Sorry for the lack of entries lately. It’s been a crazy end of the semester ad my brain is tired. I don’t have anything to say, so I don’t want to waste your time talking about nothing.
I did finally (3 months late) post the second half of my photo gallery from Jamaica on the Photo Gallery page. So if you’d like, you would be more than welcome to check them out.
Peace.
One thing I really love about the Psalms is that they give us permission and examples of yelling at God. They show that God is able to handle being yelled at and that we are free to be completely open with God about how we feel about things.
A common part of the human experience is going through time when we feel cut off from God and His great love. There are times when we are disoriented in the storms of life and we cry out in desperation for God to rescue us.
As I have said before, I like writing psalms. I think it is a practice that is good for our souls. Over the last few days at school, many of us (including myself) have been tossed roughly about by storms and are nursing wounds. Here is a psalm that I wrote that captures some of my experience.
Oh Lord where have you gone? I am all alone.
My mind toils with many troubles.
My shoulders are weary under the weight of a thousand cares.
My heart is cut off from you. I cannot feel your presence.
A veil covers my eyes, hiding your lovely face.
If I could see you, I would run to you.
If I could hear you, I would answer you.
But all is night before my eyes.
All is silent in my ears,
Silent as the grave.
Hear my cry, O God and answer me!
Show yourself to me and I will acknowledge you!
Lift me out from this pit and my mouth will declare your praise.
Redeem my life and I will sing of your salvation!
Set my feet upon your holy mountain and I will worship you!
In darkness, you are my hope and consolation.
I recall your wondrous deeds of old.
I remember the price you paid to make me your own.
I remember that I am your child and you are my God.
Nothing can separate me from you.
Therefore I will put my trust in you, O my Lord.
I will seek my rest in you, O my God.
For you are the strength of my life, my shelter in times of trouble.
I will rest in the palm of your hand.
I will wait on you, Lord and remember your steadfast love.
I’ve been thinking about Isaiah 55:1-5 a lot these last few days. I’m curious to know what others hear when they read these words.
1 “Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without cost.
2 Why spend money on what is not bread,
and your labor on what does not satisfy?
Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good,
and you will delight in the richest of fare.
3 Give ear and come to me;
listen, that you may live.
I will make an everlasting covenant with you,
my faithful love promised to David.
4 See, I have made him a witness to the peoples,
a ruler and commander of the peoples.
5 Surely you will summon nations you know not,
and nations you do not know will come running to you,
because of the LORD your God,
the Holy One of Israel,
for he has endowed you with splendor.”(NIV)
What does this mean to you? How does this speak into our world today? I’d love to know.
“Lives again our glorious king, Alleluia!
Where, O Death is now thy sting? Alleluia!
Died, he once our souls to save, Alleluia!
Where thy victory O Grave? Alleluia!”
Today is a day of jubilation! Today our mourning is turned to dancing! Today we hear the word that we have been holding our breath for two days to hear. Today we say, “He is risen! He is risen indeed!”
Today we stare in stupified incredulity as two women burst into our hiding place shouting that they have been to the tomb and found it empty. They tell us of the angel, whose appearance was like lightening, and who told them the great news, “Fear not. For I know that you seek Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here, FOR HE HAS RISEN.”
At first we can’t believe it. This is too crazy, too good to be true. The dead don’t come back to life! How ridiculous! But the secret hope we had on Friday, the hope that Jesus would somehow get out of his predicament reawakens. He has gone ahead of us to Galilee? We will see him there? Surely this is some sick joke. But what if it isn’t? Jesus told us he would tear down the temple and in three days he would raise it up again. Could it be that he wasn’t referring to a building? The women said they saw him. They said they touched him. Can this be?
Then we hear of Peter’s adventure. He too went to the tomb and found it empty. We hear his report of finding the burial linens lying alone with no body.
Two more come bursting in exclaiming of how they were in the road to Emmaus and the Lord had appeared to them and explained it all. They tell us that they recognized him when he broke bread with them that evening and how they had run all the way back to tell us. The desperate hope deep inside from Friday is fanned into a burning flame.
Then we hear a voice. “Peace be with you” it says. We recognize that voice! We’ve heard it before! We dare not turn around. What if it’s our imagination? What if it’s a mistake? But we do turn. We can’t stop ourselves. Even if we wanted to, we can’t ignore that voice. We see the one who spoke. Ours hearts pound like they’re trying to jump out of our bodies. Is it a ghost? He holds out his hands. We see the wounds. This is no ghost! It’s true! He’s alive! He’s eating food! We touch him. He’s real!
Joy upon joy! We laugh with uncontrollable glee! We caper about like idiots, with tears of total ecstasy streaming down out cheeks. Our hearts are so full we marvel that they don’t burst.
As we celebrate, Jesus catches our eyes, and as his gaze lock onto ours, we remember how we deserted Jesus in his darkest hour. We feel like Peter. We know that we too have denied our Lord. We remember the part of us that was demanding Jesus’ blood two days ago. But as we are swallowed up in the gaze of our risen Lord, we remember his last words. “It is finished.” Two days ago we thought that was Jesus admitting defeat. But now we understand what was really happening. We discover in the eyes of our Lord that what is finished is the purchase of our redemption. Our days of fear, treachery, inadequacy, powerlessness and shame are finished. We have a new name. The former things that defined us are gone. We are a new creation. Our old selves who were ruled and condemned by the ways of the world died with him, and our new sanctified selves are brought to life in him. We understand that we are alive as we never were before in the one who stands before us.
The weight of our shame and brokenness was taken from us two days ago. Today, when we see that the one we bet everything on has come through, we finally realize it. Our backs unconsciously straighten. We feel like we’re a foot taller.
We look around to see where the accuser is, who had been whispering in our ears all through the past two days. But he is nowhere to be found. “What say you now, O Death? What say you, O Grave?” we ask. For the first time since the beginning, they all are silent. Our God, the Holy One, the living God, has accomplished the impossible!
The law is satisfied. Justice has been served. The old covenant has been fulfilled. Our relationship with God has been made right forever more. The new covenant is established. The debt is paid in full. Grace has become the paradigm. Our righteous God now looks upon us through the lens of Jesus. The final word is spoken.
In response, we do the only thing we can. We fall to our knees and worship the redeemer. We say the only fitting words: “Thank you, Lord. We love you. We love you.”
“Anyone who is in Christ Jesus is a new creation.
The old has passed away and the new has come. All this is from God,
who reconciled us to himself through Christ.”
-2 Corinthians 5:17-18a
What are we to make of Holy Saturday? This is the most ambiguous of all the days leading to Easter. On the surface, Holy Saturday appears to be an awkward day between the events of yesterday and tomorrow.
Yesterday, Jesus, the Lord of all, the Son of God, was mocked, beaten, flogged, and was told those terrible words: “Ibus ab crucem!” “You shall go to the Cross!” We watched in horror, grief and guilt as our Lord was crucified and died for our sake. Through our tears, we saw him nailed to the cross. We heard his final words. We saw the sky turn black and felt the earth shake as every evil thing from all of human history past and future was laid on him. As he breathed his last breath, our whole world came crashing down. Yesterday we wept for ourselves and for our world.
So what about today then? What is so special about today? Is today really just a breather between the sorrow of Good Friday and the jubilation of Easter Sunday? What is it about today that feels so odd and uncomfortable?
There are two reasons that today is so strange. The first is that Jesus is doing the work of securing our eternal salvation. He is breaking the back of evil and the power of the grave. Our Lord has descended into Hell and is at this moment, disarming the devil’s arsenal. Earlier, he told his disciples, “Where I am going, you cannot follow.” He was referring to today. All this is going on where we can’t see it. We don’t yet understand it, but we know something is going on. We feel it in our hearts, like the falling of very small stones that begin a mountain slide.
The second reason is the easiest to understand. We stand on the latter side of history, and we know what is to come. Yet as we stand on this side of history, we watch those who experienced yesterday’s events first hand, and we find it very easy to walk in their shoes. We see those who had been Jesus’ friends and family reeling with the grief of what had just happened. We watch as Judas is overcome by guilt and remorse at what he had done. We sigh and shake our heads as we watch him take his own life. We feel the fear of the others as they barricade themselves in a room so the mob that sent their friend and master to his death cannot seize them too. We resonate with their confusion and despair. The man who was supposed to be a conquering king and free them from the Romans is now dead and buried like some two-bit criminal. We watch as all their hopes and dreams seem to crumble on their heads. We hear the accuser’s whisper in our ear saying, “You see? Your ‘Messiah’ is as impotent as you are. What has all his labor gotten? Only death at the hand of the ones he tried to save.” We walk with Jesus’ friends as they ask God “Is this it? What the hell are we to do now? I thought you were for real. I thought you loved us.”
At the same time, we feel the tension. We know that our Lord is playing for much higher stakes than the political climate of a season. We know that what Christ is saving us from is far bigger than an oppressive empire. We know he’s playing for eternity and for everyone, not just one race of people, but all. We also get to look forward to tomorrow, when we get to see that we bet on the right guy. Tomorrow we get to hear the final word, the word of grace and final victory. Tomorrow, we get to see that the good guy wins.
So what then are we to do with Holy Saturday? The answer is simple. We are to live in the tension. We are to at once remember the pain and anguish of the Crucifixion, and the joy and vindication of the Resurrection. Mostly we are to remember the price that was paid to purchase our pardon, and above all, the magnitude of the love and grace that decided to pay that price, even before we were born.
“For it is by grace you have been saved, though faith, and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.” -Ephesians. 2:8-9
Tomorrow: Part III, Easter
“O Sacred head now wounded, with grief and pain, weighed down
Now scornfully surrounded, with thorns thine only crown
How pale thou art with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn
How does that visage languish, which once was bright as morn”
Why do we call today “Good Friday?” Why do we say that a day, marked by the memory of an innocent man’s torture and death, is good? Tonight we will gather to hear the story of betrayal, unlawful trials, mob rage and crucifixion. Slowly the lights will go out. We will walk out together in silence and darkness. And we call this day “Good?”
Five days ago we gathered on Palm Sunday, waved palm branches and sang “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” We stood with the crowd in Jerusalem lifting our voices in praise of the “Son of David” who is entering the city.
How very fitting it is that we identify with that crowd. It’s fitting because we, just like the crowd, turn on Jesus. This crowd comes to celebrate the coming of the one they thought would drive the Romans out of the land and usher in a new era of glory for Israel. When they saw that Jesus is up to something else, their disappointment turns to rage. Today the adoring masses are crying out for this man’s blood.
We see this ghastly change come over the people day by day, and we recoil when we hear them shout “Crucify him! Crucify him!” But to our horror, we discover a part of ourselves nodding in fierce approval. We remember every unanswered prayer. Every desperate desire that Jesus has not granted for us and we hear ourselves cursing our Lord, saying, “If you will not answer these prayers, then you are no friend of mine.” We find ourselves applauding with the mob when Pilate utters the awful words, “You shall go to the cross.”
But there’s another part of us, a larger part, who knows this man is innocent. We are outraged to see justice so terribly miscarried. Our heart breaks when hear the Holy One of God condemned to death by the one he came to save.
We watch in horrified fascination as Jesus take up his cross and treads the path to Golgotha. Deep inside we hold a desperate hope that maybe Jesus has one more trick up his sleeve to get out of this predicament.
But then the nails come out. The hammer is raised. It falls, and the voice of our beloved Messiah shrieks in agony. The one we bet our life on is hoisted up, impaled upon a cursed tree as a spectacle. We hear the voices of the woman who was this man’s mother and a little kid who was the beloved disciple weeping. We hear the religious folks mocking him: “If you are the Messiah, come down!” they scoff. Deep in our hearts we say, “Come on Jesus! Come down! Show them. Show them all!”
We look up at the bloody figure hanging there and through our tears, we see everything we’ve done; every heart we’ve broken, every hatred we’ve ever harbored; every sin we’ve committed heaped upon the shoulders of our Lord along with every sin of the whole world, past and future. We avert our eyes, because what we see too ugly to withstand. Our beloved Jesus has become the fullness of depravity. He has become sin.
We bow are heads in shame and despair as we hear the death-rattle of Jesus’ last breath. “It is finished.”
The ground shakes! The sky turns black as night! We know that God the Father is convulsing in agony. The eternal son of the triune God, the Word is dead!
So why is this day good? It seems that all is lost. It appears that God himself has lost. But then we remember the prophets. “But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities… and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” (Isaiah 53:5-6) We remember that this was foretold long ago. This had to happen. We remember Jesus himself saying that he has come to give his life as a ransom for many. (Matthew 20:28) Jesus chose to do all this. Our Lord was not coerced into this. Taking our place on the cross and shouldering our curse was Jesus freely chosen gift to us.
We also have the advantage of seeing this unfold knowing the end of the story. We know that this is the penultimate event, the next-to-last word. We know what will happen two days from now. We know what the last word is.
That’s what makes today “Good” Friday. Today we see what our redemption cost. We catch a glimpse of how much we are worth. We see the lengths that God is willing to go to in order to have a relationship with us. Those are good things to be reminded of. Today we understand what Costly Grace (not cheap grace) looks like. It is good to know what grace is. Today we get to experience just how extravagant God’s generosity or goodness is toward us.
Today is good because we need to hear the next-to-last word before we can take the final word to heart.
Tomorrow: Part II, Holy Saturday.
Today is Maundy Thursday. Today, Christians all over the world are gathering to remember the night when our Lord shared a last supper with his disciples before being betrayed into the hands of the religious authorities and taken to the cross.
In a previous post on The Lord’s Supper, I shared my thoughts on what is so meaningful about this meal that is a foundational sacrament in the Christian faith. Today, I simply want to reiterate how powerful this time is and express my hope that everyone will take time today to visit a church near them and share in the Lord’s Supper. And as you do, remember the sacrifice that this meal points to. Remember that you are redeemed at great price and that God thinks you are valuable enough to die and rise again to restore you into relationship with Himself and the world.
Come back tomorrow for part one of a three-part series on Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday.
This last Sunday I got to preach a sermon in a real church for the first time. IT WAS SO COOL!! Way more fun than preaching in class.
The text that I preached from was Psalm 51:1-12. Here are my thoughts.
I love this psalm. It’s one of my most favorite passages in the whole bible. I love it because it’s so honest. The book of Psalms is often called the prayer book of the soul. The psalms give voice to the deepest feelings of our hearts. The full range of human emotion can be found in the psalms. Here, in the psalms, we find permission to enter into completely honest dialogue with God. The psalms show us that we can come to God and open our hearts fully. Nothing is off the table.
I love this psalm in particular because here we find a prayer of complete repentance. Take a look at the subtitle for this text. You will notice that each psalm has a brief description or note at its beginning. These are not editorial notes from the scholars who published this translation. These notes are in the ancient Hebrew texts. See the note for this text. This psalm is believed to have been written by King David after the prophet Nathan confronts him about the sins David committed regarding Bathsheba. While David is remembered as Israel’s greatest king, what he did, driven by his lust for her, also makes him one of Israel’s worst kings. He coveted a woman who was married to another person and arranged for the murder of a man who would have died for him and then tried to cover it all up.
But God cannot be fooled and sends Nathan to call David to account, and David, knowing that he is guilty, is brought to his knees. This psalm is not a list of poor choices, quickly listed off before a perfunctory request for God’s forgiveness. This is the anguished cry of a man who knows that he has strayed into water well over head and is caught in the riptide. This psalm is the lament of one who has taken an honest look within and is disgusted by what he has found.
How many of us have been in such a place? Who here has come into worship and as you sat and listened and sang memories from the past come bubbling up uninvited; things you thought were water under a bridge, mistakes you made or people you’ve hurt, cruel words that you wish you could take back? Or how many of us have ever been driving along and suddenly something triggers a memory of something that we are not proud of? I know that has certainly happened to me. It’s been said that when people look back on their lives, they often look back through rose-colored glasses. That may be true, but I know that often we look back and see a lot of things we wish we hadn’t done. Sometimes our lenses are colored by shame and we feel like we’ve failed. Sometimes when we look back, all we see is dirt and debris. Our memories sometimes feel like sweaty and grimy work-clothes and we long to be rid of them and take a good long bath.
That’s why I’m so glad we have this psalm; because we have a song that leads us faithfully to the only place where those burdens can be lifted, those wounds can be healed and our hearts can be washed clean of the muck and grime of our sin. You see, David knows something that is very important for us to remember. We see it at the very start. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to YOUR STEADFAST LOVE; according to your ABUNDANT MERCY blot out my transgressions.” David knows that above all, God is loving and rich in mercy. The steadfast love that David sings of here is the same love that we sing of when we sing, “On Christ the solid rock I stand. All other ground is sinking sand.” This is love that never goes away. God’s love for us is like an unmovable rock. St. Paul writes about this love in Romans 8, when he says that nothing in all creation can separate us from God’s love. God’s love is faithful and endures no matter what.
David also knows that God is rich in mercy. God is able and more than willing to forgive. We know that while there’s nothing that we can do to save ourselves, God CAN save. God CAN make us right again.
But when we go on, we see that there’s more to it. David acknowledges in verses 6 through 8 that we need to be cleansed from the inside out. The wrong things we do are a symptom of a deeper malady. We are unclean on the inside. God desires truth and righteousness to live deep inside us, not just on the outside in our actions, but also in our hearts. But sin has worked its way deep into our hearts and there is darkness in the deep recesses of our beings.
David says, “Cleanse me with hyssop and I shall be clean. Wash me and I shall be white like snow.” Hyssop was a medicinal plant used like we use Neosporin. David knows that in order to be fully healed of his brokenness, the infection inside him must be treated.
Our portion of the psalm finishes with one of the most famous passages in all of the Old Testament. I love the way the King James Version says it. “Create in me a clean heart, O God and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence. Take not thy holy spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me.” The cause of our wrongdoings is found in our hearts being distant from God. If we want to be clean again, we need a spirit that is akin to that of God. David asks God to give him a spirit that is steadfast and faithful. A Spirit that is just like God as we see in verses 1 and 2, a spirit that is defined by steadfast love. Just like David asks God to turn God’s face away from his sins, we must turn our hearts and spirits back toward God, the living center of our lives.
In order to be made right with God and each other, we need to be healed, made well. But what can possibly heal the embedded brokenness that haunts us and makes a mess of things?
The prophet Isaiah foretells of the one who will accomplish this in Isaiah 53:5. “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.”
Two Thursdays from now, Christians all over the world will gather and remember how our Lords made good on that promise when he took a cup and said “This cup is the new covenant, sealed in my blood poured out for the forgiveness of sins.”
Have you ever plucked up the courage to apologize to someone and been forgiven? You feel like you just grew a foot taller. The weight of the issue that stood between the two of you has been removed from your shoulders. You can’t help but feel clean inside.
As the season of lent draws to a close and we begin to make the journey toward Calvary and the cross, we find that there our healing is completed. We are reminded of the gravity of our sin, but we are also reminded that By of the blood of Jesus, poured out on our behalf, his life laid down for us on the cross, and in his resurrection life, God has made us clean forever. “Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation.” Brothers and Sisters, hear the good news: in Jesus Christ, we are forgiven.
This weekend some friends and I had the most fun (at least for me) 2 hours in ages! What did we do? We had an epic Nerf Gun battle! It was a dart-tag event of the ages. And it all took place in the brand new Vernon S. Broyles Jr. Leadership Center at Columbia Theological Seminary.
While we left no mess behind, left no trace of our exploits and recovered every last one of our darts (quite an achievement, I’m told), it occurred to me how some would consider reenacting multi-player missions from Halo with dart guns on the grounds of an instructional building of a theological seminary an irreverent, if not inappropriate activity.
This thought brought back memories of my childhood and youth that I’m sure are almost universally experienced by those who grew up in the church; or at least the traditional church. I remembered being a kid and hearing some one, in scolding tones, saying, “Don’t run in church! This is God’s house!” It wasn’t that long ago that I witnessed a parent admonishing their small child to have respect for God’s house and never to run down the hall or in the sanctuary.
“Don’t run in God’s house!” I remember, even as a child, that command seeming to not make sense. I got to run at my house. I got run at my friends’ houses. I got run at my Grandmother’s house. Why can’t I run in God’s house? I remember concluding that since the command didn’t come from either of my parents and since Dad was the pastor, and therefore in charge, obedience of that command was optional. So I ignored it and ran anyway.
As an adult now, I reflect on that command and I see a portion of what is wrong with our traditional practices. Not that running in church is the be-all and end-all of the church’s woes and cultural disconnect with the world at large; our problems go deeper than that. Also, it would be a grievous thing for a kid to go sprinting down the hall, collide with and elderly person, causing them to fall and injure them self. To me, telling kids not to run in church, implies that it’s somehow disrespectful to our God for them to do what kids do. It implies and attitude or understanding of respect for God that is non-scriptural and that we can do without.
In white churches, we have equated respectful behavior not with love and desire to ascribe value, but with solemnity. I say this about white churches because I am not experienced with non-white church traditions and don’t want to speak for them out of ignorance. In the gospels, children came to Jesus, and the disciples tried to push them away. But our Lord, seeing what they were doing, rebuked them and welcomed the children to himself as they were, saying, “It is to such as these that the Kingdom of God belongs. Amen I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will enter it.” (Luke 18:15-17) David, Israel’s greatest king, after being victorious in battle, bringing the Ark of the Covenant back to Israel, went through the streets of Jerusalem, “dancing before the Lord with all his might” in his underwear! (II Samuel 6:14-15)
As I read the scriptures, it seems to me that nothing brings a smile to the face of All-Mighty God half so well as pure, unadulterated glee. Our God takes great pleasure in the laughter of us, His children. I don’t know a single person, who doesn’t smile when the clear carrying sound of children laughing reaches their ears.
In psalms and the prophets, we hear God repeatedly saying that He takes no pleasure in our solemn processions and elaborate rituals. God’s delight is in our hearts seeking after Him. God is honored and respected in worship that is authentic from the inside out. I think as grown-ups, we take ourselves too seriously and are afraid of looking ridiculous. But God is lifted higher when we dance and caper about like goofs, because we are so full of joy and praise than He ever will be on high ceremony performed mechanically, with no one’s heart in it.
This summer, a professor of mine preached in a chapel service, in which he shared a vision of what Heaven might be like. He told a story of how he was at a church, speaking, and after the service was over and he was making his way toward the sanctuary exit, a little girl, who was evidently new came running along. Another girl, who was there shouted after her, “You stop running in church!” and marched up to her counterpart, hand on hips. The one who was running stared at her, eyes filling with tears. The one who shouted planted herself in front of the other and said, “We don’t run in God’s house!” Taking the others hand in hers, she continued, “We don’t run in God’s house alone! We run together!” The two of them ran off together laughing and giggling.
I wasn’t there, so can’t say for sure, but I have a feeling that God was laughing with them, being respected and glorified far beyond anything anyone could see.
What would going to church feel like if we worshiped God through fun? The good news of Jesus Christ is so wild, what if we got caught up in it a little? If we are saved from death and condemnation, does it really matter if someone thinks we’re goofy? What does unadulterated joy look like?
We’re so good at beating ourselves up, what if we tried giving ourselves permission run and laugh like kids again? Who knows, we may just find ourselves closer to Jesus than we were before. We may even find we can love better.
Last week, I preached a sermon on the Lord’s Supper as recounted on Luke’s Gospel. The message went over pretty well and people enjoyed it, so I would like to share it with all of you too. Here it is:
14 When the hour came, Jesus and his apostles reclined at the table. 15 And he said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. 16 For I tell you, I will not eat it again until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God.”
17 After taking the cup, he gave thanks and said, “Take this and divide it among you. 18 For I tell you I will not drink again from the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.”
19 And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.”
20 In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.[a] 21 But the hand of him who is going to betray me is with mine on the table. 22 The Son of Man will go as it has been decreed. But woe to the one who betrays him!” 23 They began to question among themselves which of them it might be who would do this.
When I was a boy, my family was given a very special invitation. A Messianic Jewish family in our church was celebrating a traditional Passover meal on Maundy Thursday before the church service, and we were invited to come and participate with them. The meal was a wonderful cultural experience and window into traditional Jewish customs. That is until our friend took the unleavened bread. When he took it, his youngest son, following the tradition of the Seder Meal, said, “Father, Father, why is this bread unleavened?” In keeping with Seder tradition, our friend recounted for us the Exodus story of how the Israelites did not have time to let their bread rise before baking because they had to leave Egypt before Pharaoh changed his mind. But then our friend did something different, being an ordained Christian pastor, told Paul’s version of this text out of 1 Corinthians. And again, after the Seder meal was over, he took the traditional Cup of Redemption and told the story of the cup of the new covenant.
We don’t have many records of first century Passover traditions, but if the Seder Meal then had a similar tradition, the youngest disciple, most likely John, would have said something like, “Rabbi, Rabbi, why do we eat unleavened bread?” Imagine the surprise of everyone in the room when Jesus, instead of telling the traditional story, says “This is my body, given for you.”
The Lord’s Supper, The Last Supper, Communion, Eucharist, however we call it; the events that took place in that upper room have left an indelible mark upon human history. This unexpectedly altered Passover meal has been celebrated by Christians for all of our 2000 years. This meal is one of only two sacraments held in common by all Christian traditions. On a night set apart and so important for remembering God’s deliverance of Israel from bondage in Egypt, our Lord lays out the means for us to remember and celebrate God’s deliverance of all people from bondage to sin, death and the powers of evil. When we come to this meal, we find a thin space between this world and God. In the bread and the cup we share, the gap between us and our holy God narrows.
We do not come to this meal out of pride. We do not come in any posture entitlement. In fact, sometimes we would rather not come at all, because it means we have to face hard truths about who we are and we aren’t proud of the one who looks back at us in the mirror. In verse 21, Jesus says, “See! The one who betrays me is with me, and his hand is on the table.” We look and realize that our hands are all on the table too. The word that is translated “Betray” here literally means “hand over.” If we say that Jesus is Lord, and yet we harbor resentment toward others, we hand Jesus’ lordship in our lives over to our hate. When we horde our resources, we hand Jesus over to our greed and our anxiety. When we let something of this world have dominion over our lives, we sell Jesus out to that idol.
So we come to this table. We come because we know that we need to. Here we find a gift that no one else can give. I asked some friends of mine to share their thoughts on the Lord’s Supper, and one of them calls it, “Radical forgiveness – even Judas was accepted with love at the table. How many of us would do that for someone who betrayed us?” If we are honest with ourselves, we know that we carry not only the weight of the sins we have committed, but we also often carry the weight of sins others have committed against us. And often those chains are even heavier than those of our own sin. Luke makes it clear in his telling of this story that Judas was present and shared in the bread and cup. Luke also shows that Jesus knows what Judas is about to do and yet still welcomes Judas and shares the meal with him.
This meal is special because it points us to the cross. On its own this meal would be unremarkable. But our Lord establishes this meal to help us remember what he is about to do on our behalf. I love how N.T. Wright says it, “When Jesus wanted to give his followers –then and now- a way of understanding what was going to happen to him, he didn’t teach them a theory…He gave them an act to perform, a meal to share.”
Jesus uses two of the most common elements in any meal, bread and wine. I think he chose them on purpose. He knows how easy it is to forget. So he gives us something tangible, so that every time we eat and drink, we remember that our Lord suffered and died in our place to redeem us all. In verse 19, our Lord breaks the bread saying, “This is my body, given for you. DO THIS IN REMEMBRANCE OF ME.” When we take the bread, we are reminded of Jesus’ body, handed over to be flogged, beaten and killed on a cross.
Verse 20 tells us of the cup. As our Lord pours the wine into it, he tells us that this cup poured out for us is the new covenant in his blood. In Ancient Israelite culture, someone’s blood was their life, and was therefore sacred. Blood was the means by which people were cleansed of their sins. A life was sacrificed to save theirs. When we share this cup, we remember our Lord’s blood was spilled his life was spent for us, once and for all; and because he rose again three days later, this cup reminds us that we live in a new paradigm. We live in a covenant with God based not on our ability to follow the law, but on Christ’s faithfulness and love, stepping into human history and reestablishing all of us into right relationship with God. As we partake of the cup, we see that Jesus meant more than dying on the cross. We see that his whole life was leading to this meal. Jesus had been pouring out his life from the very beginning. As we share this meal, we discover that the fare we are feasting on is our own redemption. The deeds of our Lord, symbolized in the bread and wine redefine grace to a level that we cannot fathom. In this food, we find freedom. We find restoration. We find eternal life.
We come to the table all too aware of why it is we shouldn’t be allowed, but when we take our place, we remember the cross. Our hearts yearn for this meal because only here we find assurance that God really does “remember our sins no more.” We also find that wrongs inflicted upon us by others do not define us. We remember the whole truth of who we are. Here at the Lord’s Table we find that we are welcome, and the one who welcomes us heals us and makes us new.
We remember that we are made in the image of the beautiful, holy and living God; the God who stops at nothing to seek and find the lost. At this table we are reminded of the one love by which all other loves are measured, and against which all other loves fall short. We remember our true identity, our new name: Child of the Covenant, Beloved of the Most High.
Another friend put it this way: “To me, it’s this amazing blessing from God that says, “I love you. You get this because you mean to love me too. I know you’ve messed up. I still love you anyway, do your best, child.” And so I take it, I smile, and well, I do my best.”
The band, Leeland says it this nicely, in their song called Carried to the Table:
Fighting thoughts of fear
And wondering why He called my name
Am I good enough to share this cup
This world has left me lame
Even in my weakness
The Savior called my name
In His Holy presence
I’m healed and unashamed
I was carried to the table
Seated where I don’t belong
Carried to the table
Swept away by His love
And I don’t see my brokenness anymore
When I’m seated at the table of the Lord
I’m carried to the table
The table of the Lord
Precious Lord, thank you for this table. Thank you for this meal. Thank you for giving us a means to remember all that you have done. Thank you that we can come to this table and that we in fact DO belong, because you are generous and you invite each of us by name. Above all Lord, thank you that your death, foreshadowed in this meal is only the second word, and we can proclaim it loudly because you rose again. Help us, O God, to remember that we are made new; and grant us grace to help in mending the wounds we have caused and suffered. Because we are made whole in you, O Lord, help us as we work for the reconciliation of all people. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.
*The sermon is dedicated to a dear friend, whose insight and sharing unstuck my brain and showed me how to approach this text.
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