Stones To Bread
Sermon
Journey Of Stones
A Sermon Series For Lent And Easter
Dear friends in Christ, grace, mercy, and peace, from God our Father and his Son, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
Tonight is a night that is rich in tradition in the Christian Church. Those traditions vary greatly from congregation to congregation. Some churches this night focus on the poignant scene of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples on the night before he died, and they re-enact it. In full view of all worshipers, a husband might wash the feet of his wife, or a Sunday school teacher may wash the feet of her students, or perhaps the pastor would wash the feet of the church custodian and wipe them with a towel. The message becomes clear; humility and servanthood are the marks of the Christian Church, because they were the marks of Jesus Christ.
In another church, the focus of this night might be confession -- honest, humble, and contrite confession. And not just because we are confessing our sins to God, but also by the confessing of our sins to each other.
It is the tradition among Christians in Africa on Maundy Thursday that, before the sacrament of Holy Communion is served, worshipers move about the sanctuary and seek forgiveness from everyone they have hurt or offended or sinned against -- known or unknown -- in recent months. It may take a few minutes; it might take an hour. But the service does not continue until every worshiper has been reconciled with every other worshiper. I have wondered how that would play in the North American Church, where grudges and gossip and secret sins are so prevalent among us. Frankly, I didn't have the courage for us to try it here.
In this church, a new tradition is beginning this evening. Young people, who have spent this Lenten season preparing to receive Communion, will receive it tonight for the very first time. I would to God that their anticipation and wonder -- their sense of mystery and awe of this holy moment -- I would to God that their joy be contagious to us as we, too, hold in our hands tonight the very gift of God.
What all of these traditions seem to have in common, of course, is that they draw us near to Jesus on the night before he was crucified, and remind us that his love is the most powerful force this world has ever known. And not simply that we would know his love, but that we would be his love in this hurting world ... that we would be his servants in this self-serving world ... that we would personify his grace in this harsh and unforgiving world.
When the Apostle John was old and dying he was asked to bring one last message to the church. Slowly, haltingly, he stood before the congregation and said in a whisper, "Love one another." Then he was asked if there was anything else he would like to say. "Yes," John said. "Love one another." When the service had ended, his assistant asked him, "Brother John, why do you continue to repeat this same message?" And John replied, "Because if we would do this only, it would be enough." And that is the message we have come to receive from Jesus tonight: a new commandment that tells us to love. We will hear it. We will see it. We will eat it and drink it. And then we go from this place and we will be it.
Each Wednesday throughout this journey of Lent, we have carried small rocks into worship with us, and at the end of each service, we have laid them at the foot of that cross. People have complained to me that they didn't like it: that the stones were messy and left a chalky residue on their hands and clothing. It occurs to me that sin is like that: it's messy, it's unattractive, and it leaves its ugly mark upon our lives. That's the nature of sin. I don't know if you can see from where you are sitting, but the base of that cross is now covered by stones. Our stones. Our sins. They represent our hatred, and our gossip, and our pride, and our prejudice, and our failure, and our fear. Tonight, Jesus will do business with those stones.
As our Lord was beginning his public ministry, he spent forty days out in the middle of the Judean wilderness. Forty days -- the same as Lent. At the end of that time, the Devil came to Jesus and tempted him.
"If you are the Son of God, command that these stones become bread." But Jesus answered and said, "It is written 'Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God.' "
Ironically, tonight Jesus has turned the stones to bread. Tonight, all the ugliness of our selfishness and sin is swallowed up by Jesus Christ. Now, the messy chalky residue of our sins stains not us ... they stain Jesus instead ... and we are left without a blemish. Tonight, you will not be handed a stone; tonight you will be handed a piece of bread and a promise. "This is my body, broken for you and for all the people, for the forgiveness of sin. Eat it and remember me." And now the stones are gone ... transcended by the Bread of Life.
If we are bewildered as to how this transaction happens, imagine the disciples on that first Maundy Thursday. They did not yet understand that the cross was just 24 hours away. They didn't have the slightest idea that in the span of one day, every one of them sitting at that table would bale out on their master. How clueless were they? They were still sitting at the dinner table when an argument broke out among them as to which of them was the greatest disciple! They didn't get it! If Jesus was ever going to withhold his gift of grace, that would have been the time! If Jesus was ever going to renege on his promise of forgiveness, that would have been it! But Jesus gave them the gift anyway.
You see, that's one of the great myths of this thing called "Holy Communion" -- that we have to understand it before we can receive it. Do the fifth graders in our midst tonight know all there is to know about Communion? Are they now "qualified" to receive it? Or do you -- after receiving the sacrament for twenty or thirty or forty years -- now understand how it all works? Can you explain how something that looks like bread, and smells like bread, and feels like bread, and tastes like bread is actually the body of Jesus? I dare say, no, on all counts. All we must do is believe the promise of Jesus, and forgiveness is ours. That's why we call it "faith." The other myth about communion is that it's for the righteous. Well, the righteous don't need it; we do. Only we sinners need the gift that Jesus had to offer.
In a few moments, you will come forward to this rail, and you will kneel --Êif you can -- and you will hold out your hands. You may hold a Ph.D. in quantum physics, but when you kneel at this rail, your hands will be empty. You may have a stock portfolio in the eight-figure range, but when you kneel at this rail, your hands will be empty. You may have a famous name, or a glamorous job, or a loving family, or loyal friends, or a notorious past, or a glorious future. But when you kneel at this rail, you are empty; and so am I. And the only thing that can fill our need tonight is bread.
I close with this: A young woman, who was a first-year student at Princeton Theological Seminary, was assigned to do her contextual education at a local nursing home. Every Wednesday, Janine would read scripture and pray prayers and serve communion to the elderly who would gather. And every one of the residents would gladly receive this gift of grace ... everyone, that is, except Madaline Jacks. Madaline never said a word to Janine during her visit. In fact, Madaline never said a word to anyone; she had stopped speaking years ago.
But one Wednesday afternoon, something happened. Something very, very special happened. As she did each week, Janine handed the wafer to Madaline, with the words, "The Body of Christ, Madaline, broken for you." But this week Madaline spoke. Holding the wafer between her thumb and forefinger, she smiled and said, "For me. Madaline Jacks. For me." And then she ate the Bread of Life.
Dear ones, tonight when you come forward with your broken hearts and empty hands and shattered dreams, may you know that Jesus has turned stones of sin into the Bread of Life. For you, the Body of Christ, for you. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Discussion Questions
1. If Jesus already knows our sins, why is it so important to confess them to God?
2. In what ways do "disciples" today compete with one another as to which is the greatest? How do you think God feels about this?
3. Is the concept of "emptiness" when going to the communion rail a new concept to you? How does this thinking of "emptiness" make you feel (i.e., humble, worthless, ashamed, in need)?
Tonight is a night that is rich in tradition in the Christian Church. Those traditions vary greatly from congregation to congregation. Some churches this night focus on the poignant scene of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples on the night before he died, and they re-enact it. In full view of all worshipers, a husband might wash the feet of his wife, or a Sunday school teacher may wash the feet of her students, or perhaps the pastor would wash the feet of the church custodian and wipe them with a towel. The message becomes clear; humility and servanthood are the marks of the Christian Church, because they were the marks of Jesus Christ.
In another church, the focus of this night might be confession -- honest, humble, and contrite confession. And not just because we are confessing our sins to God, but also by the confessing of our sins to each other.
It is the tradition among Christians in Africa on Maundy Thursday that, before the sacrament of Holy Communion is served, worshipers move about the sanctuary and seek forgiveness from everyone they have hurt or offended or sinned against -- known or unknown -- in recent months. It may take a few minutes; it might take an hour. But the service does not continue until every worshiper has been reconciled with every other worshiper. I have wondered how that would play in the North American Church, where grudges and gossip and secret sins are so prevalent among us. Frankly, I didn't have the courage for us to try it here.
In this church, a new tradition is beginning this evening. Young people, who have spent this Lenten season preparing to receive Communion, will receive it tonight for the very first time. I would to God that their anticipation and wonder -- their sense of mystery and awe of this holy moment -- I would to God that their joy be contagious to us as we, too, hold in our hands tonight the very gift of God.
What all of these traditions seem to have in common, of course, is that they draw us near to Jesus on the night before he was crucified, and remind us that his love is the most powerful force this world has ever known. And not simply that we would know his love, but that we would be his love in this hurting world ... that we would be his servants in this self-serving world ... that we would personify his grace in this harsh and unforgiving world.
When the Apostle John was old and dying he was asked to bring one last message to the church. Slowly, haltingly, he stood before the congregation and said in a whisper, "Love one another." Then he was asked if there was anything else he would like to say. "Yes," John said. "Love one another." When the service had ended, his assistant asked him, "Brother John, why do you continue to repeat this same message?" And John replied, "Because if we would do this only, it would be enough." And that is the message we have come to receive from Jesus tonight: a new commandment that tells us to love. We will hear it. We will see it. We will eat it and drink it. And then we go from this place and we will be it.
Each Wednesday throughout this journey of Lent, we have carried small rocks into worship with us, and at the end of each service, we have laid them at the foot of that cross. People have complained to me that they didn't like it: that the stones were messy and left a chalky residue on their hands and clothing. It occurs to me that sin is like that: it's messy, it's unattractive, and it leaves its ugly mark upon our lives. That's the nature of sin. I don't know if you can see from where you are sitting, but the base of that cross is now covered by stones. Our stones. Our sins. They represent our hatred, and our gossip, and our pride, and our prejudice, and our failure, and our fear. Tonight, Jesus will do business with those stones.
As our Lord was beginning his public ministry, he spent forty days out in the middle of the Judean wilderness. Forty days -- the same as Lent. At the end of that time, the Devil came to Jesus and tempted him.
"If you are the Son of God, command that these stones become bread." But Jesus answered and said, "It is written 'Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God.' "
Ironically, tonight Jesus has turned the stones to bread. Tonight, all the ugliness of our selfishness and sin is swallowed up by Jesus Christ. Now, the messy chalky residue of our sins stains not us ... they stain Jesus instead ... and we are left without a blemish. Tonight, you will not be handed a stone; tonight you will be handed a piece of bread and a promise. "This is my body, broken for you and for all the people, for the forgiveness of sin. Eat it and remember me." And now the stones are gone ... transcended by the Bread of Life.
If we are bewildered as to how this transaction happens, imagine the disciples on that first Maundy Thursday. They did not yet understand that the cross was just 24 hours away. They didn't have the slightest idea that in the span of one day, every one of them sitting at that table would bale out on their master. How clueless were they? They were still sitting at the dinner table when an argument broke out among them as to which of them was the greatest disciple! They didn't get it! If Jesus was ever going to withhold his gift of grace, that would have been the time! If Jesus was ever going to renege on his promise of forgiveness, that would have been it! But Jesus gave them the gift anyway.
You see, that's one of the great myths of this thing called "Holy Communion" -- that we have to understand it before we can receive it. Do the fifth graders in our midst tonight know all there is to know about Communion? Are they now "qualified" to receive it? Or do you -- after receiving the sacrament for twenty or thirty or forty years -- now understand how it all works? Can you explain how something that looks like bread, and smells like bread, and feels like bread, and tastes like bread is actually the body of Jesus? I dare say, no, on all counts. All we must do is believe the promise of Jesus, and forgiveness is ours. That's why we call it "faith." The other myth about communion is that it's for the righteous. Well, the righteous don't need it; we do. Only we sinners need the gift that Jesus had to offer.
In a few moments, you will come forward to this rail, and you will kneel --Êif you can -- and you will hold out your hands. You may hold a Ph.D. in quantum physics, but when you kneel at this rail, your hands will be empty. You may have a stock portfolio in the eight-figure range, but when you kneel at this rail, your hands will be empty. You may have a famous name, or a glamorous job, or a loving family, or loyal friends, or a notorious past, or a glorious future. But when you kneel at this rail, you are empty; and so am I. And the only thing that can fill our need tonight is bread.
I close with this: A young woman, who was a first-year student at Princeton Theological Seminary, was assigned to do her contextual education at a local nursing home. Every Wednesday, Janine would read scripture and pray prayers and serve communion to the elderly who would gather. And every one of the residents would gladly receive this gift of grace ... everyone, that is, except Madaline Jacks. Madaline never said a word to Janine during her visit. In fact, Madaline never said a word to anyone; she had stopped speaking years ago.
But one Wednesday afternoon, something happened. Something very, very special happened. As she did each week, Janine handed the wafer to Madaline, with the words, "The Body of Christ, Madaline, broken for you." But this week Madaline spoke. Holding the wafer between her thumb and forefinger, she smiled and said, "For me. Madaline Jacks. For me." And then she ate the Bread of Life.
Dear ones, tonight when you come forward with your broken hearts and empty hands and shattered dreams, may you know that Jesus has turned stones of sin into the Bread of Life. For you, the Body of Christ, for you. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Discussion Questions
1. If Jesus already knows our sins, why is it so important to confess them to God?
2. In what ways do "disciples" today compete with one another as to which is the greatest? How do you think God feels about this?
3. Is the concept of "emptiness" when going to the communion rail a new concept to you? How does this thinking of "emptiness" make you feel (i.e., humble, worthless, ashamed, in need)?
