.A Sermon by Reverend Cynthia F. Reynolds

Glen Ridge Congregational Church, Glen Ridge, New Jersey,

Preached on the 19th Sunday in Ordinary Time, (17August), 2008

In one of my New Testament classes at Seminary we had quite a discussion over the question: did Jesus realize he was starting a new religion? He was very much a Jew – was he trying to refocus, purify Judiasm – he was the Messiah the Jews had been waiting for, sent by God to bring the people back into relationship. We know that the term “Christian” didn’t come until after Jesus’ death and resurrection but that’s not something we often think of - I know that’s a new idea for the confirmation classes every year. That seminary discussion came back to me this week as I read and reread our gospel story for today and dealt again with the troubling aspects of it because it is a startling portrait of Jesus, isn’t it.
Jesus moves on Tyre and Sidon, on the Mediterranean coast northwest of the Jewish region where those called Pagans traditionally lived – already this is unusual because this isn’t Jesus’ normal locale . There was a long standing ethnic feud between the people of the Holy Land and the people of what we would now call Lebanon – not that different from today, is it. Jews would have nothing to do with Canaanites, pagans – and the very fact that Jesus, the faithful Jew, went into this territory ought to give us a clue that something important is about to happen.
This Canaanite woman who approaches Jesus is obviously desperate – and we can understand that. We know that a mother, a father, will do anything for their child – there are no boundaries when a child is sick – and nothing will stop a parent from doing everything they can to help their child. This woman knows that Jews will have nothing to do with Pagans – and she also knows that women just don’t ordinarily speak to strange men. But she bursts out of the crowd shouting: “Have mercy on me Lord, Son of David. My daughter is tormented by a demon.” The disciples encourage Jesus to send her away – we’re used to that response from them - protecting Jesus from the crowds, trying to insulate him from the demands that keep coming his way. Most of the time, though, he either ignores them or rebukes them, and goes about his preaching, teaching, healing, touching, in spite of the disciples’ objections. But not this time.
This time Jesus doesn’t respond. And that’s one of the most haunting scenes to me – his compassion has been shown over and over again – in feeding the 5,000; the multiple healings he does throughout his travels, his incredible listening skills. This lack of response just doesn’t fit.
Well, maybe Jesus’ human side is coming out here – he’s tired. He’s overwhelmed by need. I’ve behaved in disturbing ways when I’ve been overstressed and tired – I know that. But in the context of the times, his behavior isn’t so unexpected – but it is – it is to us.
Still the question - why didn’t Jesus answer her right away?
Maybe because she‘s a woman. Maybe because she was a pagan Canaanite. Maybe it’s no wonder that Jesus ignored her. She was way out of line and according to Jewish tradition, ignoring her would have been the correct behavior.
But these explanations don’t make sense though, based on what we know of other encounters Jesus has, especially with women. Remember that the longest conversation he has with anyone in the Bible, including those with his closest disciples, takes place with the Samaritan woman at the well. Other encounters Jesus has have shown us how radical his teachings are – so very counter cultural.
We do expect more of him than to conform to the expectations of society.
But then Jesus does speak and again, it’s not what we would ordinarily expect: he reminds the woman and the crowd that his mission is aimed only at the lost sheep of the House of Israel – the Jews. This is what the Messiah was expected to do – when the Messiah came he would reconstitute Israel and gather the scattered sheep. And this is what Jesus has been doing throughout Matthew’s gospel – but this too runs against our sensibilities, doesn’t it. We don’t think of Jesus considering some people as outsiders.
This woman doesn’t quit though – her daughter needs healing and she needs it now. Jesus’ response is stunning: he continues, it’s not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs. Children was a term of the time for the Jews. Dog was a term of the time for the others – for Gentiles like her.
But she takes his terms and throws them back at him – yes, Lord, but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.
Jesus appears to be amazed at her persistence – she’s not only a woman, but she is a woman arguing points of theology with a rabbi! And even more, she’s a gentile who supposedly knows nothing about theology. But she does know something about Judiasm – the cry “have mercy on me” is often found in the scriptures. And in using the term, “Son of David” she recognizes Jesus as the Messiah.
In the end, Jesus responds to her request and gives her what she wants – he heals her daughter. And he even says to her, “Woman, Great is your faith.”
What just happened here?
Maybe Jesus changed his mind – maybe his mind opened in a new way – so much so that the woman convinced him to help her in spite of everything the culture of the time demanded.
Maybe what happened is that Jesus learned a lesson.
Now, that statement can seem outrageous. We’ve been taught that Jesus is God. We’ve been taught that God doesn’t make mistakes, that God doesn’t have to learn anything.
Well, maybe we forget that Jesus was human too. We forget the great mystery of our faith that calls Jesus fully human, fully divine. We forget the passages of the Bible that show his humanity: he got hungry. He got thirsty. He was afraid. He got tired. He got angry. He felt all the emotions that you and I feel. Oh yes, Jesus had a divine nature that none of us have, but sometimes even Jesus struggled to get in touch with his divine nature. That’s why he could be tempted.
It’s almost as if Jesus is responding to this woman automatically – as he was expected to do – but then he suddenly stops and thinks, “Wait a minute – there’s something very wrong here.”
Right here in this story is the time when Jesus expands the circle – right here in this story is the time when we get a hint of his mission expanding to include all people – not just the Jews. “Great is your faith” he says to this woman. The gentile woman. The pagan woman. This is a remarkable statement – a radical statement. Just a few verses before in this gospel Jesus has been marveling at the lack of faith and understanding among his closest disciples – but this woman’s faith is in tremendous contrast to the lack of faith among those in Jesus’ inner circle. They don’t understand. But she does.
This Canaanite woman with all her pushiness seems to understand that the grace of God present in Jesus will not be limited by boundaries of who is deserving and who is undeserving, who is on the inside, and who is on the outside.
Jesus was able to overcome the biases and discrimination and limits built into his own society. And that’s not easy – ever. Overcoming the biases and discriminations of one’s time and society is one of the hardest things to do – because often we’re not even aware of them because they are built in to our culture. We grow up with them – we don’t know anything different. That is, until someone calls us on our restricted beliefs. And that’s what this persistent woman did for Jesus, when she said, even the dogs get the crumbs the children leave. Whatever crumbs there are to be had, this woman begs for them. She understands, better than the disciples, that Jesus is the source of help and hope and healing – and no matter how restricted the disciples or even Jesus might believe his ministry should be – she understands that Jesus is her only hope.
And she gets to Jesus. He’s stopped short. This is faith! There is no more powerful affirmation of the inclusive nature of God’s love nor the universal gift of God’s grace than in this story.
It seems to me that even Jesus had a mindset of “insiders” and “outsiders” – even Jesus has to overcome the biases of his time – this woman stretches Jesus to show us new heights of God’s love – a love that is unconditional of our appearance, sin, weakness, mistakes, gender, ethnicity, beliefs or anything else about us. And maybe for Jesus it’s partly because the “other” now has a face.
Jesus’ compassion shows a new dimension: his love and healing power are not just for the “insiders” – the Jews, the disciples who walk with him, but his love and healing power overflow, even to this outsider – this woman – this gentile. It doesn’t matter whether she’s Jew or gentile – her daughter is sick – she’s pleading for help. She’s a hurting person. And her daughter was healed – instantly.
Jesus’ mission is destined to go beyond the people of Israel – the insiders – and so is our mission if we truly want to follow Jesus, be like Jesus.
If Jesus struggled so with overcoming the limits, the biases, the discriminations of his society, it’s no wonder that it’s a struggle for us too!
God wants us to reach out in unconditional love to our neighbors too – no matter who they are – what they look like – what their abilities are – what their physical capabilities are. God knows that our society has limitations and God wants us to expand our circles too – God wants to intrude on us – God is looking for genuine hearts and open spirits to bring a message of love and hope to a hurting and broken world.
So, where do we start? Where do we start both as individuals and as members of Christ’s body, the church, no matter our congregational home.
Who are the Canaanites among us today? Who do we see as “other? Who do we modern Christians not welcome into our fellowship? What message do we send, knowingly or unknowingly, to the “others”, the Canaanites in our world.
And are we brave enough to look into the faces of those some might consider “other.”
I remember one time in Middlebury when I took a group of children and youth to the local food bank with van full of donations of breakfast cereals. As they unloaded them, they met some of the people who would receive them. I’d spent a sabbatical summer working in an inner city day camp there in Waterbury and some of the families I knew were there at the food bank that day – the Middlebury kids watched somewhat surprised as we joyfully greeted each other. When we left the food bank I took them to the local soup kitchen as well – and again, I was greeted by some of the guests. Finally one of the kids said to me, “You know these people? They all know your name! And you know theirs!”
All of a sudden the “other” had faces – the “other” had names. What these children and youth had been doing for many months collecting cereal took on a whole new meaning. And you know, our food collections increased steadily and continued to grow after this experience.
Our high schoolers who travel each year to the Youth Opportunties Service Project and feed the hungry on the streets of New York, in a variety of soup kitchens and food pantries – they have seen the faces and it’s changed them.
I am so looking forward to hearing the stories our South African missionaries will tell us in the weeks and months to come. Imagine the cultural and ethnic differences that challenged them. The stories I’ve heard so far about their experiences are breathtaking – what an opportunity for them and in turn for us to have our circles expanded!
It is easy for us to be caring at a distance. Writing checks to help other people in need is a good and vital thing to do – but maybe it’s easier because we don’t have to rub shoulders with the people we are helping.
But it’s by rubbing shoulders with our neighbors that we are changed – just as Jesus was changed when he really saw and heard and faced the “other”. But the woman teaches us too: yes, Jesus comes to us but we also must make that step of faith toward him and reach out.
The circle becomes bigger, doesn’t it. And the joy becomes deeper and more profound too. May we all open our hearts and open our Spirits to bring this message of hope and love to a broken world. Let’s make our circles bigger and bigger – together. Amen.

Let us pray:
Lord, you have reached out to us. You have called us to be your disciples. You have loved us and embraced us. This is why we are here this Sunday to praise and worship you.
But then, Lord, when you reach out to others, what then? It is fine for you to call us, to call our friends who sit beside us in church this morning. But you keep reaching out. You reach out to others whom we are hesitant to touch. You call those whom we would avoid. You love and embrace those who we keep at a distance.
Lord, give us the grace to praise you and to love you, not only because you have loved us, but because you have loved the whole world, have reached out over our boundaries to embrace everyone within the great expanse of your generous love. Help us to reach out and expand your circle. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

A Sermon by Reverend Cynthia F. Reynolds

Glen Ridge Congregational Church, Glen Ridge, New Jersey,

Preached on the 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time, (9August), 2008

Our gospel story continues today immediately following the feeding of the 5,000 – we remember that Jesus was in such pain over the death of his cousin, John the Baptist – and we can imagine all he wanted to do then was go off, be by himself, and grieve his loss but he couldn’t – the crowds followed him, pulled at him, clamored for his attention, wanted to be with him. And then comes the challenge of feeding them all – not just in spirit but body too. The miracle of the loaves and fishes.
Finally it’s over – Jesus disperses the crowds, puts the disciples on a boat, and sends them ahead of him to the other side of the Sea of Galilee. At last – he can be alone with his thoughts and he goes up on a nearby mountain to pray.

While Jesus is praying, the disciples are paddling. And it doesn’t take long for them to run right into a storm at sea – the wind blows against them. The waves crash around them. They struggle all night against the storm, paddling as hard as they can, trying to make it to the other side.
It’s 4:00 in the morning – they are cold. Wet. Exhausted. Afraid for their lives – maybe they won’t make it – it wouldn’t be the first time that a boat ventured across these waters, never to be heard from again. At this hour they’ve had just about all they can take. They’re so tired, battered, seasick – their hands are blistered from their struggle against the storm. It doesn’t look good.

But just then one of the disciples looks up and there amidst the mist and clouds he sees a figure coming closer on the dark and treacherous waves. As if the storm wasn’t scary enough, it looks like a ghost is walking toward them on the whitecaps.
Jesus senses their fear and quickly identifies himself – “Don’t be afraid – it’s me.” But they’re still not sure. So Peter speaks up, “Lord, if it’s really you, then tell me to walk on water with you.”
Now, is it just me or does that seem like a really strange request – I would have expected Peter to say something like, “Lord, if it’s you, then calm this storm.” After all Jesus has done that before – we remember earlier in the gospel of Matthew when the disciples are again on the boat in the Sea of Galilee – this time Jesus was with them – he was sound asleep in the boat when a storm came out of nowhere. The disciples thought they were going to die then too – but that time Jesus woke up, lifted his hands toward heaven, and said, “Peace – be still.” And everything was still.

But not the same this time - here they are – trying to steer a course into this storm all night – they’re tired – they’re cold – I would think Peter would have said, “Jesus if that’s really you, then make this storm stop.” But that’s not what he says, is it. He says, “If it’s really you, then tell me to walk on water with you.”
That’s certainly isn’t what would have occurred to me at all – if I’m in a boat being battered by waves, seasick, tired, soaking wet, cold, the last place I would think to ask is to go out of the boat into the water – much less onto the water. But when the ghostly figure comes walking out to them and identifies himself as Jesus, the first way Peter thinks of for him to prove it was to ask that he too walk on water.
Why? Why would this be the thing that Peter would ask of Jesus.
Maybe to understand Peter’s request, we have to understand a little about Jesus’ world – you see, Peter was Jesus’ commited disciple. When we think of the word disciple, we often think of it as student. When we think of the disciples, we think of the 12 people who sat at Jesus’ feet and listened to his teachings. We think of a disciple as someone who knows what the master knows.
But it’s more than that – a disciple wanted to DO what the teacher did. A disciple wanted to TALK like the teacher did. WALK like the teacher WALKed. A disciple devoted an entire lifetime to being just like the rabbi, the teacher.

So Peter is really being a good disciple when he asks to walk on water with Jesus. He wants to do what his teacher is doing. Because Jesus is walking on the whitecaps, Peter wants to as well.
But let’s pay attention to the fact that Peter just doesn’t jump out of the boat and start walking – he’s smart enough to know that if he’s going to do something as impossible as walking on water, it will be because Jesus calls him. And if Jesus calls him, it’s sort of understood that Jesus will make the impossible possible. Peter knows that if he just hops out of the boat onto the water on his own initiative, he will sink like a rock. But if Jesus calls him out of the boat to walk on the water, it will be as if he’s walking on solid ground. So Peter says, “Lord, if it is you, please call me to come to you on the water. Call me to do what you are doing. Call me to be like you.”

Now Jesus could say, “Are you kidding me? You know you can’t walk on water like me. Who do you think you are?”
But he doesn’t say that. Instead he says to Peter, “Come. Walk to me.”
It’s not the first time Jesus has called his disciples to do something that seems impossible. He’s already called his disciples to turn the other cheek if somebody walks up to them and slaps them in the face. He’s already called his disciples to walk two miles if someone asks them to walk but one. He’s already called his disciples to love their enemies and pray for those who persecute them. He’s already called his disciples to heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers – he’s already called his disciples to follow him wherever he goes – even to the cross. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise when Jesus honors Peter’s request and then calls him to do the impossible – ok, Peter come to me. Walk on that water.

Up until this point in the story, Peter has been the ideal disciple, hasn’t he – willing to take a risk, leave the boat, and try the impossible at Jesus’ command. He desperately wants to be like Jesus, no matter what. Even if it means jumping out into the unknown, walking across the deep and dark threatening waters. Peter is a great example of what to do.
But as is so often the case with Peter, at the same time he’s an example of what not to do. He’s bold. He hops out of the boat – takes a couple of steps on the water. But then the wind comes up again. Whitecaps break over his feet. He loses his nerve and begins to sink.
We can only imagine his fear as he cries out, “Lord, save me!”
And Jesus does – Jesus reaches down. Catches him. Pulls him into the boat. But even as he rescues him, Jesus scolds him a little: “You of little faith. Why did you doubt?”
Maybe Peter doubted himself. And who of us hasn’t had that experience – Peter and each of us have so much in common, don’t we. We want to be disciples – but we lose our nerve too.
Maybe Jesus is calling you, calling me, to do something impossible. But the wind has picked up and doubt is creeping in and we feel like we’re sinking.

Maybe you’ve jumped into the unknown and now you feel like you’re way in over your head. Or maybe you hear the call of Jesus to do some miraculous deed, but you’re too afraid to get out of the boat in the first place.

I know I’ve been there – many times. And so have many of you. It’s at those times when my prayer is, I can’t do this God. You have to. And God has never let me down.

I wonder if our missionaries to South Africa had moments of doubt too – leaving our comfortable lifestyle to do homestays in Black and Coloured townships – maybe there’s indoor plumbing, probably not; maybe there’s electricity, maybe not. Experiencing a life we can’t even imagine - Yes, it’s only for a couple weeks but I promise, it will be life changing for each of them and hopefully for the rest of us as we hear about their days and nights on this trip. Jesus has called them and they responded.

This week I got a call from a local funeral home to do a service for a man who hadn’t been in church for a long time – years. His widow and family just couldn’t bear to have any kind of memorial without a clergy person there – as we talked she told of experiences she’d had in churches in the past that had turned her away from organized religion. But in the storm of the death of her husband, she and her family yearned for a connection again – when I read the gospel story again this week I could envision Jesus reaching out to them, extending his hand, catching them and pulling them into the boat. It was a profound time indeed. Jesus has called them and they responded.

And then there’s the woman who decided to pick up and move her life to another part of the country – sure, she’s wondering about it, she’s anxious, but she, too, is taking Jesus’ hand and responding to that call.

We are all called, aren’t we. How do we respond?
How do we respond in the ordinary days of our lives? Because Jesus is calling us amidst our ordinary lives – sometimes stormy times, sometimes in what we might consider routine decisions.
Let’s all remember this: Jesus said, “You didn’t choose me. I chose you.” A teacher, a rabbi, doesn’t choose you unless he has faith in you. Yes, we should have faith in Jesus, listen for the call, respond to the call – but the extraordinary gift to remember is this: Jesus has faith in us.
Now, I know that being like Jesus might sound like an impossible goal. But Jesus would never call us to do something that he didn’t think we could do with his strength. He’s called us to be like him, to do as he does. Do you really want to be like Jesus? Peter did. So much so that he was willing to jump out of the safety of the boat on the raging sea.
Jesus can work with that. In fact, one time he told Peter, “You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church.”
And Jesus can work with us too – what a blessing, what a promise, what a joy – what grace we are given. Jesus has called us, both as individuals and as church. Let us respond with courage, joy, and thanksgiving for God’s amazing grace.
Amen.

Let us pray: Lord Jesus, you have called us to be your disciples. But we’re not sure why. Surely you could have found people who were brighter, sharper, and more gifted than we are. Being your church, carrying on your ministry, participating in bringing in your reign on earth as it is in heaven is no easy task. Often we doubt that we are worthy of such a calling. Rescue us from our doubt. Make us believe in your working in us and in each other. Amen.

A Sermon by Reverend Dr. Mary Louise Howson

Glen Ridge Congregational Church, Glen Ridge, New Jersey,

Preached on the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time, (2August), 2008.

As the chapter opens, Jesus has just heard that Herod has beheaded his cousin, John the Baptist. The only other person who understood his mission, who saw who he truly was, the one who had shared it with him, had been beheaded to satisfy a vengeful woman.

Such violence and venom turned on someone we love would shock all of us to the core. But not only was John beloved, he was also the only PERSON besides Jesus who had been chosen for this mission. Now Jesus is alone in a profound way. He has to be reeling and shaken to the core of his being – wondering what this God into whom he had poured all his trust was doing.

So – he withdraws from the crowds (to the other side of the Sea of Galilee) to have some time alone with God – to grieve, to pray, to get a hold of himself, to heal and to regain his bearings. We have all had a similar time, haven’t we, when the wound was so deep that we couldn’t catch our breath and the darkness was so thick that we had no idea how we would go on - a time when we know that we can no farther on our own strength alone.

So we can perhaps imagine how Jesus feels when he reaches the other side only to discover that the crowd was already there waiting for him: 5,000 men, not counting women and children because in those days women and children weren’t counted. So perhaps there were 10,000 people. They are hungry for him and would devour him if they could. They want teaching. They want healings. They want miracles. They want drama. They cannot be ignored. And he has nothing left. So Jesus offers to God all that he has, which is his brokenness and emptiness. And God blesses it and breaks it open so that the Spirit can pour through him to heal and teach just as the breath blows through a flute to release its music.

For the rest of the day he teaches and heals the sick. But that is not enough: he still is not done. Around dinner time the disciples come to him with yet another problem. They have investigated the situation and there is no food for these people – and no way to get it in such a remote place. Even today we can imagine the potential ugliness of 10,000 people stranded with no food when it is about to turn dark. So they suggest that he send them back home while there is still time.
Now if we think of our own humanity, we will recognize that when we are exhausted, overcome with grief, and questioning what God is doing, only to have those we trust and rely on bring us a critical and immediate crisis to be resolved, we are driven into an even deeper loneliness or sense of isolation. It is as if no one has any concern for us but only for what we can do for them.
So here he is, stretched to his limit and he responds, “You give them something to eat.” We don’t know how he said these words – with exasperation, exhaustion, disbelief, or to open them to the power of the life-giving Spirit. But we do know that he is asking them to handle it. They respond pragmatically - not with faith, but with fear of scarcity and lack of trust - that they have already checked and this entire crowd of 10,000 has only 5 loaves and 2 fishes. Obviously, it is not enough even to start a food riot.
They do not have enough. They know only scarcity. What they do not have and cannot obtain is their overwhelming and total reality. They cannot even think clearly enough to realize that 99% of all parents would bring food for their children – otherwise it’s a nightmare for the asking. Still they have no idea where to look. They cannot feed these people. All their resources are stunningly inadequate – and they know it. Yet they are caring, sensible men who understand their helplessness: 5 loaves and 2 fish are shockingly inadequate. And perhaps they also think that sending the crowds away would give Jesus a chance for the rest and prayer time that he so desperately needs.
Yet instead of dismissing the crowds, Jesus says to the disciples, “Bring the 5 loaves and 2 fish here to me.” He then receives them, blesses them, breaks them, gives them, and there are enough for everyone with 12 baskets left over. Just as he did with his own emptiness, he takes the scarcity that is all we have, offers it to God, breaks it open, and receives abundance which he then offers back to the givers.

Do you recognize these actions? Receives them
Blesses them
Breaks them
Gives them

These are the movements of communion. Normally only the presiders perform these movements. But today I’m going to ask you to make these movements with me – because this is the cruciform movement at the heart of our faith. It is the life of faith into which we are all called. And just as Jesus’ called the first 12 disciples to take their scare resources and open them to God, so he also calls us today.
For centuries, we have focused on the elements of the Lord’s Supper – the bread and the wine – as the substance through which all meaning and presence flow. We have forgotten the action. So think with me for a minute. There is a reason why the minister does not provide the bread and wine. The minister, too, is needy. It is not our wealth that is shared at the table but our neediness. Always it is others who offer the bread and the wine. In many churches they carry it forward and offer it to symbolize that all is a gift of God. And in that neediness lies our salvation because it cracks open our self-sufficiency and shows us the sacred scarcity that underlies it. For only when we turn to Christ and offer our insufficiency – place it in his hands to be blessed, broken, and poured out, do we open the emptiness of our lives to be filled by the abundance of God.

This, then, is what it means when the minister blesses the bread, breaks it, and offers it back to the people who then receive it.
Receive
Bless
Break open
Offer/Share

These are not just the actions of the Lord’s Supper. They are the very actions of Christian life. MAKE THE SIGN OF THE CROSS. Receive and Share. Every day we are called to follow the template of the Table. As members of the body of Christ, we, too, are called to share the gifts we have with others – to offer them to God for blessing, to break them open, and to share them. In fact, Paul says, that no gift is ever given for personal use but only for the good of the whole body.
Years ago a woman named Rosemary Turner wrote a piece entitled “To be Bread” that has been with me for most of my ministry. I want to close with that today.
TO BE BREAD

We are called to be bread – to be food – to be nourishment to others.
To be eaten bread has to be broken.
To be nourishing bread has to be broken.
We are bread in those times we give ourselves.
When tragedies hit our family or neighborhood and we give of ourselves ,
we are bread.
When we fight for big causes no matter what anyone does,
we are bread.
There are ordinary times when we give someone a compliment
when we have time for brothers and sisters,
when we are big enough to admit that we made a mistake,
in all these little things we are bread.
Jesus took bread, broke it, and gave it to his friends.
And then Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me.”
We can be many things in life: civil engineers, parents, nurses, teachers, lawyers, secretaries, homemakers.
We can also be bread.
Bread which is broken as life for others,
bread whose very life is handed out.
It is our bread that Christ wants to multiply,
it is our bread, our life, our work which Christ wants to fill with his love
and to give as food to others.
Bread is the sign of our calling.
Will we be God’s bread?
Will we be communion for one another?
Will we be the Body of Christ?

A Sermon by Reverend Dr. Joseph David Stinson

Glen Ridge Congregational Church, Glen Ridge, New Jersey,

Preached on the 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time, (27July), 2008.

“Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had
been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.” ~Luke 24:35

The fourth in a series of four sermons on the Lord’s Supper: ‘Come Stay with Us.’

Today’s is the final installment in the series. I will talk about the story that has given us our title for these sermons, Come Stay with Us. In previous weeks I discussed our unity at the table, the way Christ is hidden yet present in the sacrament, how the Lord’s Supper is the center of belief and worship, and how the symbols of communion spoke to Christians and Jews of the First Century. Each week I have spoken about this story of the two disciples on the first Easter on the road to Emmaus with a mysterious stranger. Today I direct your attention to that narrative, because clearly by means of it Luke wanted to tell a communion story. I also want to explain the reasons for my insistence that we all come forward, stand and sing together around the table these summer Sundays. Before I do that, I discuss one more preliminary. I must debunk a modern notion, that repetition of a rite minimizes its meaning and importance. I take issue with that and will point out how significant rituals are in our faith life.

Some say communion is only a ritual. In some ways, this is the most insidious challenge to the Lord’s Supper. First, we must take note that everyone has rituals. Low church or high church: all of us have habitual ways by which we approach God. I remember a woman who had not been to the Congregational Church in years came and visited ours. She told me how good it felt to see it was still the same: the Doxology, the Lord’s Prayer, the Gloria and the hymns! Even if we think we are not liturgical, we do have established ways of approaching God in our minds and hearts. When we are in a different church where ritual is different, our minds are distracted from the object of worship. We worry about what to do next. Ritual frees us to get closer to God by regularizing our approach.

Someone says an act like communion loses meaning if repeated too often. Not true. Do you stop saying “I love you” to your family because not saying it often makes it more meaningful? In moments of deepest need, at a graveside or hospital bed, we want the old rituals, the words of the Lord’s Prayer and Psalms. The meaning is applied not by us but by the source, by our established familiarity with a tradition and by our community of faith. Meaning is not altered by repetition. Indeed, meaning grows when a rite is done so often that it becomes second nature and internalized. Repetition frees our minds of the worries and distractions of the superficial. Repetition may even reveal new levels of meaning to us that otherwise we miss.

It is clear that the earliest Christians broke bread on Sunday each week. As I told you last week, the Lord’s Supper was essential for what they believed worship to be. Now they also believed in sermons and prayers. They did all of it every Sunday. “As often as you do this, do it in remembrance of me.” This was their mandate. Only later did the Lord’s Supper become confused by fear, misunderstanding, too much rationalism and superstition. Then the laity began to stop receiving the supper regularly. The Reformers came along during this time and often themselves had this limited understanding of their age. The supper was pushed off to a rare and peripheral role in worship. In its place the sermon became the center of Protestant worship. The infrequency argument was marshaled to preserve communion’s meaning. But in an unintended consequence of infrequency, the church itself lost much of the meaning of its worship. Scholars now believe this was a serious mistake. To be true to Jesus, we need to rediscover the meaning and place of the Lord’s Supper. This is not done by preaching alone but by pairing teaching with regular communion. To ignore it or to put it in a quiet and optional corner is neither apostolic nor healthy for the church. When we ignore communion, we start thinking it all depends on us, not on God’s gift in Christ. Then all manners of distortion find their way into theology, ecclesiology and worship. The sermon was never intended, nor can it carry the weight of being the center of worship. Frankly, few can preach like Paul. But the Lord’s Supper communicates every time, regardless of the eloquence of the parson, or the cleverness of human leadership.

Now in the Emmaus story you see how this teaching unfolds. On the road with a person they did not recognize and certainly did not expect to see that afternoon, they discussed the death of Jesus and how they had hoped he would be the one to redeem Israel. The stranger mesmerized them with his learning in Torah and the Prophets. He led them through the entire Old Testament, explaining to them how it was necessary that the Messiah should suffer. This was preparation for their communion recognition that followed. They had to understand the Scriptures before they could meet Christ in the supper that night. Their invitation to the stranger when they arrived at the door of the inn was not a throwaway line. “They urged him strongly, saying, ‘Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is nearly over.’” That petition ought to be, as Pope John Paul II said, the prayer of every generation in the church. Invited, the stranger did stay. That night as he sat with them at table, “he took bread, blessed and broke it and gave it to them,” their eyes opened and their jaws dropped. The stranger was Jesus! How could they have not seen it before? They thought back—‘remembered’—how on the road their hearts burned within them as he explained the Scriptures. Yet they did not see him, until the moment at the table. In an interesting detail in Luke’s story, just at that moment, Jesus vanished from their sight. Perhaps this means though we discover him at this table, we do not control his presence. He has other people to see and other miracles to perform. He is not our private chaplain, at our beck and call. But come he does and the faithful church always seeks his presence at this table.

One other detail in the story: as soon as the two realized what had happened they did not remain by themselves. They got up from the table at the inn and rushed immediately back to Jerusalem to tell the others what had happened. They ran to be with the church, with those who had become like a large family for them. They were all gathered in the upper dining room in Jerusalem where he had originally broken bread with them the night before his death. On arrival, the two from Emmaus discovered other disciples had seen the risen Jesus, too. These two told their story and before the account of teaching on the road and breaking bread was complete, Jesus himself appeared again to them all. I say ‘again.’ It is important his appearance was in the same place where the Last Supper occurred. They went there again and again after his death because the central place for all families and homes is the table. At dinner, in the conversation and the breaking of bread, the family is formed, relationships are secured, agreements are made, teaching by example happens. This table like the table of any family was key to the identity and purpose of the early church. It was where they met him and knew him. It was for those early disciples, and it is for us as well.

Now, I asked you each week during this series to gather around the table as if it is a table and not a piece of quaint ecclesiastical furniture. Here we remember the words and prayers of communion. Here we sing hymns and are served communion. At the end, I go around and shake everyone’s hand and exchange greetings all families share. What have I been trying to do these four weeks? I sought to reestablish in our minds that we are members of Jesus’ family. Like all families we have lately had our share of disagreements. Some would prefer not to have so much intimacy and not to know so much about one another’s political views. Yet we are here together because in his wisdom and mercy Jesus called us to be part of his family. The one symbol of our relationship is gathering around his family table. That is the reason I called you together each week in July. That is what I hope you will remember from my teaching on the Lord’s Supper. We are his family, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins. Some cannot fathom the differences among us. Others cannot but be amazed that we are together.

As they came near to [their destination], he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is late and day is nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him.

Lord Jesus, come, stay with us.

End Communion The Family of God #4.DOC

A Sermon by Reverend Dr. Joseph David Stinson

Glen Ridge Congregational Church, Glen Ridge, New Jersey,

Preached on the 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time, (20July), 2008.

When I was the minister at the Congregational Church in Boothbay Harbor, Maine, a new neighbor moved in across the street from the parsonage. Pam DeWitt started coming to church and bringing her three children to church school. In time, I talked to her about joining our congregation. She was there every Sunday and seemed completely happy with the church school for her children. But she hesitated when I asked her to join. Pam had grown up in the south in the Church of Christ. That is a very evangelical church which believes it has restored the pattern of church life of the New Testament. Her little church practiced baptism by immersion, had communion at every service and sang all the hymns a cappella, as they believed the ancient church did. It was not the more liberalized view of faith in our congregation that made Pam hesitate to join. Rather, she told me, there was something different in the congregation itself compared with her home church. What was it and why did it seem so significant? After talking we both decided the centrality of the Lord’s Supper in her old church was what made the difference. Why would that make a difference in the quality of the fellowship? First, because communion intentionally calls Christ into the church’s life. Second, because the message of the supper is the central message of our faith, not ‘the wisdom of the world.’ In the Congregational Church with its emphasis on the sermon not communion, the church is at times like an ethical society, meeting each week for a morals lecture on how to be a better person or how to make society a better place. Sermons played a big part in her little home church, too, but the centrality of communion each Sunday focused the congregation on the act of Christ for us and away from what we do for Christ. It is perhaps a small thing, but in Pam’s mind, it had a profound impact upon the quality of the fellowship, upon the members and their faith.

(1) Let us look at the assertion that the Lord’s Supper reflects the main point of our faith. Christianity was different from the other religions of the Hellenistic world. Many Pagan cults presumed that people could know God and plumb the depths of spirituality by human searching and striving. This is what St. Paul called ‘the wisdom of the world.’ Its foundation is the central importance of the human mind, action, philosophy and religion. Christianity starts from the opposite side. Humans may presume many things, but God will not be known by human efforts and actions, except that God should condescend and reveal God to us. This is the core teaching of our faith. This perspective is most clearly demonstrated in the cross. The cross is the very opposite of the wisdom of this world. It is not symbolic of human achievement, mastery, cleverness. The cross symbolizes, rather, the failure of human-centered philosophy and religion. It teaches the necessity of God’s self-revelation, that God must (and did) come down to us. We did not ‘go up to God.’ On the cross, even when rejected, God used human mistakes and treachery as occasion for revelation and grace! The message of the cross in pageant form is remembered in the ritual known as the Lord’s Supper. Christ comes to us! Given this fact Christ’s coming, here is what we understand about our faith:

• We know that God loves us enough for his Son to die for us.
• We know God wants a new relationship with us.
• We know that those who return to God will become part of God’s family, the church, and have eternal life in the Kingdom of God.
• We know we must live lives of virtue, reflecting God’s image in our behavior and morals.

Do you see the way these core principals of our faith are conveyed in Christ’s cross and the Lord’s Supper?

Do you also see that when Christians forget this central point of our faith and its derivative doctrines, we also lose the key to our belief, our understanding of God and our place and purpose as a church? When human presumption begins to take priority over divine grace, all sorts of distortion emerges. Humans attempt to become like gods not creatures we are supposed to be. We begin to question our need for salvation. Why even speak about sin, grace, redemption? What need had Jesus to die for us, seeing as we are as smart and as good as we think ourselves to be? These are the distortions we begin to think are true!

In the early church, right through the middle ages, the faith (focused on the cross) made communion the primary locus of liturgy. Teaching from the pulpit coupled with the sacrament and coming around the table to remember Christ, centered people in the faith. Yes, there were always misunderstandings. But the meaning of the supper is not given by us. It comes from Christ. When Christians gather around a table and remember that last night, when the loaf was broken and shared and the cup was poured for disciples, when confession and prayers are said, when forgiveness is assured and hope and salvation are promised, well, the message is clear. Maybe it is because the communication is not merely at the cognitive level. In the sacrament emotions and physical senses are also involved. I don’t know. It seems the act has been overanalyzed already. All I know is that it works.

(2) Now let me turn to the question of Christ’s presence in communion. This is an issue over rationalized. On the basis of Christ’s words at the Last Supper, it is hard to argue for a mere ‘symbolic’ presence. He did not say, “This symbolizes my body.” He said, “This [broken loaf] is my body.” Instead of the usual explanations of how this can be, I want to borrow a way of speaking from Paul in his Letter to the Colossians—Christ is hidden in the supper, in the same way Christ is hidden in disciples. He wrote, “For you have died, and your life is hid with Christ in God.” Look at two people who have many similarities, yet one has the spirit of Christ. The bodies are almost the same, but one is different. They may even live in the same house and have all the same DNA and experiences. Yet one is different. Why? It is the indwelling of Christ that distinguishes the two. Faith can perceive this difference, though it is hidden from most people. On a biological or even sociological level, the difference is imperceptible. In the same way the bread and wine of communion become more than bread and wine. In the context of Christ’s sacrifice, his words and our faith together in a congregation, the sacrament becomes an outward sign of an inward grace. Christ comes to stay with us. To say Christ is hidden does not mean that Christ is not ‘really’ present. The inward reality is just as important in a person as the outward reality, and the same is true of the Lord’s Supper. Christ is ‘hidden’ in the bread and wine, in the same way he his hidden in his disciples. What is inside the disciple is real, every bit as real as eye color, skin tone, height or weight. What is inside comes to reality, often in more important ways than what is outside. To understand how Christ is present in the Lord’s Supper stretches our language. But faith perceives his hidden presence. Thus, we believe, Christ does come to us—we meet him here, around this table. Not only is he known to us in the breaking of the bread, but here we encounter him: a life-giving presence, creating from us a fellowship of disciples, calling us to be his workers in the world.

So, today: two things relating to the Lord’s Supper. First, I spoke about how this ritual is at the very center of our faith, and is a primary way we focus in worship on Jesus and his Gospel. Second, I spoke about our text in Colossians 3 and how we might affirm that Christ does come to us really in communion. Yes, he is hidden but faith perceives him here among us. I invite you to join him now at this table. It is not enough just to think about this mystery. Let us jump into it, wholeheartedly and together!

End

A Sermon by Reverend Dr. Joseph David Stinson

Glen Ridge Congregational Church, Glen Ridge, New Jersey,

Preached on the 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time, (13July), 2008.

“The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not participation in the blood of Christ? The bread which we break is it not communion in the body of Christ?” ~St. Paul, 1Cor. 10:16

The second in a series of four sermons on the Lord’s Supper: ‘Come Stay with Us.’

This is my second sermon in the July series, “Come Stay with Us.” The title comes from the first Easter, the story of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. You remember they asked the stranger who had walked and talked with them on the way from Jerusalem to “stay with us” when they reached the inn. That evening, in the breaking of the bread, coupled with the stranger’s teaching from scripture on the road, their eyes were opened and they recognized the stranger was Jesus. “Come Stay with Us,” is the prayer of every generation, and the place we encounter him is at this intersection of word and sacrament, pulpit and table. I began reading to you part of a free verse poem-prayer written by the late Pope John Paul II, for the Easter just before his death. Let me read you a few more verses of that same poem sharing the title of our series:

The Word and the Bread of the Eucharist
… we, too, repeat those words:
Jesus, crucified and risen, stay with us!
Stay with us faithful friend and
sure support for humanity
on its journey through history!
Living Word of the Father,
give hope and trust to all who are searching
for the true meaning of their lives.
Bread of Life, nourish those who hunger
for truth, freedom, justice and peace.
Stay with us, Living Word of the Father,
and teach us words and deeds of peace:
Peace for our world consecrated by your Blood
and drenched in the blood of so many innocent victims:
Peace for the countries of the Middle East and Africa,
Where so much blood continues to be shed;
Peace for all humanity still threatened by fratricidal wars.
Stay with us, Bread of eternal life,
broken and distributed to those at table:
Give us also the strength to show generous solidarity
Toward the multitudes … suffering and dying ….
By the power of your resurrection,
May they too become sharers in new life.
… Stay with us now and until the end of time.

+ + +

There was a peculiar idea in the religious mind of St. Paul’s age. Part of it might be reflected in a saying we use today, “You are what you eat.”

In Asia Minor in the First Century, animal sacrifice was a primary means of worshipping the gods. The Jewish people also participated in this at their Temple in Jerusalem. Often the meat from sacrifices to the gods was eaten later by the worshipper, the priest or sold to someone in the market that day. Paul drew on this belief when he wrote these words in 1Corinthians 10:16. It remained a vexing problem for Christians in cities like Corinth where so much of the meat available at the agora came from temple sacrifices. Was it safe for Christians to eat food sacrificed to idols? Moreover, early Christians were frequently invited by Pagan business associates and neighbors to participate in feasts featuring meat from sacrifices.

Suppose you were a Pagan and wanted a special favor from the gods. If you were able to afford it, you purchased a sacrificial animal—a calf, a goat or a lamb—and took it to your temple. After the sacrifice a portion of the animal was returned to you and you held a feast at your house. Common belief was that the god himself (or goddess) was a guest at your feast. Moreover, the god was ‘in’ the food itself. When the meat was eaten the god entered the bodies of those invited to your feast. When any two people in the ancient world ate together, a close bond was established between them. When a sacrificial meal was consumed, a bond was similarly forged between the worshippers and the god. Consequently, the Apostle cautioned, Christians must take care about which table, which altar they frequent.

Of course, the Lord’s Supper for Christians is also a sacrificial meal. However, in our communion meal we remember the sacrifice Jesus offered once and for all to gain for us the grace of God. We remember his death, resurrection and promise to come again by participating in the Lord’s Supper. Paul was clear that by eating at this table we gain oneness with Christ. That is, Jesus, the unseen guest now enters our lives at the supper. He is in what we eat, and when consumed, he goes into us—spiritually and physically. The many who eat at this table become the body of Christ, his church. Christ comes and stays with us. He comes into us and becomes our companion and guest from then on. But more: when we return to our homes he is still our unseen guest at family meals. He is the unseen guest at our lunches, at work or school. He is our unseen guest at parties and social outings. Being at each of these other tables of our lives, we must welcome and honor him. Paul went on to caution the early Christians:

You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons.

Now let us not get bogged down with the demons Paul spoke of. Let us just say that more often than we care to admit, we allow demonic unseen guests into our family meals, our business lunches, our nights out—sometimes more often than we allow the Lord. Paul’s obvious point is that when we participate in the communion meal of the church, Christ becomes a traveling companion. If we take him to our homes where he is not welcome, if we take him to parties where he is not desired, if we take him to a job scene antithetical to his values, well, obviously we ask for trouble, certainly a kind of schizophrenic hypocrisy. To Paul’s way of thinking, we will have betrayed the sacred bond which Christ forged between us and him at the cross and at the supper. Sometimes, it is good that we cannot see our guest because upon leaving some of our regular haunts and pursuits, I would hate to see the expression on his face! I know when he hears our conversations with friends, especially the many which invoke his name, he must wear a look of anguish.

Paul says, “You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons.” Now if this sounds melodramatic and over exaggerated to you, I suggest you begin to think about your life a little more carefully. Paul’s table of demons referred to the sacrificial table at the Temple of Aphrodite on Acrocorinth. In our day, we may be tempted to think it refers to a rival church, but it is rather something more subtle, more insidious, more ‘everyday.’ If ‘table of demons’ sounds terribly old fashioned and out of step with your philosophy, then you are probably a prime candidate for Paul’s reprimand.

Paul believed that to partake of this supper is to allow the body and blood of Christ to enter us and our lives. Obviously, the supper is not to be taken by those who do not share the Christian faith. For Christians to take the supper is to ‘participate,’ to ‘commune,’ to have ‘koinonia’ in Christ’s life, his loves, his hopes, his sacrifice for us. To be invited to such a communion is tantamount to becoming Christ’s partner. Now we may at times forget he is with us, and at times we may wish he were not with us, but for the person who regularly communes at this table, who is part of the church—his body—we do not even have to invite him. He will be here, over our shoulders, supporting us when we need support, befriending us when lonely, correcting us when we need correction, and, of course, loving us always.

The cup of blessing which we drink, is it not communion in the blood of Christ? The bread which we break is it not communion in the body of Christ?

To partake of this supper is to receive Christ not just in a religious sense, but also into the everyday world of living. He comes to us an unseen guest here but always with us. He is not just in church, but also in our everyday relationships and events, like eating bread with friends, like having a cup of coffee at work. Christ is just so ‘unreligious’ as to become a guest of our families with all their inner friction, a guest at our workplaces, boredom or excitement, a guest in our conversations with friend and foe. “Because there is one loaf, we who were many are now one.”

Next Sunday I will speak about “Hidden in Christ.” I will look at Colossians 3 for clues about what it means to say Christ is actually present in the supper.

End

A Sermon by Reverend Dr. Joseph David Stinson

Glen Ridge Congregational Church, Glen Ridge, New Jersey,

Preached on the 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time, (7July), 2008.

The first in a series of four sermons on the Lord’s Supper: ‘Come Stay with Us.’

Pope John Paul II in the last days of his life wrote a poem about the Lord’s Supper, quoting the two on the road to Emmaus who asked Jesus upon arriving at their inn, “Come stay with us.” He penned the poem on Easter Sunday, March 7th, 2005, less than a month before his death. I begin this series of July sermons with a portion of his poem:

Mane nobiscum, Domine!
Stay with us, Lord!
With these words, the disciples on the road to
Emmaus invited the mysterious Wayfarer
to stay with them, as the sun was setting
on that first day of the week
when the incredible had occurred.
According to his promise, Christ had risen;
but they did not yet know this.
Nevertheless, the words spoken by the Wayfarer
along the road made their hearts burn within them.
So they said to him: “Stay with us.”
Seated around the supper table,
they recognized him in the ‘breaking of bread’
—and suddenly he vanished.
There remained in front of them the broken bread,
there echoed in their heart the
gentle sound of his words

Dear brothers and sisters,
the Word and the Bread of the Euchar