More Than A Meal

Long time, no post. Sorry about that! How about a sermon for now?


Gospel: John 6:56-69
Jesus said, 56 “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. 57 Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. 58 This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.” 59 He said these things while he was teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum.   60 When many of his disciples heard it, they said, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” 61 But Jesus, being aware that his disciples were complaining about it, said to them, “Does this offend you? 62 Then what if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? 63 It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life. 64 But among you there are some who do not believe.” For Jesus knew from the first who were the ones that did not believe, and who was the one that would betray him. 65 And he said, “For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted by the Father.”   66 Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. 67 So Jesus asked the twelve, “Do you also wish to go away?” 68 Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. 69 We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.” 


We are now at the fifth and final week of our Summer Sermon Series on “More Than a Meal” and you will notice that once again we hear instructions from Jesus on communion. Jesus says that those who eat his flesh and drink his blood will abide in him and he will abide them. Quite a promise, but one that our entire community is based in. Think about how we share a meal. The very act of sharing communion means that we are in community together. We are breaking bread and inviting people to dine with us.

Well, many of you know that I got married on August 1st, about three weeks ago. It was pretty amazing and I keep remembering different pieces of the day. One that really stands out is having communion. We had an amazing church service with wonderful music, with a laying on of hands, a blessing from Pastor Scot, and a sending song that had to be “A Mighty Fortress is our God.” We had at least a dozen Lutheran pastors present, after all.

But communion was incredible. Brendon and I helped distribute so we walked up after Pastor Dara said the words of institution and invited everyone to the table at which God was host. Then we were fed a piece of bread from one large loaf. We carefully dipped it in some wine and we ate. Then Brendon and I, along with our pastor and best man (who is also a pastor), turned around to feed everyone else who was present. This was a pretty powerful thing, seeing my immediate family come up first. “Body of Christ broken for you, dad. Blood of Christ shed for you, mom.” Then my extended family, those aunts and uncles and cousins who had traveled to celebrate with us. Then friends who have become like my family. Friends I shared college dorm rooms with, friends I worked with at Starbucks, children that I have known from their birth, neighbors. And I got to feed them. “Body of Christ broken for you, neighbor. Blood of Christ shed for you, friend.”

Powerful. Our first meal as a married couple was not at the reception (though our Mac and Cheese Bar was a hit), it was at the church. After we said our vows and exchanged our rings, something richer was placed in our hands. Our first meal together was communion. And we shared it with our dearest friends and family. Well, it would be more accurate to say that God shared it with us. It was a celebration of the love that Christ has shown to Brendon and me and to all of our family, to all people.

But we already know that communion is a celebration of that incredible love that God has for us. We already know in a big, vast sense that this is so much more than a meal. It is an invitation into a community, a family, a way of doing things that does not always make sense but is where Christ is present not just despite our flaws and errors and hypocrisy, but because our God has shared life with us. Molded us in that beautiful image of God. Welcomed us into a family that is bigger and wider and greater and more complicated and beautiful than we could ever imagine. You are a part of it all.

What is that wonderful Groucho Marx line? “I DON'T WANT TO BELONG TO ANY CLUB THAT WILL ACCEPT PEOPLE LIKE ME AS A MEMBER.” This was as he was handing in his resignation to a club that had added him. Well welcome to the church!! Thank God it is not a club or none of us would be allowed in. And if you want to get really technical, the church was absolutely off its rocker to welcome you, with your mistakes, with your shame, with your future out ahead of you, full of missteps and errors in judgement. But you were welcomed in. A sinner, full of sin, continuing to sin.

No one ever said the church was rational. We could never say that God chose the best and brightest characters every step of the way. There are some absolutely messed up characters in our history. Even our beloved Martin Luther said some unpleasant things about women... and peasants…. and our Jewish brothers and sisters. That does not discount his amazing contributions to our faith, but those statements are there. Is it not a little strange that when we find out something bad thing about a person, part of us immediately seeks to discount ALL of them? If you watch a kid’s movie, you are likely able to point out who the hero and the villain are within the first ten minutes. Sometimes, there is a twist and the handsome prince is actually a bad guy in disguise. And to my dismay, it is the red heads that are more often the bad guys. Thanks, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles!

My point here is that though we all have a tendency to act like the good guy, we are often the bad guy, the villain. If we kept score cards on ourselves, how would we fare? What sins do we still have to atone for? What mistakes have we made that we can never discuss because we are so ashamed? We have, all of us, parts of ourselves that we do not like, that we would prefer to carve out and leave behind.

But Jesus, who plays host to the meal of communion that we share says that you are welcome to come forward and eat and drink. Each of us are welcomed into that very presence of Christ, invited to partake of the magnificent feast. Even YOU are given a place at this table. Told that Christ knows about every single piece of your baggage: the shameful, humiliating, embarrassing, humbling, sinful parts of you. Your entire self is welcomed to come to the table. There is no limit on when you are allowed to come forward. No line of merit that you have to meet before you are able to pass muster and be acceptable at this table. You come as you are, now, full of sin and aching for grace.

There should be, at this point, some feelings swimming around in your gut like gratitude, humility, thankfulness, and a touch of unworthiness. That’s good. I want that there. Because with those feelings still pulling on your heart, I want your brain to begin thinking about every person that you would refuse to sit next to right now. You can think about it very specifically and imagine where you are at this moment. Who would you not allow in the pew next to you? Who, if they were sitting near you, would make you squirm and feel uncomfortable? And I want you to think about all the silly, shallow embarrassing things, too. Maybe you don’t want to sit next to a toddler in worship. Or near someone who has a strong smell, be it unpleasant or a touch too much perfume. What about someone who has made a choice you disagree with? Someone who’s name just got published with Ashley Madison for seeking an affair? Someone with a criminal background? Someone who got drunk last night and might still be hungover?

I’m right there with you. I would have a hard time sitting next to someone who hates female pastors, someone who has ever hurt a child, or someone who just had a cigarette and still smells strongly of that cigarette smoke. I likely would not refuse to sit next to them, but I would be uncomfortable, that’s for sure. Here’s the truth: as humans, we have preferences. We judge. We make evaluations based on the information we have at hand. On a practical level, this helps us find friends and it also helps us to avoid danger, by deciding what people around us might intend us harm. It helps us navigate social situations and our surroundings. It is a natural part of our being.

The tricky part about this evaluative lens on our brothers and sisters is that we also tend to rely on it when we decide who belongs and who does not. When we decide who to start a conversation with in the Emmaus room, or who to sit next to in church. It plays into whom we invite to come worship or volunteer with us. It plays into how we view our homeless or poor neighbors, deeming them worthy or unworthy based on our own criteria. It plays into how we approach folks who do not speak English as their first language, how we few people of other sexual orientations or gender identities, and how we view our returning combat veterans. It plays into every aspect of our lives.

As your pastor, as your sister in Christ, I’m here to tell you just how utterly and horribly wrong you are. Our criteria holds absolutely no merit. We think that our criteria for deciding who is worthy is just fine, is acceptable, is agreed upon. We don’t understand why it holds no weight with Christ. We want to point to scripture like it could supersede Christ as host at this table, welcoming everyone that we do like alongside those we love. Remember, Christ had this really strange habit of socializing with all the wrong people. The people that made the “church people” uncomfortable. People who collected taxes on their neighbors for “the man.” People who sold their bodies for sex to survive. People without homes. People with diseases that were contagious and unsightly. Jesus was there. Yes, he was in the worship space, but he was more often out on the streets, breaking bread with everyone unfit to be inside.

 Jesus takes your criteria, my criteria and throws it up on the cross. Spills his blood upon the nails we churn out every time we pass judgement on a brother or sister and deem them unworthy or worthy to be in this place. Takes our petty arguments, our discomfort, our entitlement and says, YOU ARE FORGIVEN. Come to the table. Sit next to me. Sit next to that same brother or sister you just refused to sit next to a moment ago. And pass the wine around. Take this bread, that is my very body. Remember that it has been broken for you. This meal we share is a meal of forgiveness. A meal of reconciliation. A meal of welcome.

We are not worthy to be at this table. Not you. Not me. No one. And yet, that is the very magic of grace, a gift that we could never earn, but are given. We could never pay it back. Never earn the right to sit at the table with Christ. We cannot UN-spill the blood we drink that comes from Christ. We are never able to understand the mystery completely but we can see that this meal is so much more than a meal. It is a peace pipe, our end to starvation, a way to cut through all the hatred and misunderstanding in the world, and it’s a way home.

And when Jesus asks us if we want to go away, perhaps we respond with desperation like Simon Peter, “Oh Lord, where would we go? To whom? It is you that continue to share words that are life. And not just life, but everlasting life. Life abundant. You are our holy Lord. We will walk with you.”

Like the disciples, we cry that we do not understand this difficult teaching. We don’t understand how bread and wine could be body and blood, could be shared in churches of every denomination throughout the world on Sunday mornings and in every other hour of the day around the world, could be a meal that we share with the saints who have gone before us and the saints who have yet to be, how it can take such a miserable sinner like ourselves and still fill our bellies with bread and wine and our lives with Christ.

Communion, the Eucharist, this bread is the very stuff that binds us together. It isn’t just some wheat and grapes, it is our community spirit, our common life blood, our manna, our breath, our body of Christ. There is an open seat beside you. Not so you can have more elbow room, so you feel comfy, but so you will go out and find someone to fill it. Someone to sit beside you at this incredible feast that has the power to change lives and bring life. To take the very person that you do not understand and say, come sit with me at the table. We will go together. Come just as you are. God takes us both, just as we are. Come and feast with me, it is so much more than a meal and you are welcome.