The Bread of Life

One of the great treasures of the University Church is a chalice, which was given to St Mary’s in 1837. The hallmark dates it to 1832 and it is supplemented by a large paten that dates from March 1838. The paten has a large foot underneath, which means that it has the appearance of a cake stand. These days it stays safely in the vestry safe. The chalice on the other hand is used every Sunday. But the chalice is so large, it is used these days as a ciborium, in other words to hold the body rather than the blood of Christ.

Although these sacred vessels were given anonymously, we now know that they were in fact given by St John Henry Newman, during his time as the incumbent here. The chalice is significant because it features an engraving of the last supper. For those familiar with the work of Leonardo Da Vinci, you can see the resemblance with his mural of the last supper in the refectory of the Dominican priory in Milan. This image has a peculiar hold on the Western imagination, and of course, we see the image reproduced on Newman’s chalice, and numerous representations elsewhere. And we should not be surprised that this image gives rise to what the literary critic, Harold Bloom, once described as the ‘anxiety of influence’. Just as the image is reproduced, it has also been reworked, even subverted, again and again and again in the history of Western Art.

So when a kitsch tableau with drag queens and a pagan god appeared to resemble Da Vinci’s painting at the celebration to mark the opening of the Olympics, social media was electrified by 48 hours of various Christian groups saying how offended they were. This was a blasphemous mockery of one of the holiest moments in the life of Christ. The French Catholic Bishops made a statement, even the World Council of Churches weighed in speaking on behalf of billions of Christians. That’s when you know you really are in trouble. 

The hapless designer confessed that he was surprised by the negative reaction, that the Da Vinci painting had not been in his mind at all, and that the scene had depicted a pagan feast, as a tribute to the history of French gastronomy. An art critic then weighed in, pointing out that the scene was a tableau vivant of another painting from the 1640s, The Feast of the Gods, by the Dutch painter, Jan van Bijlert, which featured a tableau surrounded by pagan deities. The painting is in a museum in Dijon, so again another nod in the direction of French culture and history, although one can see a certain resonance with Da Vinci’s painting. The anxiety of influence again – was this Dutch painter in 1640 seeking to subvert Da Vinci’s fifteenth century mural with a parody of pagan feasting? Who knows?.... but the Olympic organisers apologized rather grudgingly and no one was happy.

Of course, John the Evangelist, in his infinite wisdom, does not portray the Last Supper in the way that the Synoptic gospels do. No hint of the Da Vinci code for him. But the anxiety of influence perhaps lies in these extended discourses earlier in the gospel when he reflects on the bread of life. The discourse follows immediately after the feeding of the five thousand. At the very end, John states that Jesus said these things in the synagogue at Capernaum. 

Biblical scholars have been fascinated by the way in which this discourse follows a distinctive pattern weaving together a reading from the Torah, Exodus 16, which describes the people of Israel being fed with manna from heaven, and elements from the Prophets, from Isaiah 54-55. Although we cannot reconstruct the lectionary of the day, we know that synagogue worship has since been characterized by a reading from the Torah and a reading from the Prophets. But at the same time, the passage is filled with a series of striking eucharistic allusions: ‘Very 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 real food and my blood is real drink.’ (John 6.53-55).

What on earth does this mean? It’s interesting to note that by the end of the discourse, some of Jesus’ own disciples find that this is too hard to take. Jesus says, ‘Does this offend you?’ (John 6.61) Some are so offended that they stop following him. In this instance, Jesus is the one who causes offence, but we are reminded that there is a long tradition of some of his followers being offended.

The argument at the heart of this discourse is that the ‘bread of life’ is the fulfilment of Jewish hopes for the coming of a new Moses and the return of manna from heaven. This is the sign of the eschatological banquet, the reversal of worldly standards, when all our hopes and desires and longings will be fulfilled.  Jesus is the bread of life, the one in whom all our hungers are satisfied. This bread is manna from heaven, it is food for the soul, it is the bread of angels. And just as the manna of the Exodus was supernatural and miraculous bread from heaven, so the new manna is not just a symbol or a memory but a real outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. We discover in bread and wine the presence of Christ himself. This is the mystery at the heart of the eucharist. If we take the scriptural witness seriously, then we need to read Paul’s account of the last supper, which is often reduced to a memorial of the cross, and the Synoptic accounts, which are closely associated with the sacrifice of the cross, in the light of this extended discourse in John’s gospel. We cannot simply discount it.

But note that Jesus takes the language and imagery of the Book of Exodus, the manna which the Israelites ate (‘which perished’ because it went off every night), and subverts and challenges that imagery by contrasting the old manna with the true bread which he offers and which satisfies all our desires and longings. And this follows the feeding of the 5,000 when the hearts of the people were satisfied: ‘Very truly I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.’ Jesus subverts the Exodus tradition, and so paradoxically the Fourth Evangelist alerts us to the offensiveness at the heart of the Eucharist, that we share bread in an unsharing world, and in the bread which is shared, no one goes hungry. Everyone is satisfied. Jesus said, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’