communion — Andy James

A Strange and Wonderful Meal

April 3, 2016 By Andy James

a sermon on Luke 24:13-35
preached on April 3, 2016, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone
There are a multitude of ways to spend time with people you enjoy. You might go to dinner and a movie—in a theater or in someone’s home. If you happen to live in New York City and have the budget for it, you might go see a Broadway show, a ballet, an opera, or some other cultural event. You might get together at someone’s house for a meal, some conversation, and maybe a game of some sort. And depending on your interests, you might go to a sporting event of some sort or wander around a museum together.

My two favorite options, though, are a little different. For me, there’s nothing quite like taking a walk or sharing a meal. The conversation that comes even in quiet as you wander the streets or parks of our city connects us with one another. Conversation flows, ideas are exchanged, and something special happens as we spend time together. Then, in those times when we sit at table together, we find a strange presence in our midst, as walls of division are broken down and the connection among those present deepens all the more.

Rembrandt?, The Walk to Emmaus

Maybe my appreciation of shared walks and meals with friends is rooted in our resurrection story from Luke this morning. The story of Easter morning that we heard last Sunday offers us a clear proclamation of the resurrection, but we never actually see Jesus alive again. The only evidence of the resurrection is an empty tomb, and that could be caused by so many things other than resurrection. So with the proof of this strange event limited to a missing body, Jesus’ disciples start to move on with their lives, scattering from Jerusalem in disbelief as they start to figure out what they will do without their beloved teacher and friend.

Two of them then set out on the road to the village Emmaus, a seven-mile journey from Jerusalem, easily reachable on foot in a somewhat leisurely afternoon journey. The conversation naturally turned to everything that they had experienced together over the last week—the triumphant arrival of Jesus into Jerusalem as the people cried out “Hosanna,” the challenging teachings that Jesus had offered in the temple, the Passover meal that they had shared, the arrest and trial of their friend, the chants of the crowd to “crucify him,” the sentence of death urged on by religious leaders and proclaimed by the Roman governor, the strange events at Golgotha as Jesus was crucified, the placement of his body in a simple, new tomb, and now the reports that his body had gone missing so quickly.

As they walked and talked, another man joined them on the road, joining in their surely animated conversation, asking them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” His question stopped them in their tracks as it all soaked in. Their journey with Jesus had begun somewhat unexpectedly as they stepped away from their families and homes and livelihoods because there was something compelling about his message. They had taken him seriously when he invited them—maybe even insisted to them—to set everything aside and follow him. Their worlds had been turned upside down by this journey, this message, this man. And now, after an eventful week, they found their world turned upside down once again because he was no longer with them. So this strange man’s question came as a real surprise. He forced them to take stock of their emotions and lives for the first time in light of everything that had happened—and they quite literally stopped in their tracks.

As they began to answer this stranger’s question and walk along together again, the disciples told this stranger about their friend Jesus, about their hopes for him, about the death that he had experienced, and about the empty tomb that the women had found that very morning. Even though the stranger said he had not heard anything about what had happened to Jesus, he soon began to explain everything that they had told him about, interpreting everything that had happened in light of the scriptures that they all knew so very well. The conversation flowed, and the disciples came to a deeper understanding of everything that they had experienced.

He Qi, The Road to Emmaus

When the afternoon came to an end and the disciples reached their destination in Emmaus, the stranger “walked ahead as if he were going on.” But they were insistent:

Stay with us,
because it is almost evening
and the day is now nearly over.

Convinced by the logic of their argument and the lengthening shadows all around them, the stranger joined the disciples for the night. When they sat down at the table to share the evening meal, though, everything shifted once again. The guest became the host, blessing and breaking the bread, inviting them to share in a feast beyond their knowing. Suddenly the disciples recognized that the stranger who had been with them all afternoon was none other than the risen and living Jesus himself!

Just as quickly as they had recognized him, he vanished from their sight. They began to wonder and question and ask,“Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” They immediately set out for Jerusalem again, ignoring their own advice to the stranger that it was too late to be traveling—their joy was too great, and they had to share this news with the other disciples! When they arrived there, they learned that Peter had also seen Jesus alive again, and “they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.”

This incredible, life-changing, world-shattering walk and meal marked a dramatic shift for the disciples as they went from skeptics to witnesses of the resurrection in the time it took for an afternoon walk and an evening meal. We can join in this walk, this meal, and this transformation for ourselves as we make our way through these Easter days.

Fritz von Uhde, Road to Emmaus

First, we are invited to join the disciples in sharing the stories of our walks with Jesus in the journeys of our lives. We can bear witness to the ways that we have been changed by our encounters with the story of Jesus’ life and ministry as we walk with others along the way. We can talk with one another about how the experiences of Christ in our world have changed us and opened us to new and different ways of seeing and living in the world. And we can explore how the stories of Jesus’ life and ministry connect us with one another and with Christ as we walk this way together.

Then, we can gather at table for this meal as we look for the presence of Christ in our midst. We can open the doors to this feast wide so that all may know the kind of welcome that God offers here. We can come here expecting that Christ will meet us and be made known to us in the breaking of the bread, just as he was to the disciples on that first Easter evening. And we can trust that the feast we share here opens us to a great feast yet to come, to the feast on God’s holy mountain, “a feast of rich food, a feast of well- aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well- aged wines strained clear.”

These journeys and these meals are then the openings for us of the deeper, broader, wider transformation of the world. Just like the disciples, our worlds are turned upside down by the journeys and the meals that show us the resurrection. We cannot meet the risen Christ along the road or at the table and be the same. We cannot claim the resurrection as our own and live as if Jesus’ death matters more than his new life. We cannot claim a meal of new life here at this table and live as if nothing has changed. And we cannot go forth into the world to hear and see and witness the resurrection for ourselves if all that we are looking for is life beyond death for ourselves.

So as we make our way to this strange and wonderful meal today, as we journey forth into the world to walk with one another and quite likely with Jesus himself, may we know the presence of the risen Christ among us so that we can be a part of his work of transformation in our world and as all things are being made new.

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! Amen.

A Meal to Bring Us Together

September 6, 2015 By Andy James

a sermon on 1 Corinthians 11:17-34 and Luke 24:13-35
preached on September 6, 2015, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

There’s nothing quite like a meal to bring us together. When a new colleague comes to the neighborhood, when I want to get to know someone better, when an old friend comes to town and we need to catch up, when someone just needs a listening ear, I prefer not just to sit down for a chat—I do everything I can to find time to share a meal together. No matter the menu, regardless of the location, whether the service is bad or good, something special happens across that table. I can’t really explain why, but I do know that there’s nothing quite like a meal to bring us together.

Today as we look at the Lord’s Supper in our summer series exploring the parts of the worship service, our two texts give us some insights into how this meal that we share here brings us together. Both texts connect us to the origins of this feast. Paul gives us words that tell the story of a meal hosted by Jesus on the night of his arrest that we use every time we gather here, and Luke describes how a simple, unplanned evening meal on the day of resurrection became a place to meet Jesus. In their different settings and different stories, our two texts today show us a meal that brings us together.

First, in Paul’s record of what we know as the words of institution of the Lord’s Supper, we get a glimpse of some of the problems that the early church faced as they tried to share this meal. The church in Corinth clearly had a lot of issues, and we’ll be talking more about those in Bible study starting this week, but Paul was particularly frustrated at how the inclusion of a meal in the worship practice of the church was driving people apart. The early church considered the Lord’s Supper as a time for all the people to come together to share a substantial meal—with portions a good bit larger than even the largest chunks of bread and grape juice that has become the norm today—but in Corinth, the great variety of people in the church had made this meal a very disconnected affair. Some people brought plenty to eat for themselves but wouldn’t share with others, emerging from the feast bloated and drunk. Others were not able to bring anything and so were left to go hungry. This meal to bring people together across all their divisions was becoming highly effective at driving them apart!

In response to all this, Paul reminded them of the words of institution that were surely familiar to them, making it clear that this feast was not so much about the food itself but about the gathering of God’s people to share it. He went on to caution the Corinthians that they needed to be prepared to share this meal. “Examine yourselves,” he told them, “…for all who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves.” As they sat down to eat, he wanted them to think about the whole body of Christ to which they were connected, to remember that they did not eat on their own but rather were brought together in the midst of this meal.

The church has thought much of this examination over the last two millennia. For many decades, Presbyterian churches required those who wished to receive communion to present a token at the table that had been given to them if they had been judged worthy to commune during a visit from elders of the church in the days before communion was served. And even today, some churches include a time of what they call “fencing the table” based directly on Paul’s words here during the introduction to the communion liturgy. But what seems to have mattered to Paul here was not one’s general sinfulness or status of forgiveness but rather one’s readiness to come together with others in this meal, for this table is not a place of personal devotion but a place to share a meal to bring us together.

Our second reading from the gospel according to Luke reminds us of this all the more. After a journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus, filled with an unexpected conversation with a stranger along the way about all that they had experienced in the death of Jesus and the reports of his resurrection, these two disciples settled down at table with their guest to share a meal. As their guest blessed and broke the bread that they are to share, their eyes were opened to discover that they had been walking and talking with Jesus all along the way! Their experience of joy was momentary as Jesus disappeared from their midst, but they quickly returned to Jerusalem to share their experience with the other disciples in hopes that they might encounter Jesus again very soon. Even though they saw him again, they knew that there was something special about this and every meal that could bring them together with Jesus.

In the many centuries since these original descriptions of this meal, the church has integrated the Lord’s Supper more clearly into our life of worship and thought long and hard about what it means. Along the way, we all too often have gotten lost in the details. We have given this meal so many different names—communion, the Lord’s Supper, agape feast, Eucharist, Mass—that we get lost in what we call it before we even think about why we do it. Even worse, wars have been fought, families divided, and lives lost over exactly what happens when we break this bread and share this cup. We have too often demanded that those who come to this table understand what is going on here, forgetting that ultimately this is a place of wonder we place our faith and trust and hope in God as we receive a sign and seal of God’s grace that we can see, touch, feel, smell, and taste for ourselves as we are mysteriously brought together with God and with innumerable saints to share this incredible meal. When we get too focused on the meaning, we miss the bigger point here, that this is a meal to bring us together.

Our intense focus on the meaning of what happens here has made it all the easier to resist the call to let this meal bring us together. The news of recent weeks has been filled with far too many stories of people pushed apart and away from this and other tables. Violence divides communities in our city and nation, and we prefer methods of punishment that insist on exchanging an eye for an eye rather than seeking a path of restoration, reconciliation, and transformation. Evidence continues to emerge that points to systematic mistreatment of the poor and minorities by the criminal justice system in our city, state, and nation, not to mention all too many places where they are very directly deprived of their rights. So many who are seeking to be president of our nation are using rhetoric that excludes immigrants, the poor, LGBT persons, and others, pushing people away from the common table of our land. And beyond our shores, European political leaders have responded to the growing refugee crisis there by turning away people who do not look or believe like them in ways that eerily echo words and actions before and during World War II that contributed to the mass murder of millions of Jews and others in Germany and beyond.

Amid all these loud cries around us telling us that we are better when we are apart, it is difficult to hear the call to sit down and share a meal like this one to bring us together. But this table reminds us that there is another way. At this table, we can glimpse the unity that we will have in the kingdom of God so that we can be strengthened to live a little more like that in the days ahead.

The incredible film Places in the Heart offers a little glimpse of a meal that can bring us together. The movie chronicles one family’s journey through the challenges of murder, racism, economic distress, and even natural disaster. In the end, only sheer endurance and an incredible portion of grace bring the people of Waxahachie, Texas, and especially widow Edna Spalding and her family through to see a new day. Time and again in the movie, we are taken to the table, first the many tables set for Sunday lunch that are interrupted by word of the town drunk on the loose with a gun who ends up shooting the sheriff, the Spalding’s table that shifts from hosting the family meal to offering a place for the dead sheriff’s body to be prepared for burial, even the simple tables under the trees where the sheriff’s widow constantly makes sure that the black migrant workers she employs are fed.

All these scenes at table culminate in a moving gathering at the Lord’s Table, where characters gather across all the lines that had divided them to share a simple meal of bread and grape juice. As the trays are passed along the pews, women and men, old and young, blind and sighted, black and white, living and dead, even murderer and victim—all share the bread of heaven, the cup of salvation, the peace of God that comes in this strange feast. I know of no better image that embodies the wonder of this great feast that brings together those who have been set against one another, that unites us across every imaginable division, that lifts us up to sit in the presence of Christ himself to share this incredible feast of heaven and earth.

So as we gather at this table today, may God’s presence surround us as we share this meal, so that every time we sit at this or any table, we might know the incredible gift of this meal that brings us together with one another and God until we sit at table together in the kingdom of God forever and ever. Thanks be to God! Amen.

The Mandate

April 5, 2012 By Andy James

a sermon for Maundy Thursday on 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 and John 13:1-17, 31b-35
preached on April 5, 2012, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

There’s been a lot of talk about mandates lately, and between the Supreme Court and the presidential race talking about a health care mandate, we are sure to hear a lot more about mandates before this year is out! But today is all about mandates. The name for this day itself, Maundy Thursday, comes from the Latin word mandatum, the same as our word mandate. This name for this comes from the commandment that Jesus gives his disciples in our reading from John tonight:

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

This mandate that we celebrate tonight is Jesus’ last commandment: Love one another.

This love seems to be a pretty straightforward thing. Jesus talks about it in one form or another in all the gospels: Love God and love neighbor, he commands, and you will embody everything that is necessary along the way of faith. But these commands mean nothing in words alone. They find their greatest and most complete meaning in Jesus’ own actions that we remember tonight as well – the incredible gift of his presence in bread and wine and his self-giving service as he washed the feet of the disciples.

These actions describe the mandate of this night and the commitment of this Holy Week far better than any words ever can. In opening himself to his disciples and to us in the feast we will soon share, Jesus made it clear that anyone and everyone is welcome to share in the life that he offers. In offering himself in service to his disciples as he washed their feet, Jesus showed them that love cannot exist solely in words but must translate into radical, even unexpected action. In all these things, Jesus continued the acts of self-giving love that marked every moment of his life and ministry – and that shines through so clearly as he journeyed to his death on the cross.

And so what matters for us in these days is not so much the suffering that he endured but rather the attitude he brought to it all. The violence put upon him in his death matters far less than his gentle and humane response to it, for Jesus refused to allow even the threat of death to change how he lived. He didn’t respond in kind when insults were hurled at him. He didn’t see the need to defend his innocence at all costs. He didn’t find it necessary to condemn those who condemned him – but rather chose to forgive. All this was rooted in that final mandate of love that he gave his disciples – and that he lived out even through his last hours.

This is the call of this night, not to worry so much about exactly what we believe, to perfectly imitate what Jesus did, or to sort out who is in or out of the church or anything like that, but rather to live faithfully according to the mandate Jesus gave us, to embody this kind of incredible love in our lives so that others too might live in this way and know the fullness of God’s grace, love, justice, and mercy in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.