Reading: Matthew 26:17-29
Church is not perfect. Never will be. Never is. Never was, right from the start.
The most “churchy” or religious thing the Gospels portray Jesus doing with his disciples is what we call the Last Supper. For them, it was a celebration of the Passover – an annual ritual meal practiced by the Jews, in which they remembered and celebrated their liberation long ago from enslavement to the Egyptian imperial system, by God’s powerful love.
It's interesting that when Jesus and his disciples gather for this joyous ritual, what's on display is as much the imperfection of their little community, as is the good will of God for their well-being.
On the first day of the Festival of Unleavened Bread, the disciples came to Jesus and asked,“Where do you want us to make preparations for you to eat the Passover?”
He replied, “Go into the city to a certain man and tell him, ‘The Teacher says: My appointed time is near. I am going to celebrate the Passover with my disciples at your house.’”
So the disciples did as Jesus had directed them and prepared the Passover. When evening came, Jesus was reclining at the table with the Twelve. And while they were eating, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.”
They were very sad and began to say to him one after the other, “Surely you don’t mean me, Lord?”
Jesus replied, “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. The Son of Man will go just as it is written about him. But woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man! It would be better for him if he had not been born.”
Then Judas, the one who would betray him, said,“Surely you don’t mean me, Rabbi?”
Jesus answered, “You have said so.”
While they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, “Take and eat; this is my body.”
Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will not drink from this fruit of the vine from now on until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.”
Reflection
I wonder if sometimes we don't see – or forget – or maybe don’t trust, the pure grace that both holy communion and human community are.
I’d like to share a few stories about communion with you – two about communion not realized, one about communion received.
One story is about a man named Allen who was a member – though not officially, of one of the first congregations I ever served. He was a good man -- soft-spoken, good-humoured, good husband and father, admired and well-liked by his neighbours. He was faithful in church, in “his pew” with his wife every Sunday. Except communion Sunday. Every first Sunday of the month, he was absent.
I didn’t think about it much, at first. People miss worship from time to time for all kinds of reasons.
When I noticed the pattern and talked with Allen about it, he made light of it, told me about a few things that had come up, and we changed the subject to something else. Later, though, in talking with his wife, I leaned that Allen didn’t come to communion because he didn’t think he was worthy of it.
Way back in his childhood his mother had latched on to what Paul says in I Corinthians, that “whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be answerable for the body and blood of the Lord. Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup … lest any of you eat and drink judgement against themselves.”
Whatever sins and unworthy behaviour his mother was trying to cure young Allen of, her misuse of those verses stuck and lodged deep in his conscience. Never left him. And never let him feel worthy to share communion with others.
Do you ever feel not worthy of communion? If so, when? And why?
Is worthiness an appropriate basis of communion together with God?
If so, who judges? And by what standard?
If not, what is the basis of communion together with God?
The second story is also about communion unrealized -- except this time not because of people feeling themselves unworthy, but because of what some people feel about the people they are invited to share communion with.
Some years ago I was attending a national UCC conference on the church and poverty. Some national church leaders were leading the event – lay and ordained persons active in a variety of social justice ministries and anti-poverty organizations and networks. There were also some non-church folks who belonged to organizations the church worked with. And there were people living in poverty, unemployed, at risk in different ways, who the church wanted to hear from, and involve in the conversation and planning.
The intentions were good. The conference went well for a while. Until the variety of lines that ran through the gathering began to show in different comments made, in different perspectives offered, in different attitudes unwittingly on display.
One line that appeared at some points was the one between privileged and non-privileged persons and groups. Another, between insiders and outsiders to the church and church language. Lines showed up at times between white European males and almost all women there. Between dominant and minority classes and cultures. And … what proved to be the biggest divide of all – the line between benefactors and the recipients of their charity, between those with power to make a difference in the world and those who were dependent on their good will and felt increasingly patronized rather than empowered.
The plan was to end the conference with communion, to celebrate our oneness in working together and with God to heal the world’s ills and divisions. But as we tried to talk our way towards communion, some felt more and more patronized, and the conversation got testy. Others felt more and more criticized, and the conversation got heated.
It became clearer and clearer that those with power did not really know how to let go of it, and share it. Which led to some angrily and loudly walking out of the hall we were in – refusing communion with people they no longer trusted to serve them and work with them as brothers and sisters, with people they now saw as part of the problem. Leaving the rest who were left behind feeling deeply broken and confused.
It makes me wonder about the ways and places today where communion with God and community with other people is being refused. Where some people or groups of people hive themselves off from the larger body, opt out of the general conversation, and refuse to engage in the common process – either retreating to their own little world, or forming splinter groups of indignant and angry dislike of “the people in charge.”
Who is your community? Who are you in community with? And not?
How is your community formed? How do you know who’s in, or out? What’s the purpose of the community you’re part of?
What is God’s idea of community? Of how it’s formed? Of who’s in, and who’s out? And of what community is for?
A third story is that of the Last Supper.
As an event – as a gathering and an experience of community, the Last Supper was as messy as any human gathering and community can be.
For one thing, even though it was the annual Passover meal that all Jews celebrated, the disciples made no plans for it. It fell to Jesus to make the arrangements and then at the last minute tell them what to do.
Then, when they got there and started sharing the ritual they all knew, what became most clear of all was not their deep and grateful unity as a people of God, but their dividedness, the fact that at least one of them would soon betray Jesus, questions about how faithful really any of them were, and deep disquiet all around within each of them.
Every disciple knew their own deep unworthiness and the capacity for betrayal they had tried to keep hidden, and it came out unbidden in their anguished little questions of “Surely not I?", Is it I, Lord?”, “Is it I?” And so on, all around the circle.
Every one also had reason now not to trust, to dislike, and not want to be in in communion with the others. Someone here will betray him! Maybe already has! They really shouldn’t be here! How can I sit at the same table with them?
Yet … what does Jesus do? Aware of the brokenness each one now feels in themselves, and of the jagged edges now between them, he takes the bread, breaks it (what a great image!), says this is his body broken for them, and shares it with all of them, telling them do this in remembrance of him and his love for them all. Then he takes a cup of wine, says this is his life poured out for each of them – a promise of God’s love for all of them, for "the forgiveness of sins" which is really just Bible-speak for the restoration of community, and he tells them all to drink of it.
The problems are not solved. The brokenness, not healed. But God’s love for each and all is revealed as the one and only sure basis of holy communion with God and human community with others in the world.
Holy communion is not something we earn by being good and worthy; it is a grace we are given in the midst of, and because of our unworthiness.
Human community is not something we enjoy when we’re with people we feel good about; it is a gift we are given when we allow ourselves to be with all other people that God loves as much as he does us.
May we know and continue to grow in communion with God and in community with all, because of – and only because of, God’s love for us all.
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