Remember

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

April 17, 2014 (Maundy Thursday) • Portage First UMC

The day was over and the evening was quite pleasant, but it wasn’t the weather that had him in such a good mood. Tonight was the night they would gather and celebrate. He made his way through the city streets of Corinth to the home of their hosts, a very spacious home by Corinthian standards. That was why they met there, because as the group had grown, they needed more space to be able to all be together. This home was perfect. Most of the group could gather in the central courtyard, which was partially open to the sky, and others would spill into the surrounding rooms. As he made his way to the home, he saw others he knew arriving—some coming from the baths, some coming from the market, some coming from work as he was. No matter what their place in life, they came together this night on equal footing. Everyone was welcome, and everyone was included. This was the night when they worshipped and celebrated the meal.

Everyone brought dinner to share, and if someone couldn’t bring food, they were still welcome to share the meal. Some of the brothers and sisters simply didn’t have the resources; they could barely feed themselves many days. But on this night, they ate together. Then someone would get out the instruments and they would begin to sing. Someone would share a story about how Jesus had touched their life, and then someone else would repeat an ancient Scripture or they would sing one of David’s psalms. Then the leader would share a bit about how the Scripture they had heard found its fulfillment in Jesus. One or two more people might share a story or a message they believed they had received from the Lord, and then the most important time came. The leader for the evening would stand and say, “We mustn’t go away without recalling what Jesus did to make us his people. Let us, then, do as he did: take the bread and the cup. Remember what he said and what he did. And then go from this place to serve him faithfully.” And the bread would be passed, and then the cup, and all would partake. And after a blessing, they would all depart into the cool night air, determined to serve Jesus better the next day (cf. Green, To Corinth With Love, pgs. 43-44).

At least, that’s how it might have gone, from what we know of the early church’s worship habits. They gathered in homes, and every time they gathered, they remembered this night, a night that, in Jewish custom, includes the question, “Why is this night different from all other nights?” The Passover celebration is a remembrance of God rescuing the people from slavery in Egypt. In our communion celebration, we remember God rescuing us from slavery to sin, and that he did that through Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross. Why is this night different from all other nights? Why do we set up the sanctuary differently on this night? Why do we face each other? Because this night is a night meant for community, for celebration, for communion with Christ and with one another. This night we remember, as Jesus told us to do.

In the short passage we read this evening from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, we not only have the earliest account of the Last Supper, we also have the earliest written down words of Jesus (Barclay, The Letters to the Corinthians, pg. 103). This letter predates the Gospels by ten to fifteen years. Paul says he received this tradition “from the Lord” (11:23), which doesn’t necessarily mean he got a vision from Jesus. It probably means this tradition was handed down to him, maybe from many sources, and that it goes all the way back to what originally happened in that Upper Room on that last night Jesus was with his disciples. That night, “the night he was betrayed” (11:23), Jesus gathered all of his friends in a borrowed room for one final Passover meal, one final remembrance of the way God saves his people. Only Jesus changed the equation. There was a very distinct way of celebrating Passover. There was a script you followed closely, and most likely Jesus had done that in Passovers past. But not tonight. Tonight, even as he helped them remember God’s action in the past, he pointed them forward toward the cross, toward his death for them and for all of us.

On other Passovers, it’s likely that there were larger groups, possibly even crowds, who came to be with Jesus for this high, holy moment. But on this night, Jesus only wanted his closest friends there. Who would you want present if you knew it was your last night, that you would die the next day? You would only want those who are closest to you, those who love you and support you and care for you. You would want your family and maybe only your closest friends (cf. Hamilton, 24 Hours That Changed the World, pgs. 28-29). That’s who Jesus called to himself—the friends, the disciples who were his family. Peter, James, John, Matthew and the rest—including Judas. Judas, who as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, is always labeled from the beginning of the story as the betrayer. It’s a murder mystery in which we know the murderer even before the deed takes place. But Judas was there, and from our best reconstruction of the night, he was probably sitting next to Jesus, in the place of the intimate friend (cf. Card, The Parable of Joy, pg. 171). In fact, during the meal, Jesus breaks off a piece of bread, dips it into the common dish and offers it to Judas. This is a Middle Eastern way of expressing deep friendship to another person, and usually when you do that, you say, “Eat this for my sake.” In the midst of Jesus telling them they will fall away, that one of them will betray him, Jesus continues to offer friendship and love to Judas. In fact, he offers Judas something he offers no one else at the table, and Judas rejects it. He prefers his own choice of deception and death to Jesus’ friendship (cf. Bailey, Paul Through Mediterranean Eyes, pg. 320). And so Jesus turns to the rest of the disciples and offers them the bread and the cup. “Eat this, drink this for my sake. Do this and remember.” Remember. It’s what we do. In fact, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel once said, “Much of what the Bible demands can be comprised in one word: Remember.”

Twenty or so years after that meal in the Upper Room, remembering is what those early Christians in Corinth were doing. And Paul wants this holy meal to enrich their souls, so he gives them direction in the verses surrounding the ones we read. First, he tells them to look back, and not just to the Upper Room, but to the original Passover itself. It’s all part of God’s great drama in rescuing the human race. Of course, Jesus’ sacrifice makes the Exodus look pale by comparison, because Jesus is about the business of saving people from sin and death and hell, from guilt and doom, but that began in the Passover. Jesus is completing what was begun then. So look back with gratitude, Paul says. Give thanks that God loves us enough to rescue us, to save us (Green 48).

Then, look in. Paul says we must not approach the table lightly. Rather, he says, “everyone out to examine themselves before they eat of the bread and drink from the cup” (11:28). Author Michael Green says that perhaps behind Paul’s words here is the traditional search for leaven or yeast that was part of the Passover ritual. When the Hebrews had to flee Egypt, they didn’t have time to let the dough rise, so they made bread without yeast. And yeast came to represent all those things in our lives, those sins, that just keep coming back, keep rising up. Just as yeast or leaven is always swelling and you have to punch it back down, there are some sins that just keep rising up in our lives and we need to deal with them, to examine ourselves, Paul says. Look at it this way: no one comes to the table for dinner with dirty hands. What was your mother always telling you? “Wash your hands.” “Don’t sit down at my table without clean hands.” In the same way, Paul says, we shouldn’t come to the Lord’s table until we’ve looked in and repented of the sin we find there (Green 48-49). This is serious business; don’t bother repenting of that sin if you’re just planning to do it again once you get up from the table. Jesus’ sacrifice calls us to deal honestly with the sin that so easily ensnares us (cf. Hebrews 12:1). Yet, lest we become discouraged, remember again who was at that first table that night: imperfect disciples, squabbling over who is the greatest. Their presence reminds us that no perfect people are allowed. In fact, if the table were only open to perfect people, it would remain forever empty (cf. Barclay 105). So, to the best of our ability, we look in and let Christ cleanse us of our sin.

Next, look up (cf. Green 49). Coming to the table is not just something we do lightly, and it’s not just an ordinary meal. One time, when I was asking a group of children what communion was, one little boy piped up saying, “It’s a snack in the middle of the service!” For a child, that’s a fine understanding, but if we never get beyond that understanding, we’ve failed to grow in our faith. This is the Lord’s Table; Paul reminds the Corinthians of that over and over again. It is Christ who feeds us here. That’s why it’s not up to me or to Pastor Deb or anyone in the church leadership to determine who can and who can’t receive communion. Jesus welcomed all of the twelve, even Judas. We welcome all who love Christ or who want to love him. It’s his body, his blood. It’s his table; it’s his supper, so look up. Look toward Jesus. It’s him and his sacrifice we remember.

Once you’ve looked up and set your eyes on Jesus, then look around (Green 49-50). This is a communal meal, not a solitary action. This is not about “me getting my communion.” This is about Jesus’ family gathering around the table. One of the reasons we rearrange the chairs on this night is so that you can see each other. Uncomfortable looking at another person? Probably, and that’s good. There was an ongoing struggle in the Corinthian church that Paul is addressing. Part of it was bitterness that had grown, and questions about who was on who’s side. And there was also the issue of the meal before communion. Some would arrive early, most likely the rich who had leisure time, and they would eat all the food. Others, the slaves and the working poor, would arrive later and there would be nothing left for them (11:17-22). It’s sort of like when someone goes first in the potluck line and takes most of the food, leaving none for those who are yet to come. Paul says that won’t do. Take care of one another. This table is meant to bring you together. Even Jesus had told the disciples that if they came to worship and realized they had something against a brother or sister in the community, they should leave worship and make it right before they come to the table, before they came and offered their gift or even offered themselves (Matthew 5:23-24). Look around. Look into the eyes of your brothers and sisters. Christ died for them, too, so look around and remember.

Fifth, then, is the call to look forward. Paul says, “Whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (11:26). The coming of Jesus is the great hope of the Christian, and the communion table is a foretaste of the banquet that is promised in the kingdom of God. So it is a snack, a foretaste, getting us ready to be in Jesus’ presence. The Corinthians lived in a world of political upheaval, uncertainty, economic injustice and even difficult personal circumstances. In other words, they were no different from you and me. When they gathered around this table, they were grasping onto the hope that one day, all of this will be redeemed, made new (cf. Green 50). We’ve been studying the book of Revelation in our Disciple 4 class the last few weeks, and even with the best scholarship available and our good discussions, it’s still a confusing and perplexing book. Sometimes, we just try to hard to figure it all out, but I can tell you without a doubt what the message it. The whole book is boiled down to this: Jesus is coming and he will win over sin, death and the grave. He is returning; he promised. It may be tomorrow or it may be a thousand years from now, but he is coming. And when he comes, all will be made right. That is the hope of the Christian, the hope we look forward to when we gather at the table. In fact, at the table, everything comes together. Communion is “the moment at which the past event [the crucifixion] comes forward to live again in the present, and the future moment of the Lord’s return comes backwards in time to challenge us in the present” (Wright, Paul for Everyone: 1 Corinthians, pg. 150). The table of Lord brings hope as we look forward.

And finally, we look outward (cf. Green 50). There’s that word “proclaim” in Paul’s description. It means to preach, or to announce publicly. We ought to be changed because we’re at the table, enough so that when we leave this place, people notice. There’s something different about us because we’ve been in Jesus’ presence at the table. The food provided here—Jesus’ very presence—is meant to strengthen us so that we can “proclaim” his mercy and grace and love with our lives. Communion is a sending. As Michael Green puts it, “The eucharist is battle rations for Christian warriors, not cheesecake for lazy Christians” (51). In fact, the next part of Paul’s letter focuses on spiritual gifts, those abilities God gives us to be able to reach the world. Communion changes us, equips us, enables us to move outward and proclaim with our lives, our actions, our words the salvation found in Jesus Christ and in him alone.

That was certainly true for those first disciples, gathered in the Upper Room. Oh, not this night. This night they all did exactly what Jesus said they would do: they deserted him. One betrayed him blatantly, but they all left him in one way or another. Peter pledged to defend him to the death, but by sunrise the next morning he had denied Jesus three times. In the darkness of the Garden of Gethsemane, they all ran away. But in the wake of that failure and in the bright light of the resurrection, to a man they gave their lives for the sake of sharing the good news about Jesus, proclaiming his death. Who is this man? He is the one who was about to give his life for them, and for every person throughout all time, to save us from our sins and rescue us from death. He is the one who, this night, is giving them a tangible way to remember that death, that sacrifice. And so every time these disciples gathered at the table, they remembered, they gave thanks, and they celebrated, and they then rose from the table to proclaim his death.

I invite you, then, on this holy night, to look back, look in, look up, look around, look forward and look outward. For their calling is ours as well: to proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. Amen.