08.19.2012; Rev. David Williams
Life is full of moments, so very full of them. Days go by, moments go by, and so many of them fly by without us even noticing.
Then there are those special moments, those times that are more potent than others. If they are ritual moments, they are repetitions that reinforce a sense of identity. We all have those simple rituals, those things we do as part of the pattern of our weeks or of our years to reaffirm a place or a time or a relationship. Those can be birthdays, or anniversaries, or driving down to Rehoboth on the last night of a beach vacation, going to the boardwalk, and always, always, always waiting in line to ride the Funland haunted mansion. Those moments tell us: we are here. This is what we do. It also tells us that fitting into the seat of that ride would probably have been easier before a week filled with huge buckets of beach fries and chocolate peanut-butter ice cream.
But there are other times, times that are meant not just to mark time, but to be deeper bearers of meaning, potent and powerful and transforming.
Like, say, the communion meal we’re sharing in just a few minutes. It’s the Lord’s Supper, that thing that Jesus told us to do together because it was important. Down the One-Oh-Seven just about a mile or so, the folks at Our Lady of the Powerpoin...sorry, Presentation...celebrate it as Mass. Mass here doesn’t mean a property of matter, but instead comes to us from the Latin words Ite, Missa Est. These are the words in the ancient Roman rite that get said, at the end of a service. They can mean either “It is finished,” “It is sent,” or “Y’all can go now,” depending in where a congregation stands relative to the Mason-Dixon line. It’s also known as the Eucharist, which in the ancient Greek means “Good Gift.”
But what does what we’re about to do actually mean to us? In just a few minutes, we’ll circulate the elements, the bread and the cup, the body and the blood, and...well...does it feel sacred? Does it feel significant? Transforming? A time set apart?
I struggled with this, years ago, as my own faith was forming. The church in which I grew up did things just exactly the same way we do it here, and honestly, I sometimes found it hard to connect. Where was the purpose of this moment? What in it spoke, of power and of meaning? It’s such a simple, elemental representation of a meal.
A plate comes around, with a little sourdough crouton. You take the crouton, and you hold it, and you try not to drop it, which would be awkward. Maybe, for a moment, you forget you’re supposed to take it with everyone else, and raise it to your lips, only to quickly lower it. If you’re really spacing out, you pop it in your mouth, and then look around and see everyone patiently waiting to eat together. So you either try to chew it really, really slowly so no one notices, or just hold it there, waiting for it to dissolve.
And then there’s the shot of Welches, a tiny clear cup with mass-produced Concord grape juice that arrives glistening in a silver tray. You take it, and if they pass you the tray, you briefly visualize yourself dropping the tray, which would be noisy, messy, and public in ways that would leave some significant psychological scars.
Then you hold that tiny little cup, and you wait, and you wonder, how can this be sacred? Where can I find the purpose of what Christ taught in this?
That purpose is written all over the passage we heard from John’s Gospel this morning, although while it’s written in terms that are simple, that doesn’t necessarily make it easy to grasp. John’s Gospel is easily the richest and most spiritual of the Gospels. It speaks most directly to the relationship Jesus has with God, to his identity, and to the purpose of his life. It is also the Gospel that speaks most potently to the presence and nature of the Holy Spirit, God’s transforming presence in and among us.
The purpose of Christ’s time among us is laid out in John, more often than not in statements about Christ’s nature that are cast in “I am” statements. Using these, Jesus presents his identity in language rich in metaphor and symbolism. This particular portion of John’s Gospel, and in particular the verses beginning in John 6:34 and running through John 6:59, this section lays out imagery that is powerfully eucharistic. Meaning, this is where John tells us the story of the purpose of communion.
In the verses preceding what we’ve just heard, Jesus has described himself using the phrase “I am the bread of life,” and “I am the bread that came down from heaven.” This, unsurprisingly, confused his first century Judean listeners.
You are the what? They are baffled at first mostly by the idea that he came down from heaven. We know your dad, and your mom. We know where you grew up. And now you tell us you’re an alien? What?
So Jesus goes on, and explains to the confused, grumbling audience what he means. He does this by doubling down on the bread part. “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life,” he says. And again, “...for my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink.” And again, “Whoever easts my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in them.”
This does not necessarily help with the confusion. So you’re...an...edible...alien?
The essence of what Jesus is teaching here has to do with both incarnation and the Spirit. What he is telling us has to do with the nature of our participation in who he was, and his participation in who we are.
All those years ago, finding that meaning in the bread took a little thought. It was the stuff of creation, as much as the body of Jesus himself was the stuff of creation.
Hold it in your hands, and think a little bit, and marvel at what has gone into it. The little porous polyhedron in your hand is itself an amazing miracle of God’s creation. The light and energy from our yellow star has fallen warm on the earth. Nourished by the fusion-light and the rain and the complex organic matter of earth, wheat has risen from seed and grown to the point of harvest. Then the labor of humankind has harvested it, and milled it, and mixed it into dough, and baked it. It has been brought to market, and sold, and then lovingly cut and prepared. In this simple object lies the labor of hundreds of souls, and the life-giving richness of earth and rain, and the light of the heavens.
This is my body, says the One who speaks with God’s voice.
But what about the little shot of Jesus? There it sits, several milliliters of Welches. What to make of this? I could try to visualize it as the actual blood of Jesus, I thought, but that just made me feel a bit like Edward from Twilight. Plus, ew.
So I would sit there, and look at the cup. One Sunday, I was holding particularly still, peering into this tiny plastic receptacle held carefully between both of my hands, searching for meaning. And as I stared down at that little red circle below me, I noticed that as still as I was sitting, it wasn’t still. I wasn’t moving at all, but it was pulsing, ever so slightly. I wasn’t moving a muscle, was barely breathing, and yet that fluid in that little cup moved. This is because, not being a ninja, I was not able to stop the beating of my heart. And so as my heart beat in my chest, the fluid in that little cup beat with it.
This is my blood, says Jesus. This is my life, he is saying. Let it be your life, too.
Each month, as we eat this simple, most elemental meal, that is what we’re asked to recall. We are part of the amazing creation of which Christ was a part. And we are called have our life shaped to his, his love, his mercy, his healing, his teaching, and his willingness to give of himself completely for the purposes of God’s kingdom.
Life is full of moments, so very full of them. We forget what a gift most are, and how almost all are charged with the possibility of Christ’s joyous, transforming love. In this meal, we are asked to remember, and to be changed, and to live. Let it be so, for you and for me, AMEN.
No comments:
Post a Comment