Long table
Commentary
Object:
Perhaps you've been part of a large group going out to eat together. You arrive at the restaurant, and they don't have a single table that can accommodate the whole group. The hostess asks you to wait for a moment, and she combines efforts with several of the servers to rearrange some of the vacant tables and chairs, pushing tables together to create one long table for your oversized party.
I recall several occasions when I have been part of such a group. I've even seen restaurants assign more than one server to our "table" because it has been so long and populated.
Such occasions are usually very jovial -- lots of conversation and laughter. If, by chance, you have a moment when you aren't part of a conversation, then you have the leisure to look down the long table and see the all the faces of these cherished friends and family members, gathered together in fellowship.
Of course, a very long table is somewhat impractical for conversation. You can't easily converse with someone who is clear at the other end. Still, there is something more satisfying about sitting all together -- a feeling of connectedness that is missing when your group is scattered over several different tables and booths.
Conjure up the images of such a long and loving table for your congregation this night, for that is where we sit. We gather this evening at a very long table, indeed -- and getting longer every day. For this is a table that does not merely stretch across part of a room: it spans generations and centuries. We cannot even calculate the number of people seated there.
Yet our scripture passages for this holy day will help us to pause our conversation, to look up and down the table, and to see the faces of the cherished family and friends who are gathered for fellowship with our host.
Exodus 12:1-4 (5-10) 11-14
The far end of our very long table stretches back over 3,000 years. Our first task is to squint our eyes to try to see the folks all the way at that other end. There they are: Moses and the Hebrew slaves in Egypt.
People who pay some attention to the liturgical or church calendar will appreciate the Lord's instruction in verse 2. Speaking of the current month -- that is, the month that the Israelites celebrated the Passover and left Egypt -- the Lord said, "It shall be the first month of the year for you." One senses that, perhaps prior to this time, that particular month was not regarded as the first month on the Hebrew calendar. So the Israelites made an adjustment that is reminiscent of what we do in the church: namely, while the calendar says that the new year begins in January, and while the schools say that the new year begins in late August or early September, in the church we affirm that the new year begins with Advent. For the Hebrews, the new year began in the month of the Passover.
Next, God gave the people instructions for preparing and eating the Passover meal. We are accustomed to instructions for preparing food: We call them recipes. When it comes to eating the food, however, the only sort of instructions we get in most cases is the training in manners that our parents provided. "Elbows off the table." "Napkin in your lap." "Feet on the floor." "Chew with your mouth closed." And such.
Against such standard fare, God's instructions seem quite strange. For, if anything, the instructions from God seem to us rather unmannerly. We picture people wolfing down their food while wearing their overcoats and holding their car keys. It seems to us both an impolite and an unhealthy way to eat.
Over the millennia, the Jewish celebration of the Passover meal has become so rich with symbolic acts and liturgical elements that it is anything but "fast food." In that original context in Egypt, however, the key element was speed. "You shall eat it hurriedly," God told the people, for after centuries of waiting, now their deliverance was going to come quickly.
God's statement that "on all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments" is a fascinating insight into the Passover event, if not the meal itself. At a purely human level, of course, we don't see the gods of Egypt in the picture, at all. It is the human element we see: the massive, national grief, as nearly every household suffers some sudden death by supernatural cause. Yet the Lord does not cast it as a punishment on the people of Egypt, but rather on the gods of Egypt. It suggests a larger principle: that to align oneself with the enemy of God is to be defeated along with that enemy.
Finally, we observe God's intention that "this day shall be a day of remembrance for you" and his instruction that "throughout your generations you shall observe it as a perpetual ordinance." These Old Testament themes of "remembrance" and future observances of the meal are surely recalled by Jesus' Last Supper words: "Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me" (1 Corinthians 11:25).
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
The long table began back in Egypt in the days of Moses. As we fast forward through the generations -- past Joshua (Joshua 5:10), past Hezekiah (2 Chronicles 30:1-26), past Josiah (2 Kings 23:21-23; 2 Chronicles 35:1-19), and past Jerusalem of the Persian era (Ezra 6:19-22) -- we come eventually to Jesus and his disciples. That spot on our table is the focus of our next lection.
Move your eyes just a little further down the table, however, and you come to the Corinthians of Paul's day.
Those first-century Greeks may seem far removed from us in terms of time and space, but the fact is that we may think of ourselves sitting right next to them at this table. In broad strokes, you see, their context is identical to ours.
Paul was writing to a congregation of Christians about their celebration of the Lord's Supper. That's what this table had become, even just a few decades after Jesus' Last Supper with his disciples on that Thursday night of Holy Week. Paul wanted to help that Christian congregation understand what they were doing.
As we read the larger context, we discover that not everything is copasetic in the Corinthian church. They are struggling with a variety of issues -- divisions, infighting, immorality, to name a few -- and unsurprisingly their worship and fellowship had been compromised. An unhappy family is not likely to have a cheerful dinner table just because they all agreed to sit down to eat together. Likewise, a troubled church will bring its troubles, one way or another, to this table of the Lord, as well. Accordingly, Paul wrote to help correct the problems in Corinth, including their mishandling of this meal.
In the course of his instructions, he includes these verses, which read to us more like a gospel than an epistle. And, indeed, he is functioning very much like a gospel writer, as he reports and records a piece of the narrative from Jesus' life.
The detail about Jesus giving thanks gives rise to the traditional term "Eucharist" for this meal. Meanwhile, for all of the elements that were likely a part of the disciples' Passover meal, it is just these two elements -- the bread and the cup -- that Jesus singled out as representative of him. The reference to a "new covenant" echoes Luke's account (22:20) and forms part of an important thread throughout scripture (Jeremiah 31:31; 2 Corinthians 3:5-6; Hebrews 8:8-13, 9:15, 12:22-24).
Jesus' instructions to "do this in remembrance of me" anticipate a continuing practice on the part of his followers. It is that practice in which Paul's congregation was participating. And it is at that table that we sit next to them tonight.
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
This is the part of the table to which our eyes naturally turn on this holy day. Indeed, some of our people may not even know how much further back in time this particular table extends. But the narrator alludes to that history as he sets the stage with the reference to "the festival of the Passover." Still, Maundy Thursday is primarily about this moment in time, this part of the table: Jesus' Last Supper with his disciples.
John's gospel gives us a different view of this scene than Matthew, Mark, and Luke. That's not surprising, of course, because John gives us a very different view of most everything about Jesus' life and ministry than the synoptic gospels do. For starters, John's account of the Last Supper is several times longer than any of the other gospel records. We observe that two of the elements that are unique to John's Last Supper scene are found here in our selected verses: the foot washing and the new commandment.
Most of our congregations are unaccustomed to the practice of foot washing. While many folks who have tried it in various church settings have found it deeply meaningful, the fact is that the whole experience is a new and self-conscious one for most Americans. Consequently, we do not begin at the same starting place as Peter and the other disciples.
For those men around that table, foot washing was not a novel experience. Rather, in that world of dusty roads and sandaled feet, it was common practice. The mere experience of having another person wash one's feet, therefore, was not as awkward and uncomfortable for them as it is for us.
The experience of having Jesus wash their feet, however, was quite a different matter. That culture had a strong sense of hierarchy, and washing feet was servant's work. Jesus, however, was one whom they identified with titles like "master" and "lord." For them, he was at the other end of the spectrum from "servant." This is like having your boss come over for dinner only to roll up his sleeves and start cleaning your bathroom. This is the governor shining your shoes. This is the president washing and folding your laundry.
It was understandable, therefore, as well as personally typical, that Peter would object. First, it seemed to him too backward that his lord should wash his feet. Then it seemed too little that only his feet should be washed. But Jesus walked his most mercurial follower through the logic and significance of the act. Then, when it was completed, he told his followers that the very inappropriateness of what he had done was precisely the point: "If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example."
This symbolic act resonates with other teachings of Jesus (such as Matthew 20:20-28; 23:1-11; Mark 9:33-37). And whether or not our particular congregations are comfortable with the practice of washing one another's feet, the larger principle remains and must be applied: namely, that we are to live with the humble attitude of a servant. This is a high calling in the kingdom of God, and it is the posture we adopt before him and before one another.
Meanwhile, the "new commandment," which is another feature unique to John's Last Supper account, follows a similar trajectory. He commands his disciples to "love one another," which at first blush does not seem like a new commandment, at all (cf. Matthew 22:37-40; Leviticus 19:18). But we discover that it is the standard for love that is new. No longer are we called to love "as you love yourself," but rather "just as I have loved you."
So the love commandment matches the message of the foot-washing. That is to say, in both our serving and our loving, we are following Jesus' lead. As he has set an example for us, so we adopt an attitude of servitude with one another. And as he has loved us, so we love one another.
Imagine the church where these simple principles prevailed and became reality! Imagine the congregation where each one sought to serve the other and to selflessly love one another! By this, indeed, everyone surely would recognize that we really are his disciples!
Application
We come to a table on Maundy Thursday. Your table might look quite different from mine, of course. Most of us will not literally have tables, at all. Still, as we kneel at the altar rail, or file up and down the aisles, or even just remain in our seats with the elements of bread and cup brought to us, there's a table. And it's a very long table.
In order for our people to understand what we are doing together this evening, they need to see the whole table. So we begin with our ancestors who sat at the far end: Moses and his generation, hurriedly celebrating the first Passover meal together in Egypt. The meal marked God's saving act. Central to that saving act was the blood of a lamb. The meal was to be reenacted as a remembrance on that date throughout their generations.
After a good many generations had passed, Jesus and his companions sat down at that same table to eat, to celebrate, and to remember. Only now, suddenly, there was talk of different blood, and the anticipation of a different saving act. Again, there was the expectation that the meal would be reenacted as a remembrance throughout the generations.
So it was that, some few years later, the Christians in Corinth gathered at that table to eat, to celebrate, and to remember. And tonight we sidle up next to them, hearing again the story of "the night when he was betrayed."
There's something sweet about the faces we see as we look up and down this table. From the weathered skin of those Hebrew slaves in Egypt to that beloved collection of fishermen and more that gathered in that upper room; plus every imaginable look, size, complexion, and language that has appeared at this table in the generations since.
Then there is the sweetest face of all. He sits at the center of the table, and he is the host. As Charles Wesley sang, "Let every soul be Jesus' guest." He is the one who really brings us together, for it is because of his love and by his saving act that we are gathered here. He is the one we remember tonight. He is the greatest common factor among that widely disparate group represented across the generations and continents at this table. This meal is all about him.
Our host is the Paschal Lamb anticipated by Moses, the rabbi followed by Peter, the Savior proclaimed by Paul, and the Lord worshiped by us. We gather in his name, and we partake of his body and blood. We remember his saving act, and we celebrate our salvation. And we proclaim his death until he comes.
Alternative Applications
Exodus 12:1-4 (5-10) 11-14; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26. "The Act of Remembering." Some of the remembering we do is deliberate. Some of it is inspired. Some of it is accidental. Of course, sometimes we don't remember, at all: we just plain forget.
Accidental remembering is that sort of experience in which some experience has the unintended effect of triggering a memory. I drive by a car with a Connecticut license plate, and I suddenly remember that my brother-in-law who lives in Connecticut has a birthday coming up. There is no design involved -- except for the occasions when the design may be God's providence. It is just how the human brain works.
Inspired remembering is more like nostalgia. It is prompted by some site, smell, song, picture, group of friends, or what have you. You are inspired to indulge your memory in the fond exercise of reminiscing. It is like a floral centerpiece on the kitchen table: it has no real practical purpose; it's just a bit of loveliness.
Deliberate remembering is what we do most often. Specifically, it is what we do with the things we cannot afford to forget. With our alarms and alerts, our lists and notes to ourselves, our calendars and address books, we take deliberate steps to remind ourselves about those things that we must not forget.
Deliberate remembering is what God had in mind for his people. There are certain things -- big things -- that we must not forget. So he built into his people's calendar the holy days and festivals that would prompt them to remember the truly important stuff.
We may think of "remembering" as a passive thing, and the phrase "in remembrance," which graces so many of our altars and Communion tables, sounds almost funereal to us. Yet biblical remembering is alive and active.
Whenever the scripture tells us that God remembered someone or something, it is followed immediately by action (Genesis 8:1, 19:29, 30:22; Exodus 2:24; 1 Samuel 1:19; Revelation 16:19). Naturally, therefore, when God commands his people to remember something (e.g., Exodus 20:8), appropriate corresponding action is expected.
Even the remembering itself is an action in God's design. The Old Testament Israelites were not merely instructed to pause once a year and recall God's saving action for their ancestors. No, they were to eat a meal and observe a festival, for participating in those actions would be full of remembering for them.
So, as we gather this evening to share the Lord's Supper together, we do so "in remembrance." It is to be "a day of remembrance for you," just as the Passover was for Israel. Our remembering will be active, not passive. And once we have remembered his atoning sacrifice, some corresponding action on our part would be appropriate.
T.O. Chisholm had a sense for what our corresponding action ought to be. "O Jesus, Lord and Savior," he sang, "I give myself to thee; for thou, in thy atonement, didst give thyself for me."
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19
Human relationships exist in a transactional kind of sphere. In other words, we interact with our sisters and brothers based almost entirely on how they deal with us. If someone, for example, treats us with derision or anger, we tend to hand the same thing back to them. On the other hand, kindness and love tend also to be responded too in kind. Without delving into deep philosophical mud, it seems safe to say that this is how the human animal acts. It is the simple reality of our being. We love those who love us, and we dislike those who dislike us. Exceptions can always be found, but it's difficult to deny that this is the human way of interaction. The truth is that we not only deal with one another this way, we also respond to God in terms of what we perceive to be God's treatment of us.
In this psalm why does the writer shout out love of the Lord? It's not because the writer is impressed with God or because God is powerful. It's not because God is beautiful or attractive in some way. Love for the Lord is declared here because God has heard his voice and listened. The relationship is transactional.
So, God has heard. God has acted. The question for the human follows quite quickly on the heels of God's action. "What shall I return to the Lord?" How does this transactional relationship continue? Well, as might be expected, the writer offers a thanksgiving sacrifice. In his day this may have been a dove or a goat. But today with the SPCA frowning on animal sacrifice, what shall we return to the Lord for the many things God has done for us? Looking, as we must, through the lens of contemporary Christian understanding, what is it that we shall offer to God as we carry on the commerce of sacred relationship?
Saint Paul would have us offer ourselves as a "living sacrifice" (Romans 12:1), "holy and acceptable to God" (Romans 12:1-2). Holy and acceptable here means: refraining from following after the false gods of culture and avarice. It means not going along with our social norms but setting our sights instead on God's love as we receive it through Jesus Christ. And finally it means paying careful attention to what God wants for us as we step into this new life of faith.
Paul's suggestion may well be a good start for us. Having received God's great gift of God's self in Christ Jesus, how possibly can we continue this tit for tat transactional thing? After all, the great thing has been done. There's no more trading in affection or giving homage to God because God does what we want God to do. So perhaps we can begin by simply offering ourselves, by giving our lives over to love and compassion. It may not be what the psalmist had in mind, but it sounds good from where this pastor sits.
I recall several occasions when I have been part of such a group. I've even seen restaurants assign more than one server to our "table" because it has been so long and populated.
Such occasions are usually very jovial -- lots of conversation and laughter. If, by chance, you have a moment when you aren't part of a conversation, then you have the leisure to look down the long table and see the all the faces of these cherished friends and family members, gathered together in fellowship.
Of course, a very long table is somewhat impractical for conversation. You can't easily converse with someone who is clear at the other end. Still, there is something more satisfying about sitting all together -- a feeling of connectedness that is missing when your group is scattered over several different tables and booths.
Conjure up the images of such a long and loving table for your congregation this night, for that is where we sit. We gather this evening at a very long table, indeed -- and getting longer every day. For this is a table that does not merely stretch across part of a room: it spans generations and centuries. We cannot even calculate the number of people seated there.
Yet our scripture passages for this holy day will help us to pause our conversation, to look up and down the table, and to see the faces of the cherished family and friends who are gathered for fellowship with our host.
Exodus 12:1-4 (5-10) 11-14
The far end of our very long table stretches back over 3,000 years. Our first task is to squint our eyes to try to see the folks all the way at that other end. There they are: Moses and the Hebrew slaves in Egypt.
People who pay some attention to the liturgical or church calendar will appreciate the Lord's instruction in verse 2. Speaking of the current month -- that is, the month that the Israelites celebrated the Passover and left Egypt -- the Lord said, "It shall be the first month of the year for you." One senses that, perhaps prior to this time, that particular month was not regarded as the first month on the Hebrew calendar. So the Israelites made an adjustment that is reminiscent of what we do in the church: namely, while the calendar says that the new year begins in January, and while the schools say that the new year begins in late August or early September, in the church we affirm that the new year begins with Advent. For the Hebrews, the new year began in the month of the Passover.
Next, God gave the people instructions for preparing and eating the Passover meal. We are accustomed to instructions for preparing food: We call them recipes. When it comes to eating the food, however, the only sort of instructions we get in most cases is the training in manners that our parents provided. "Elbows off the table." "Napkin in your lap." "Feet on the floor." "Chew with your mouth closed." And such.
Against such standard fare, God's instructions seem quite strange. For, if anything, the instructions from God seem to us rather unmannerly. We picture people wolfing down their food while wearing their overcoats and holding their car keys. It seems to us both an impolite and an unhealthy way to eat.
Over the millennia, the Jewish celebration of the Passover meal has become so rich with symbolic acts and liturgical elements that it is anything but "fast food." In that original context in Egypt, however, the key element was speed. "You shall eat it hurriedly," God told the people, for after centuries of waiting, now their deliverance was going to come quickly.
God's statement that "on all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments" is a fascinating insight into the Passover event, if not the meal itself. At a purely human level, of course, we don't see the gods of Egypt in the picture, at all. It is the human element we see: the massive, national grief, as nearly every household suffers some sudden death by supernatural cause. Yet the Lord does not cast it as a punishment on the people of Egypt, but rather on the gods of Egypt. It suggests a larger principle: that to align oneself with the enemy of God is to be defeated along with that enemy.
Finally, we observe God's intention that "this day shall be a day of remembrance for you" and his instruction that "throughout your generations you shall observe it as a perpetual ordinance." These Old Testament themes of "remembrance" and future observances of the meal are surely recalled by Jesus' Last Supper words: "Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me" (1 Corinthians 11:25).
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
The long table began back in Egypt in the days of Moses. As we fast forward through the generations -- past Joshua (Joshua 5:10), past Hezekiah (2 Chronicles 30:1-26), past Josiah (2 Kings 23:21-23; 2 Chronicles 35:1-19), and past Jerusalem of the Persian era (Ezra 6:19-22) -- we come eventually to Jesus and his disciples. That spot on our table is the focus of our next lection.
Move your eyes just a little further down the table, however, and you come to the Corinthians of Paul's day.
Those first-century Greeks may seem far removed from us in terms of time and space, but the fact is that we may think of ourselves sitting right next to them at this table. In broad strokes, you see, their context is identical to ours.
Paul was writing to a congregation of Christians about their celebration of the Lord's Supper. That's what this table had become, even just a few decades after Jesus' Last Supper with his disciples on that Thursday night of Holy Week. Paul wanted to help that Christian congregation understand what they were doing.
As we read the larger context, we discover that not everything is copasetic in the Corinthian church. They are struggling with a variety of issues -- divisions, infighting, immorality, to name a few -- and unsurprisingly their worship and fellowship had been compromised. An unhappy family is not likely to have a cheerful dinner table just because they all agreed to sit down to eat together. Likewise, a troubled church will bring its troubles, one way or another, to this table of the Lord, as well. Accordingly, Paul wrote to help correct the problems in Corinth, including their mishandling of this meal.
In the course of his instructions, he includes these verses, which read to us more like a gospel than an epistle. And, indeed, he is functioning very much like a gospel writer, as he reports and records a piece of the narrative from Jesus' life.
The detail about Jesus giving thanks gives rise to the traditional term "Eucharist" for this meal. Meanwhile, for all of the elements that were likely a part of the disciples' Passover meal, it is just these two elements -- the bread and the cup -- that Jesus singled out as representative of him. The reference to a "new covenant" echoes Luke's account (22:20) and forms part of an important thread throughout scripture (Jeremiah 31:31; 2 Corinthians 3:5-6; Hebrews 8:8-13, 9:15, 12:22-24).
Jesus' instructions to "do this in remembrance of me" anticipate a continuing practice on the part of his followers. It is that practice in which Paul's congregation was participating. And it is at that table that we sit next to them tonight.
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
This is the part of the table to which our eyes naturally turn on this holy day. Indeed, some of our people may not even know how much further back in time this particular table extends. But the narrator alludes to that history as he sets the stage with the reference to "the festival of the Passover." Still, Maundy Thursday is primarily about this moment in time, this part of the table: Jesus' Last Supper with his disciples.
John's gospel gives us a different view of this scene than Matthew, Mark, and Luke. That's not surprising, of course, because John gives us a very different view of most everything about Jesus' life and ministry than the synoptic gospels do. For starters, John's account of the Last Supper is several times longer than any of the other gospel records. We observe that two of the elements that are unique to John's Last Supper scene are found here in our selected verses: the foot washing and the new commandment.
Most of our congregations are unaccustomed to the practice of foot washing. While many folks who have tried it in various church settings have found it deeply meaningful, the fact is that the whole experience is a new and self-conscious one for most Americans. Consequently, we do not begin at the same starting place as Peter and the other disciples.
For those men around that table, foot washing was not a novel experience. Rather, in that world of dusty roads and sandaled feet, it was common practice. The mere experience of having another person wash one's feet, therefore, was not as awkward and uncomfortable for them as it is for us.
The experience of having Jesus wash their feet, however, was quite a different matter. That culture had a strong sense of hierarchy, and washing feet was servant's work. Jesus, however, was one whom they identified with titles like "master" and "lord." For them, he was at the other end of the spectrum from "servant." This is like having your boss come over for dinner only to roll up his sleeves and start cleaning your bathroom. This is the governor shining your shoes. This is the president washing and folding your laundry.
It was understandable, therefore, as well as personally typical, that Peter would object. First, it seemed to him too backward that his lord should wash his feet. Then it seemed too little that only his feet should be washed. But Jesus walked his most mercurial follower through the logic and significance of the act. Then, when it was completed, he told his followers that the very inappropriateness of what he had done was precisely the point: "If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example."
This symbolic act resonates with other teachings of Jesus (such as Matthew 20:20-28; 23:1-11; Mark 9:33-37). And whether or not our particular congregations are comfortable with the practice of washing one another's feet, the larger principle remains and must be applied: namely, that we are to live with the humble attitude of a servant. This is a high calling in the kingdom of God, and it is the posture we adopt before him and before one another.
Meanwhile, the "new commandment," which is another feature unique to John's Last Supper account, follows a similar trajectory. He commands his disciples to "love one another," which at first blush does not seem like a new commandment, at all (cf. Matthew 22:37-40; Leviticus 19:18). But we discover that it is the standard for love that is new. No longer are we called to love "as you love yourself," but rather "just as I have loved you."
So the love commandment matches the message of the foot-washing. That is to say, in both our serving and our loving, we are following Jesus' lead. As he has set an example for us, so we adopt an attitude of servitude with one another. And as he has loved us, so we love one another.
Imagine the church where these simple principles prevailed and became reality! Imagine the congregation where each one sought to serve the other and to selflessly love one another! By this, indeed, everyone surely would recognize that we really are his disciples!
Application
We come to a table on Maundy Thursday. Your table might look quite different from mine, of course. Most of us will not literally have tables, at all. Still, as we kneel at the altar rail, or file up and down the aisles, or even just remain in our seats with the elements of bread and cup brought to us, there's a table. And it's a very long table.
In order for our people to understand what we are doing together this evening, they need to see the whole table. So we begin with our ancestors who sat at the far end: Moses and his generation, hurriedly celebrating the first Passover meal together in Egypt. The meal marked God's saving act. Central to that saving act was the blood of a lamb. The meal was to be reenacted as a remembrance on that date throughout their generations.
After a good many generations had passed, Jesus and his companions sat down at that same table to eat, to celebrate, and to remember. Only now, suddenly, there was talk of different blood, and the anticipation of a different saving act. Again, there was the expectation that the meal would be reenacted as a remembrance throughout the generations.
So it was that, some few years later, the Christians in Corinth gathered at that table to eat, to celebrate, and to remember. And tonight we sidle up next to them, hearing again the story of "the night when he was betrayed."
There's something sweet about the faces we see as we look up and down this table. From the weathered skin of those Hebrew slaves in Egypt to that beloved collection of fishermen and more that gathered in that upper room; plus every imaginable look, size, complexion, and language that has appeared at this table in the generations since.
Then there is the sweetest face of all. He sits at the center of the table, and he is the host. As Charles Wesley sang, "Let every soul be Jesus' guest." He is the one who really brings us together, for it is because of his love and by his saving act that we are gathered here. He is the one we remember tonight. He is the greatest common factor among that widely disparate group represented across the generations and continents at this table. This meal is all about him.
Our host is the Paschal Lamb anticipated by Moses, the rabbi followed by Peter, the Savior proclaimed by Paul, and the Lord worshiped by us. We gather in his name, and we partake of his body and blood. We remember his saving act, and we celebrate our salvation. And we proclaim his death until he comes.
Alternative Applications
Exodus 12:1-4 (5-10) 11-14; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26. "The Act of Remembering." Some of the remembering we do is deliberate. Some of it is inspired. Some of it is accidental. Of course, sometimes we don't remember, at all: we just plain forget.
Accidental remembering is that sort of experience in which some experience has the unintended effect of triggering a memory. I drive by a car with a Connecticut license plate, and I suddenly remember that my brother-in-law who lives in Connecticut has a birthday coming up. There is no design involved -- except for the occasions when the design may be God's providence. It is just how the human brain works.
Inspired remembering is more like nostalgia. It is prompted by some site, smell, song, picture, group of friends, or what have you. You are inspired to indulge your memory in the fond exercise of reminiscing. It is like a floral centerpiece on the kitchen table: it has no real practical purpose; it's just a bit of loveliness.
Deliberate remembering is what we do most often. Specifically, it is what we do with the things we cannot afford to forget. With our alarms and alerts, our lists and notes to ourselves, our calendars and address books, we take deliberate steps to remind ourselves about those things that we must not forget.
Deliberate remembering is what God had in mind for his people. There are certain things -- big things -- that we must not forget. So he built into his people's calendar the holy days and festivals that would prompt them to remember the truly important stuff.
We may think of "remembering" as a passive thing, and the phrase "in remembrance," which graces so many of our altars and Communion tables, sounds almost funereal to us. Yet biblical remembering is alive and active.
Whenever the scripture tells us that God remembered someone or something, it is followed immediately by action (Genesis 8:1, 19:29, 30:22; Exodus 2:24; 1 Samuel 1:19; Revelation 16:19). Naturally, therefore, when God commands his people to remember something (e.g., Exodus 20:8), appropriate corresponding action is expected.
Even the remembering itself is an action in God's design. The Old Testament Israelites were not merely instructed to pause once a year and recall God's saving action for their ancestors. No, they were to eat a meal and observe a festival, for participating in those actions would be full of remembering for them.
So, as we gather this evening to share the Lord's Supper together, we do so "in remembrance." It is to be "a day of remembrance for you," just as the Passover was for Israel. Our remembering will be active, not passive. And once we have remembered his atoning sacrifice, some corresponding action on our part would be appropriate.
T.O. Chisholm had a sense for what our corresponding action ought to be. "O Jesus, Lord and Savior," he sang, "I give myself to thee; for thou, in thy atonement, didst give thyself for me."
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19
Human relationships exist in a transactional kind of sphere. In other words, we interact with our sisters and brothers based almost entirely on how they deal with us. If someone, for example, treats us with derision or anger, we tend to hand the same thing back to them. On the other hand, kindness and love tend also to be responded too in kind. Without delving into deep philosophical mud, it seems safe to say that this is how the human animal acts. It is the simple reality of our being. We love those who love us, and we dislike those who dislike us. Exceptions can always be found, but it's difficult to deny that this is the human way of interaction. The truth is that we not only deal with one another this way, we also respond to God in terms of what we perceive to be God's treatment of us.
In this psalm why does the writer shout out love of the Lord? It's not because the writer is impressed with God or because God is powerful. It's not because God is beautiful or attractive in some way. Love for the Lord is declared here because God has heard his voice and listened. The relationship is transactional.
So, God has heard. God has acted. The question for the human follows quite quickly on the heels of God's action. "What shall I return to the Lord?" How does this transactional relationship continue? Well, as might be expected, the writer offers a thanksgiving sacrifice. In his day this may have been a dove or a goat. But today with the SPCA frowning on animal sacrifice, what shall we return to the Lord for the many things God has done for us? Looking, as we must, through the lens of contemporary Christian understanding, what is it that we shall offer to God as we carry on the commerce of sacred relationship?
Saint Paul would have us offer ourselves as a "living sacrifice" (Romans 12:1), "holy and acceptable to God" (Romans 12:1-2). Holy and acceptable here means: refraining from following after the false gods of culture and avarice. It means not going along with our social norms but setting our sights instead on God's love as we receive it through Jesus Christ. And finally it means paying careful attention to what God wants for us as we step into this new life of faith.
Paul's suggestion may well be a good start for us. Having received God's great gift of God's self in Christ Jesus, how possibly can we continue this tit for tat transactional thing? After all, the great thing has been done. There's no more trading in affection or giving homage to God because God does what we want God to do. So perhaps we can begin by simply offering ourselves, by giving our lives over to love and compassion. It may not be what the psalmist had in mind, but it sounds good from where this pastor sits.
