Traditions might be fixed
in our hearts but they tend to be quite malleable, changing over the course
of the time in which they are characterized as timeless and unchanging. The
liturgy for Maundy Thursday is one such example. Time was, not too long ago,
when this day was observed in commemoration of the institution of The Holy Eucharist—a
sort of birthday celebration for Holy Communion, complete with flowers and white
vestments. The problem, to the extent that there might have been a problem,
was that this celebration was coming at the end of Lent and in the middle of
Holy Week, feeling somewhat like a pre-Easter Easter which might obscure Good
Friday. Thus, when the liturgical reforms of the late 20th century were underway,
the church sought to recover an older sense of this day by focusing on Maundy
Thursday as the first day of Christian Passover—no flowers, no elaborate
ceremonial. However, the new problem that came with the changed liturgical framing
and reshaping of the tradition was that the wonderful, grace-filled fellowship
bonds of The Last Supper were very quickly overcast by the gathering clouds
and shadow of the cross, rendering the institution of The Lord’s Supper
as a prelude to the Crucifixion. Perhaps though, right about now, our Maundy
Thursday tradition is settling, at least for the time being, somewhere in the
middle: an expression of joy over God’s gift, with a sober realism over
the world to which and in which it was given to the first disciples and now
to us.
This evening, the love of Christ gathers us together. We rejoice and are glad
because where there is charity and love, God is there. These are the sacramental
marks of the church—charity and love—reaching out to those in need
and loving the other. On that night, because he knew he would only be with them
a little longer, Jesus desired to demonstrate charity and love in the midst
of a time that was heavy with stress, anxiety and fear (in the world, in that
very upper room where they shared the ancient Passover meal, and in the uneasy
hearts and troubled minds of his disciples). Jesus desired to share that meal
of charity and love, to be really present with those who would become church.
So, we are here, this evening, in reverence and love for the living God. Lifting
the cup and breaking the bread, we receive and we give shape to the body and
blood of Christ. The prayers offered with the bread and wine recall the night
he was handed over to suffering and death and call us into the New Covenant
of Christ, our Passover—Passover: a timeless tradition, changing in the
eternal moment. Tonight we celebrate this gracious gift of the institution of
his body and blood. We receive the blessing of bread and wine; and in, by and
through Christ’s Real Presence, we become—our flesh and blood becomes—bread
and wine for the world, until Christ comes again. Tonight we celebrate the first
Eucharist when Christ pledges himself to his followers, who in turn pledge themselves
as the Church—the Church as Sacrament to the World.
Christ is really present; and, thus, we are consecrated as the elements of Holy
Communion.
There is more. To show something of the depths of what this would mean, the
one who is Teacher and Lord excuses himself from table, crosses boundaries,
upsets convention, and disavows role divisions by becoming servant to his students
and subjects, in what would have been described by most observers as inappropriate
behavior. Yet, thwarted not, emptying himself of traditional religious privilege
and not being bound by social protocol, Jesus girds himself with a towel, bends
down, and washes the feet of his followers become intimate friends.
Tonight, as we commence our New Passover, we need ask ourselves a question.
If the church professes this servant role in the world, then shouldn’t
we be expressing this humility and diakonia/service with each other throughout
the entire church of Christ? When we continue reading in John’s gospel
account, we hear Jesus’ priestly prayer of dedication—that his life
and death are an offering to God and all humanity so all may be one as he and
God are one. As a result, we confess that God sends the Son into the world to
bring all people into communion. Well, we had better open up and confess all
we are doing to thwart communion. For since that first supper, the church which
is called to be One has insisted there is one reason after another for splintering
and fracturing in the name of being pure, or right or traditional. Scattered
in a diaspora of ideologies justified by denominational structuring, we invent
reasons for being apart faster than we can come back to our God-given senses
for being together.
God-given! Christ gives us God’s gift of peace; and what do we do with
it? We certainly do not play nicely and share. We are called to be messengers
as well as the message of peace, agents of reconciliation. However, instead
of washing each other’s feet, we Christians hit each other over the head
with the cross. How then can we purport to be God’s Sacrament to the world
if we are so impaired, so dysfunctional with each other, so broken? Of course,
we would have a chance if we all could admit we were broken. But, again, instead,
we have schism and rumors of schism, the so-called Anglican controversy being
but the latest in a 2,000 year-plus squabble over who started which fight.
Charity and Love! If we are really going to be the church, then nobody is going
to leave—nobody is going to separate out and no one is going to be kicked
out. For in Christ, there is no out. There is nothing but Christ, all in all.
Can’t get along with each other? Well, we cannot live without each other!
All the members count as part of the Body. Yet, lamentably, we discount each
other and we lose count of those in the world who need Christ, the church’s,
charity and love. As church, we need a vision and practice that humbly moves
us beyond naming and labeling adversaries as “the other” with whom
we can no longer put up. We need confess that, though we insist on not recognizing
each other, we do know (each one of us can see) that I cannot be everything
I am meant to be unless you too can become everything you are meant to be. As
Martin Luther King used to remind people, We are caught in an inescapable web
of mutuality. The Holy Spirit’s sinews of charity and love bind the Body
of Christ together, so that we might become one as God and Christ are one.
Not one of us, no individual person or church body, is called to be right or
true, and certainly not perfect. We are human beings hungry for the food that
feeds us, the care that shelters us, and the good sense to get along long enough
to see the wonder of the Christ with us. It is that simple but we contort the
body with all manner of trial and test. All the more reason to keep this feast
tonight: for Christ, knowing that he would be with his disciples but a bit longer,
offers two positions for those who would follow in his way—being at table
with each other and being on one’s knees in service with each other. These
are the sacramental marks of Christ’s Real Presence with the Church.
“Peace is my last gift to you, my own peace I now leave with you;
peace which the world cannot give, I give to you. I give you a new commandment,
that you love one another as I have loved you. Everyone will know you are my
disciples, if you have love for one another (cf. John 13 and 15).”
“Where there is charity and love, God is there…
…From a sincere heart, let us love one another” (from Ubi Caritas
et Amor by Maurice Durufle).
Amen.
©Thomas F. Reese April 9, 2009