first. “On the video you can see Mortensen get off the escalator and look around. He locates the violinist, stops, walks away but then is drawn back. He checks the time on his cellphone—he’s a few minutes early for work—then settles against a wall to listen. Mortensen says: “it made me feel at peace.” So, for the first time in. his life, Mortensen lingers to listen to a street musician. For the first time in his life, not quite knowing what had happened, but sensing it was special, he gives a street musician money.

Interestingly, every single time a child walked past, they stopped to watch. And every single time, a parent scooted the child away. Bell understood why he was not drawing a crowd, it’s a weekday morning. He says: “But I’m surprised at the number of people who didn’t pay attention at all, as if I’m invisible. Because, you know what? I’m makin’ a lot of noise!” Hmmm—I wonder if Jesus thought the same thing as well.

One woman stopped and appeared to listen—but she wasn’t… not really. Jackie Hessian was trying to figure out how the musician in the subway could make much money, and wondering if he should start with money in the case, or for it to be empty, so that people feel sorry for him. I was analyzing it financially, she said.

Then there is John Picarello. He hits the top of the escalator just after Bell begins his final piece. In the video, you see Picarello stop dead in his tracks—for nine minutes. Like everyone else who stopped, he was contacted by the Washington Post . Like everyone else, he was asked if anything unusual had happened to him on his trip into work. Of the more than 40 people contacted, Picarello was the only one who immediately mentioned the violinist. He said: “There was a musician playing at the top of the escalator at L’Enfant Plaza.”

The reporter asked: Haven’t you seen musicians there before? He responded: “Not like this one.”

“What do you mean?”

“This was a superb violinist. I walked a distance away to hear him. I didn’t want to be intrusive on his space…. It was a treat, just a brilliant, incredible way to start the day…Yeah, other people just were not getting it. It just wasn’t registering. That was baffling to me.”

I think about those crowds of people who came to hear what Jesus had to say. And I realize—they, at least, are the ones who stopped—they are the ones who took time to change their schedules to hear Jesus speak. I imagine a good number were there for curiosity’s sake, others because they hoped to see miracles, or wanted one for themselves or someone they loved. Some would be genuinely open-minded, others would arrive with a sense of skepticism, some would be there because their family was going, and others because their friends encouraged them to tag along. Whatever the reason, many stayed and some of them followed—until, of course, Jesus began to say things that weren’t what they expected. Think of it as if someone is playing classical music and suddenly switches to an a-tonal modern composition. It’s sounds jarring. It doesn’t seem to fit. Let’s face it, it’s uncomfortable, maybe even upsetting--until you think about it, until you put time and effort into understanding what the music is trying to say. This is where I find our Lord today—speaking difficult, challenging words—speaking Truth. Perhaps, knowing that his words would offend many in that time and place, but that he would reach others—you and me—at a distant point in the future.

For when we hear these words: “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.” We know precisely what Jesus was saying. But we know these words—for only one reason—because there were some—like the disciples, who remembered and passed them on to us. Those followers are the people who stayed and grappled with difficult sayings. They are those who heard and saw in Jesus something speaking of peace, hope and life. These followers are those who wrestled with hard sayings—frequently failing to understand themselves, but trusting that what they were hearing was something that sounded very much divine.

Let’s take a page from John Picarello, and this week, and do our best to slow down, listen and look—and when you see or hear something calling you to consider the divine. Stop, look and listen—and to give thanks, for the majesty of God is all around us—sometimes just three feet away. In Jesus’ name. Amen.