"Do This In Remembrance Of Me"
Sermon
Come As You Are
Sermons On The Lord's Supper
Philosophers and anthropologists have long debated over what makes human beings different from other creatures. It isn't our ability to build houses: birds and beavers build houses. It isn't our use of tools, either. Many animals use tools. Even a simple gull can employ a rock to open a shell. We aren't different because we organize into societies. Ants have an elaborate social structure, including "hospitals" for their sick and "nurseries" for their young. Nor is it the use of language that sets us apart. Whales and dolphins have an elaborate language, too. It isn't even our larger brain. Dolphins' brains are bigger than ours are, in comparison with their bodies.
There are lots of things human beings have in common with other creatures. But one thing that sets us apart is the act of remembrance. Human beings are the only creatures I can think of that remember and honor their dead. A herd of elephants, coming upon the dead body of another elephant, will stop and touch it with their trunks, and trumpet loudly, as if mourning the loss, sometimes for hours. But then they move on.
Only human beings erect mausoleums and monuments to keep the memory of a loved one alive. Or endow colleges, hospitals, libraries, parks, scholarships, or memorials in churches in a loved one's name. Remembrance seems to be one of the things that's truly unique to human beings.
We don't want to forget our loved ones. And we ourselves don't want to be forgotten. In a cemetery in Hiawatha, Kansas, there is a strange tribute to one man's desire to be remembered. John M. Davis was a wealthy but eccentric local farmer. His wife died decades before him, in 1930. Soon after her death Davis began commissioning a series of statues, using Kansas granite and later, Italian marble. The statues depicted important scenes in Davis' life.
There were large statues of Davis courting his wife, statues of their wedding day, a touching statue of Davis sitting lonely beside his wife's empty chair. Davis continued commissioning the statue series in his own honor until he died in the 1970s at age 92. The series ended with Davis as an old man with a long beard, missing his left hand, which he lost in an accident.
The Davis memorial is large, impressive, and expensive, and draws visitors to Hiawatha, Kansas. It is also, because of its weight, slowly sinking into the ground, perhaps someday to disappear. It has also become the target of vandalism. Davis sought to be remembered. And he is remembered -- sometimes as an oddball. But even a monument as elaborate and expensive as his won't assure that his memory will survive for very long.
Human beings remember. We all want to be remembered. What did Jesus ask for as remembrance? Jesus wrote no books. He established no organization. He chose no clear successor to himself. He built no memorials.
No, the way Jesus wanted to be remembered was through a simple act. On the night before he died, he gathered his twelve closest followers together in a smoky, dimly lit, borrowed upper room. They were twelve mostly poor, mostly uneducated, mostly unsophisticated and unreliable individuals. One of them was a betrayer and one of them was a denier and all of them would abandon Jesus in the end. And Jesus knew it all. Still, he entrusted his life's work and his memory to them.
"...[Jesus] took bread, and when he had given thanks he broke it and gave it to them, saying, 'This is my body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.' " He did the same with the cup, saying, "This cup which is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood" (Luke 22:19, 20, RSV).
No building, no books, no structure, no successor. Doesn't seem like much, does it? Yet, 2,000 years later, we still do this in remembrance of him.
This morning as we receive Communion, let us remember Jesus. Let us remember, first, the character of his life.
Let's remember his prayerfulness, how he got up early in the morning, and sometimes stayed up all night, to pray to God.
Let's remember his gentleness, how he called little children to himself, and how they loved him.
Let's remember his joy and enthusiasm for life that seemed to be infectious.
Let's remember how he resisted temptation and never gave in to sin.
Let's remember his concern for the sick, the needy, the forgotten, and the outcast.
Let's remember how he spoke out for what he believed.
Let's remember his courage in the face of death.
Let's remember how, as he was dying, he prayed for his enemies.
Let's remember how he was obedient to God, even though it meant death.
When we share the bread and wine, as he asked us to, and remember, we are remembering the purest, best, and most remarkable human being that ever lived. Let us remember Jesus' life.
Let us also remember he willingly gave up his life for our sake. In Norway there is a small church called The Church of the Lamb. Its steeple is topped, not with a cross, but with a wooden carving of a lamb. It seems that as the church was being built a crew of workmen was up on the roof. One man lost his footing and slipped off.
He might have been killed, except at that precise moment a flock of sheep was being driven by the church. The workman fell on top of a sheep, which broke his fall and saved his life. But the sheep was killed. Later when the church was completed, the congregation put a carving of a sheep up in the steeple -- to be reminded of the animal, but also of Jesus, the Lamb of God (Holy Communion Is..., by R. E. Lybrand, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., p. 16).
Jesus, not accidentally, but knowingly and willingly gave up his life for his friends -- and for all of us. "Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13, RSV). This morning, as we receive the Sacrament of Our Lord's Supper, let us remember Jesus' sacrificial death.
And let us remember that Jesus is still here with us. There are different ways to remember, of course. We can remember someone the way we remember, say, George Washington, as a famous historical figure. Important, yes. But departed, dead, distant.
Or we can remember the way a parent says to a child, "Remember who you are when you're away from home." One mother I know says this to her children: "Even if you're away from me, remember that I am always with you. Think about me being there when you make your decisions, and behave accordingly." In that second sense "remember" means "call to mind, experience my presence, remember what I stand for and remember who you are." That sense of another's presence can be supremely important.
William Wilberforce, a British Quaker and statesman, worked tirelessly for years to rid the British Empire of slavery. After a long argument, a hotly contested bill to end slavery was introduced into Parliament. One member, who had bitterly contested the bill, surprised his colleagues by voting for it.
When one of his fellow members asked him why he had changed his mind so completely, he responded simply, "I spent the evening with Wilberforce." The force of William Wilberforce's presence and his personality was such to change the man's view and change his vote.
If we could really remember Jesus, in the second sense of remember, "call to mind, experience his presence, remember who we are, remember what he stands for," his presence would change us. Let's remember Jesus' life. Let us remember his death. But most of all, let us remember, sense, experience, and be guided by his continuing presence.
There are lots of things human beings have in common with other creatures. But one thing that sets us apart is the act of remembrance. Human beings are the only creatures I can think of that remember and honor their dead. A herd of elephants, coming upon the dead body of another elephant, will stop and touch it with their trunks, and trumpet loudly, as if mourning the loss, sometimes for hours. But then they move on.
Only human beings erect mausoleums and monuments to keep the memory of a loved one alive. Or endow colleges, hospitals, libraries, parks, scholarships, or memorials in churches in a loved one's name. Remembrance seems to be one of the things that's truly unique to human beings.
We don't want to forget our loved ones. And we ourselves don't want to be forgotten. In a cemetery in Hiawatha, Kansas, there is a strange tribute to one man's desire to be remembered. John M. Davis was a wealthy but eccentric local farmer. His wife died decades before him, in 1930. Soon after her death Davis began commissioning a series of statues, using Kansas granite and later, Italian marble. The statues depicted important scenes in Davis' life.
There were large statues of Davis courting his wife, statues of their wedding day, a touching statue of Davis sitting lonely beside his wife's empty chair. Davis continued commissioning the statue series in his own honor until he died in the 1970s at age 92. The series ended with Davis as an old man with a long beard, missing his left hand, which he lost in an accident.
The Davis memorial is large, impressive, and expensive, and draws visitors to Hiawatha, Kansas. It is also, because of its weight, slowly sinking into the ground, perhaps someday to disappear. It has also become the target of vandalism. Davis sought to be remembered. And he is remembered -- sometimes as an oddball. But even a monument as elaborate and expensive as his won't assure that his memory will survive for very long.
Human beings remember. We all want to be remembered. What did Jesus ask for as remembrance? Jesus wrote no books. He established no organization. He chose no clear successor to himself. He built no memorials.
No, the way Jesus wanted to be remembered was through a simple act. On the night before he died, he gathered his twelve closest followers together in a smoky, dimly lit, borrowed upper room. They were twelve mostly poor, mostly uneducated, mostly unsophisticated and unreliable individuals. One of them was a betrayer and one of them was a denier and all of them would abandon Jesus in the end. And Jesus knew it all. Still, he entrusted his life's work and his memory to them.
"...[Jesus] took bread, and when he had given thanks he broke it and gave it to them, saying, 'This is my body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.' " He did the same with the cup, saying, "This cup which is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood" (Luke 22:19, 20, RSV).
No building, no books, no structure, no successor. Doesn't seem like much, does it? Yet, 2,000 years later, we still do this in remembrance of him.
This morning as we receive Communion, let us remember Jesus. Let us remember, first, the character of his life.
Let's remember his prayerfulness, how he got up early in the morning, and sometimes stayed up all night, to pray to God.
Let's remember his gentleness, how he called little children to himself, and how they loved him.
Let's remember his joy and enthusiasm for life that seemed to be infectious.
Let's remember how he resisted temptation and never gave in to sin.
Let's remember his concern for the sick, the needy, the forgotten, and the outcast.
Let's remember how he spoke out for what he believed.
Let's remember his courage in the face of death.
Let's remember how, as he was dying, he prayed for his enemies.
Let's remember how he was obedient to God, even though it meant death.
When we share the bread and wine, as he asked us to, and remember, we are remembering the purest, best, and most remarkable human being that ever lived. Let us remember Jesus' life.
Let us also remember he willingly gave up his life for our sake. In Norway there is a small church called The Church of the Lamb. Its steeple is topped, not with a cross, but with a wooden carving of a lamb. It seems that as the church was being built a crew of workmen was up on the roof. One man lost his footing and slipped off.
He might have been killed, except at that precise moment a flock of sheep was being driven by the church. The workman fell on top of a sheep, which broke his fall and saved his life. But the sheep was killed. Later when the church was completed, the congregation put a carving of a sheep up in the steeple -- to be reminded of the animal, but also of Jesus, the Lamb of God (Holy Communion Is..., by R. E. Lybrand, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., p. 16).
Jesus, not accidentally, but knowingly and willingly gave up his life for his friends -- and for all of us. "Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13, RSV). This morning, as we receive the Sacrament of Our Lord's Supper, let us remember Jesus' sacrificial death.
And let us remember that Jesus is still here with us. There are different ways to remember, of course. We can remember someone the way we remember, say, George Washington, as a famous historical figure. Important, yes. But departed, dead, distant.
Or we can remember the way a parent says to a child, "Remember who you are when you're away from home." One mother I know says this to her children: "Even if you're away from me, remember that I am always with you. Think about me being there when you make your decisions, and behave accordingly." In that second sense "remember" means "call to mind, experience my presence, remember what I stand for and remember who you are." That sense of another's presence can be supremely important.
William Wilberforce, a British Quaker and statesman, worked tirelessly for years to rid the British Empire of slavery. After a long argument, a hotly contested bill to end slavery was introduced into Parliament. One member, who had bitterly contested the bill, surprised his colleagues by voting for it.
When one of his fellow members asked him why he had changed his mind so completely, he responded simply, "I spent the evening with Wilberforce." The force of William Wilberforce's presence and his personality was such to change the man's view and change his vote.
If we could really remember Jesus, in the second sense of remember, "call to mind, experience his presence, remember who we are, remember what he stands for," his presence would change us. Let's remember Jesus' life. Let us remember his death. But most of all, let us remember, sense, experience, and be guided by his continuing presence.
