At The Table
Sermon
Living In Hope
Cycle C Sermons for Lent and Easter Based on the Second Lessons
In my faith tradition, Maundy Thursday usually involved a remembrance of the first communion service. Many of the churches I have been associated with have scheduled a light supper and following that supper, at small tables of six to eight attendees, bread is broken and the cup is shared, much as this passage from 1 Corinthians related. The commemoration is somewhat solemn often because we Christians forget that this offering of bread and cup was offered during a family celebration, a Passover feast, recounting the escape of the Israelites from Egypt. It was a warm and welcoming celebration of a time that had hardships, but led to great joy.
The recounting of this first communion meal is a continuation of the meal and feasts Jesus had shared all throughout the land ― sometimes with the rich and powerful, sometimes with the ostracized and marginalized ― but there was power and grace in coming together at table. Perhaps that is why so many of our family celebrations take place at tables. We cannot discount the power in gathering together.
Ages ago, my sister and I were speaking about our mother. Even when there was little to share, Mom would welcome guests at the table. We lived in a fairly small home, but one Christmas Mom opened the table to the family and fourteen guests visiting from Turkey. There truly was no room, but we didn’t notice. The hospitality was evident, the joy at the feast was clearly expressed. There was no room at the table, but plenty of room in our hearts. My sister wasn’t even born yet, so she didn’t know that story. However, there were myriad stories to choose from.
My Dad even made a joke of the hospitality, “Put more water in the soup. Company’s coming.” We’d laugh but we knew how true this was. There was always room for more. Everyone was welcome. All could join the feast and the celebration. My sister and I could recount the many times that people came to sit at our kitchen table and talk with my parents, share their lives, and sometimes even seek advice. We talked about writing a book titled Kitchen Table Wisdom, but neither of us has done that yet. There is still time. I can still recall the smells coming from the kitchen, the baking and cooking, the making do with less so we could share with someone else. That sense of hospitality was ingrained in us and it has become our practice as well.
Something amazing happens when people gather at the table and share one with another. Perhaps that is part of the power of the communion table and the invitation to it. All are welcome. All are invited. On the night this passage commemorates, Jesus invited to his table the one who would betray him, the one who would deny him, and the ones who would desert him. None of that mattered. All were welcome. All were called to the table to share in the feast of love, the feast bread and cup, the feast of remembrance.
There was a time when many of our churches didn’t welcome those we didn’t know to our communion tables. How could we be sure they had been baptized, had seen Jesus as their Savior? There were and still are times when children were excluded from the communion feast. They couldn’t understand, people said, or there was a rite of passage children needed to undertake. Jesus said no such thing. In fact, Jesus is known to have said, “Bring the little children to me.” How could Jesus want them to be omitted from participation at table?
The Passover celebration was a family feast, one where children have a special part to play. Children spend time at the Passover feast looking for the afilkomen, the piece of matzah which has been broken in two with one part hidden. This is said to be symbolic of the ultimate redemption of suffering at the end of the Passover Seder meal. It is also seen as the putting aside of something for the poor and a sign that there is more to discover in the world and in our life than we will ever know. The children have an important role in the feast; they could and should have an important role in the communion feast as well.
In a church I served, the children were not allowed to receive from the communion table until they were confirmed, in the seventh or eighth grade. In the interim teaching time, I prepared a table just for them, an Agape feast, where they could come to receive a blessing plus receive a cracker and grapes. As we moved into the educational discussion about why children couldn’t participate, it became clear that tradition was the primary reason, for none of us truly understood the mystery of the presence of the risen Christ in communion. It was determined that the parents could decide when the children were ready and that I would speak with the children about the sacrament before they received the first time.
I wish I could share with you the looks of wonder and love on the faces of children when they came forward to receive communion for the first time. They may not have understood all the significance, but they knew they were encountering God, something precious and special to them. Tears came into my eyes as I served them, calling them each by name, just as Jesus calls us by name.
That is the gift of this feast. All are invited to experience the gifts and blessings of the risen Christ. The bread and cup are shared by Jesus with all present, with each and every one. Sometimes it is hard to feel worthy of that gift. I think that was the case with the disciples as well. How could Jesus be offering his body and blood for us? What depth of love was that? How could I be worthy of that sacrifice, that much redemption and love?
Recently, a contemporary Christian song has been recorded that speaks to our sense of unworthiness and Christ’s continuing invitation. It’s by the Sidewalk Prophets and titled “Come to the Table.” The lyrics are online and you may look them up. It talks about finding grace, especially when we need it the most.
Clearly those lyrics remind us each that nothing can keep us from the mercy of God, nothing can keep us from the welcome of the Savior.
As we focus on this Holy Week, this holiest of weeks, who are those we are excluding from our tables? Who are the others that are unwelcome in our midst? To whom do we fail to say, “Come to the table”?
Is it the person of color, tacitly welcomed but really feared or misunderstood? Is it the divorced woman or man, who we view as a sinner and unwelcome? Is it the single mother living in poverty, who has never been married and is struggling? Is it the homeless person we often see begging on the streets with a sign who smells when he sits next to us? Is it the gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender person whose life we cannot begin to understand or we are unwilling to understand and affirm that it is kept from the table?
My friends, if Jesus did not exclude from the table the ones who would hurt him and abandon him to arrest, scourging, and death; why do we think it is okay for us to exclude anyone from Christ’s invitation to the table? How can we determine that the Bread of Life, broken for us all, is it not for all the persons we judge as unworthy? What if those individuals judged us as unworthy?
Some of the most profound spiritual experiences of my life have been at the communion table. As a United Church of Christ pastor, I have encountered churches who receive communion at the altar rail, at the altar through intinction, have been served the elements in their pews, and have supped together at small tables sharing with one another ― all breaking bread and sharing cup together. The methodologies change. The offerings of bread, through type and form, have changed. The cup has changed, either juice or wine, depending on the tradition. The Spirit is the same. The host of the feast is the same. We are invited to partake of this meal because Jesus invited us, because Jesus’ body was broken for us, because Jesus’ blood was poured out for us. This is his meal, his table, his invitation. The invitation is no more poignantly offered than it is on Maundy Thursday as Jesus gathered with his friends, knowing he was about to be arrested and crucified, knowing this was all necessary because human beings don’t know how to reconcile themselves with God and need his intercession.
When you partake of this meal on this day, or on any other day, please remember, this table is a gift. This table is a welcome. This table is the hospitality of the one who came to live, teach, heal, die, and rise so we could be in relationship with God and with one another. Remember the sanctity and the celebration of this moment, this encounter with the risen Christ. Remember Jesus asked of us, “Whenever you share it, remember me.” Amen.
The recounting of this first communion meal is a continuation of the meal and feasts Jesus had shared all throughout the land ― sometimes with the rich and powerful, sometimes with the ostracized and marginalized ― but there was power and grace in coming together at table. Perhaps that is why so many of our family celebrations take place at tables. We cannot discount the power in gathering together.
Ages ago, my sister and I were speaking about our mother. Even when there was little to share, Mom would welcome guests at the table. We lived in a fairly small home, but one Christmas Mom opened the table to the family and fourteen guests visiting from Turkey. There truly was no room, but we didn’t notice. The hospitality was evident, the joy at the feast was clearly expressed. There was no room at the table, but plenty of room in our hearts. My sister wasn’t even born yet, so she didn’t know that story. However, there were myriad stories to choose from.
My Dad even made a joke of the hospitality, “Put more water in the soup. Company’s coming.” We’d laugh but we knew how true this was. There was always room for more. Everyone was welcome. All could join the feast and the celebration. My sister and I could recount the many times that people came to sit at our kitchen table and talk with my parents, share their lives, and sometimes even seek advice. We talked about writing a book titled Kitchen Table Wisdom, but neither of us has done that yet. There is still time. I can still recall the smells coming from the kitchen, the baking and cooking, the making do with less so we could share with someone else. That sense of hospitality was ingrained in us and it has become our practice as well.
Something amazing happens when people gather at the table and share one with another. Perhaps that is part of the power of the communion table and the invitation to it. All are welcome. All are invited. On the night this passage commemorates, Jesus invited to his table the one who would betray him, the one who would deny him, and the ones who would desert him. None of that mattered. All were welcome. All were called to the table to share in the feast of love, the feast bread and cup, the feast of remembrance.
There was a time when many of our churches didn’t welcome those we didn’t know to our communion tables. How could we be sure they had been baptized, had seen Jesus as their Savior? There were and still are times when children were excluded from the communion feast. They couldn’t understand, people said, or there was a rite of passage children needed to undertake. Jesus said no such thing. In fact, Jesus is known to have said, “Bring the little children to me.” How could Jesus want them to be omitted from participation at table?
The Passover celebration was a family feast, one where children have a special part to play. Children spend time at the Passover feast looking for the afilkomen, the piece of matzah which has been broken in two with one part hidden. This is said to be symbolic of the ultimate redemption of suffering at the end of the Passover Seder meal. It is also seen as the putting aside of something for the poor and a sign that there is more to discover in the world and in our life than we will ever know. The children have an important role in the feast; they could and should have an important role in the communion feast as well.
In a church I served, the children were not allowed to receive from the communion table until they were confirmed, in the seventh or eighth grade. In the interim teaching time, I prepared a table just for them, an Agape feast, where they could come to receive a blessing plus receive a cracker and grapes. As we moved into the educational discussion about why children couldn’t participate, it became clear that tradition was the primary reason, for none of us truly understood the mystery of the presence of the risen Christ in communion. It was determined that the parents could decide when the children were ready and that I would speak with the children about the sacrament before they received the first time.
I wish I could share with you the looks of wonder and love on the faces of children when they came forward to receive communion for the first time. They may not have understood all the significance, but they knew they were encountering God, something precious and special to them. Tears came into my eyes as I served them, calling them each by name, just as Jesus calls us by name.
That is the gift of this feast. All are invited to experience the gifts and blessings of the risen Christ. The bread and cup are shared by Jesus with all present, with each and every one. Sometimes it is hard to feel worthy of that gift. I think that was the case with the disciples as well. How could Jesus be offering his body and blood for us? What depth of love was that? How could I be worthy of that sacrifice, that much redemption and love?
Recently, a contemporary Christian song has been recorded that speaks to our sense of unworthiness and Christ’s continuing invitation. It’s by the Sidewalk Prophets and titled “Come to the Table.” The lyrics are online and you may look them up. It talks about finding grace, especially when we need it the most.
Clearly those lyrics remind us each that nothing can keep us from the mercy of God, nothing can keep us from the welcome of the Savior.
As we focus on this Holy Week, this holiest of weeks, who are those we are excluding from our tables? Who are the others that are unwelcome in our midst? To whom do we fail to say, “Come to the table”?
Is it the person of color, tacitly welcomed but really feared or misunderstood? Is it the divorced woman or man, who we view as a sinner and unwelcome? Is it the single mother living in poverty, who has never been married and is struggling? Is it the homeless person we often see begging on the streets with a sign who smells when he sits next to us? Is it the gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender person whose life we cannot begin to understand or we are unwilling to understand and affirm that it is kept from the table?
My friends, if Jesus did not exclude from the table the ones who would hurt him and abandon him to arrest, scourging, and death; why do we think it is okay for us to exclude anyone from Christ’s invitation to the table? How can we determine that the Bread of Life, broken for us all, is it not for all the persons we judge as unworthy? What if those individuals judged us as unworthy?
Some of the most profound spiritual experiences of my life have been at the communion table. As a United Church of Christ pastor, I have encountered churches who receive communion at the altar rail, at the altar through intinction, have been served the elements in their pews, and have supped together at small tables sharing with one another ― all breaking bread and sharing cup together. The methodologies change. The offerings of bread, through type and form, have changed. The cup has changed, either juice or wine, depending on the tradition. The Spirit is the same. The host of the feast is the same. We are invited to partake of this meal because Jesus invited us, because Jesus’ body was broken for us, because Jesus’ blood was poured out for us. This is his meal, his table, his invitation. The invitation is no more poignantly offered than it is on Maundy Thursday as Jesus gathered with his friends, knowing he was about to be arrested and crucified, knowing this was all necessary because human beings don’t know how to reconcile themselves with God and need his intercession.
When you partake of this meal on this day, or on any other day, please remember, this table is a gift. This table is a welcome. This table is the hospitality of the one who came to live, teach, heal, die, and rise so we could be in relationship with God and with one another. Remember the sanctity and the celebration of this moment, this encounter with the risen Christ. Remember Jesus asked of us, “Whenever you share it, remember me.” Amen.
