Sermon at The Church of the Holy Apostles, New York City
March 20, 2008, Maundy Thursday, Year A
The Reverend Barry M. Signorelli
Exodus 12:1-14a
Psalm 78
1 Corinthians 11:23-32
Luke 22:14-30 

     Do this for the remembrance of me.

     In the name of God.  Amen.

     On this night, poised on the brink of events that will tumble uncontrollably toward catastrophe, on this night there is a brief pause of peace and tenderness; a calm before the storm.  On this night, as he gathered for a meal with those who were closest to him, Jesus did something that has reverberated around the world and changed the life of countless millions.  He took bread, blessed it, and gave it to them, telling them, “This is my Body.”  He did the same with the cup of wine, saying, “This is my Blood.”  By these actions they were to remember him, honor him, and become a part of him and the new life of God’s Kingdom he came to proclaim.

     Was ever any command so faithfully followed as this one?  For two thousand years Christians in every corner of the world have gathered to bless and break the bread, to bless and share the cup, in accordance with Jesus’ wish that they “do this in remembrance of Me.”  From the earliest days after the Resurrection to this very place tonight, this sacred meal has been shared by generation after generation of Jesus’ followers – an act of faith and obedience that has shaped and sustained the community of believers in all times and in all places.  What is it about this act that imbues it with such power and authority?  What is it about this teaching of Jesus that draws forth from us a sense of unquestioning duty, so that we feel compelled to repeat it day after day, year after year, age after age?  There is something about this act that touched the disciples in that upper room, something that continues to touch us even now.  For this is not any ordinary meal.  In the culture of Jesus’ time and place the idea of obligatory hospitality, especially to the stranger, was pervasive; and so every meal was to some degree grounded in the idea of welcoming others and sharing with them what you had.  But in his life and teaching, Jesus went beyond that.  Jesus went beyond mere hospitality to offer a radical welcome to all who would accept, no matter what their station in life, what they had done in the past, what they looked like, or even what they thought of themselves.  For Jesus, there was a place at the table for everyone.

     It feels good to have someone invite you in, especially if you don’t think you are worthy of the invitation.  It feels amazing to have someone touch your hand when you’ve been told you are untouchable.  It feels unbelievable to have someone love you when you are sure that your past actions have made you unlovable.  But all these things were central and natural to the welcome Jesus extended to those with the courage to accept.  And in accepting Jesus’ invitation, they were made worthy, they were embraced, they were loved beyond their wildest imaginations.  Because Jesus saw them as worthy and embraceable, and loved them, they were those things – they were changed because he saw them not as labels or stereotypes or lost causes, but as children of God, created in the divine image.  Jesus’ unconditional love reflected the tenderness of God who loved us even while we were yet sinners.  He was not content to let the world’s tendency toward decay and brokenness go unchallenged; Jesus demonstrated that there is another way, that God’s will is for healing and wholeness – for everyone.

     And so, in this final meal with his friends, the Lord offered more than welcome; he offered himself not only as host, but as the very food with which the beloved guests are fed.  We sometimes speak of someone who “gives of him/herself” in some way; here Jesus takes this idea to the farthest degree, as he will do a few hours later upon the cross.  And when we, who have been surprised by our inclusion, partake of this precious food, we become a part of the one who feeds us.  By eating Christ’s Body, we become a part of the Body of Christ, that mystical union of all the faithful who ever were, who are, or who ever shall be.  We are transformed somehow by love and grace into the state of wholeness that God intends for us; we enter the Kingdom of God that is already come.

     But this is no cause for pride or boasting, because it is not our doing that accomplishes this, but the boundless love of God.  Jesus shows us the nature of our new being in the Kingdom, which is to be humble servants of one another, demonstrating to each other the love and forbearance shown to us.  And if Jesus, the Lord of Life, is willing to stoop and wash the feet of his friends, how can we, who have been welcomed, embraced, and loved by him, do any differently to one another?  There were differences of opinions among the Twelve, and they sometimes argued among themselves, but all received the servanthood of their Master and were fed with his body and blood.  So we, who through the ages have eaten of this same holy food, also have differences of opinion, and we argue amongst ourselves – but still we are called to the Lord’s feast to be at table together and to be humble servants to one another.  It is, if you will, the price of admission.

     Now, I don’t mean that in the sense that God bars the way to the stiff-necked and stubborn; if it did, then I would have been thrown out of the banquet-hall many times over.  Rather, I mean that if we are to fully perceive the value of what is set before us, our hearts must be attuned to our need for one another; we must realize our own brokenness and incompleteness, and recognize that true wholeness is only possible when each of us brings to the table our particular gift, however paltry or insignificant we may feel it to be.  And in the gathering together of all our diverse gifts, we begin to see how we complete one another, working together in love to re-unify our scattered and searching humanity.  When we choose to be open to receiving from others their humble servanthood, even those we may not like or agree with, and at the same time offer our service in return, then the glory of the Communion of Saints begins to be revealed; and the body and blood on which we feed together shows itself to be all that we need, and more than we could ask or desire.

     Of course, we are not always open to such grace.  Sometimes our prejudices and petty hurts build walls between us and others; sometimes our most sincere overtures are rejected and scorned.  When this communion among us is broken – again, not by our disagreements, which God will work out in God’s good time – but when our communion is broken by human hurt or hate or lust for power or authority, then we become blind to the gifts Jesus sets before us at table.  C.S. Lewis, in the final volume of his Chronicles of Narnia, tells of those who have left this world to enter the country of Aslan, the great lion and Christ-figure.  Those who love Aslan and do their best to follow his teachings see a great feast set before them, with delicious and tantalizing food and drink, set beautifully on lovely plates and goblets, and they eat with joy and delight.  But there are some among them whose lives are consumed by pettiness and rancor, who live to argue and continue to do so even here.  To them, the very same table is dirty and messy, with broken dishes and rancid scraps of food unfit even for animals to eat.  Yet their hunger drives them to eat from this table, too, unaware that it is their own hardness of heart that keeps them from partaking of the feast.

     Alongside those who through our history have come to the holy table with reverence, awe, and thankfulness, are those who would use this sacrament for baser means; as a political statement, as an affirmation of who’s in and who’s out, as a magical tonic to ensure success in battle or to protect them from danger.  The meal to which Jesus invites us is none of those things; it bestows incomprehensible benefit to those who humbly receive it, but that benefit is the strength and resolve it gives our hearts and minds and hands to work together in building God’s Kingdom even as we inhabit it.  There is no magic save the wondrous grace of God’s open arms; there is no litmus test for sitting at table save a humble and loving heart.  In God’s good mercy, even those who are blind to all that this food can mean are fed and nourished by it, as God seeks to turn their hearts; but to those who strive to imitate Christ’s welcome and love, this food is the very bread of heaven.

     My sisters and brothers, let us now and always accept the invitation Jesus extends to us, honoring the unfathomable love of God by bringing our empty hearts to be filled, our dirty feet to be washed, and our eager hands to take up the task of reconciling and healing.  Let us with joy and trembling be nourished this night, for we will need all our strength in the days ahead, and in all the ages to come.  Give thanks to God, who feeds us thus in love.

     Amen.

.