Fred Craddock went to the same graduate school in Enid, Oklahoma that I did. He tells of the time when he went to a little rural church to speak. They had a real terrible rainstorm. They canceled the service, and everybody knew it because they had telephones. But he didn't have a telephone, and didn't know it. So he drove from Enid out to the little church, slipping and sliding on those roads -- dirt, mud, a little gravel. I know what he meant because I also drove out to a little rural church each Sunday. I know about sliding on those roads. Some were shale, which makes a good surface when dry, but when wet they are either like a sheet of ice or rutted so bad you can hardly drive. Anyway, two of the me had thought about the fact that the preacher wouldn't know that they were not having the service, so they went to the church to wait for him, to tell him there was no service. When he went in, they were seated at the table that had on the front of it, "In Remembrance of Me," and they were playing cards.
Fred said, "What in the world are you doing?
They said, "Well, we're just playing a little poker, waiting for you to come."
He said, "On that table?"
One of them said, "well, a table's a table's a table."
And Fred said, "No, it isn't!" Not for Fred. No, it isn't just a table.
(Craddock's Stories, 140)
Why did Fred think there was something sacred about that table? It surely wasn't anything about the table itself. In a way, the men were right -- a table is a table. Unless -- unless what? Unless it stands for something much greater than itself.
In the Old Testament God told the Hebrew priests to sanctify the cups and other vessels and utensils used in the temple. They were actually called "sanctified" vessels. Which means that they were set aside for a holy use, a holy purpose. It is exactly the term that's used in the New Testament about followers of Christ -- people who have been sanctified by the Holy Spirit.
And so it is that a sanctified people gather before a sanctified table -- one set aside for a holy purpose. And that purpose is not to be a platform for poker but a pulpit for proclaiming the Lord's death until he comes. As Paul said in 1 Corinthians 11:26, "For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes."
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
THE COVENANT OF GRACE
If you were asked to say in one or two sentences what the Bible is all about, what would you say? Let me give it a try. The Bible is all about a God whose love and grace leads Him to choose unworthy people and enter into covenant with them. He did it with Abraham and Israel in what we call the Old Covenant, and he did it again finally, once for all, through Jesus Christ in the New Covenant. At the heart of it all is our covenant relationship with a graceful God.
It should be understood that a covenant, in the biblical sense, is similar to but not the same as our modern contract. There are similarities. For instance, both involve two or more parties agreeing on something. Also, both involve promises and conditions.
But the covenant described in the Bible is not like our modern contracts in at least one important aspect. We do not negotiate or bargain with God to get a better deal. There are always promises and conditions in both contracts and covenants, but even if we did bargain we could not get any better promises than what God offers to begin with. He offers us everything of value that we could possibly want. What more could we ask for than the forgiveness of our sins, the assurance of life eternal, and the promise that God will be our God and we will be his people, forever? We might want to bargain for easier conditions, for something less than complete trust and obedience, but that is what God expects, and these terms are non negotiable.
The sovereign God offers to us his covenant of grace. Will we accept? When Jesus offered the cup to his disciples and said, "This is my blood of the new covenant" he, in effect, changed a Passover meal into a covenant meal. For the disciples his words were a call to commitment. The broken bread and the cup represented his commitment, his sacrifice, his total submission to the will of God. To accept the cup and drink from it meant they entered into that commitment with him.
Can it mean anything less to us? The Lord's Supper is indeed a memorial, but it means much more than that. In a sense, it renews our initial commitment of faith made in our baptism. After Jesus predicted his death he said, "If anyone would come after me, let him pick up his cross, and follow me." That invitation to join him in his sacrificial commitment has echoed through the ages in the call to communion and comes to us today as we gather around His table.
It should be understood that a covenant, in the biblical sense, is similar to but not the same as our modern contract. There are similarities. For instance, both involve two or more parties agreeing on something. Also, both involve promises and conditions.
But the covenant described in the Bible is not like our modern contracts in at least one important aspect. We do not negotiate or bargain with God to get a better deal. There are always promises and conditions in both contracts and covenants, but even if we did bargain we could not get any better promises than what God offers to begin with. He offers us everything of value that we could possibly want. What more could we ask for than the forgiveness of our sins, the assurance of life eternal, and the promise that God will be our God and we will be his people, forever? We might want to bargain for easier conditions, for something less than complete trust and obedience, but that is what God expects, and these terms are non negotiable.
The sovereign God offers to us his covenant of grace. Will we accept? When Jesus offered the cup to his disciples and said, "This is my blood of the new covenant" he, in effect, changed a Passover meal into a covenant meal. For the disciples his words were a call to commitment. The broken bread and the cup represented his commitment, his sacrifice, his total submission to the will of God. To accept the cup and drink from it meant they entered into that commitment with him.
Can it mean anything less to us? The Lord's Supper is indeed a memorial, but it means much more than that. In a sense, it renews our initial commitment of faith made in our baptism. After Jesus predicted his death he said, "If anyone would come after me, let him pick up his cross, and follow me." That invitation to join him in his sacrificial commitment has echoed through the ages in the call to communion and comes to us today as we gather around His table.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
COMPASSION LEADS TO ACTION MARK 6:30-44
Why did God send Jesus to die for us? Why did Jesus submit to the will of God and go to the cross? Isn't it because he saw how much in danger we are and at the same time how helpless we are? Isn't it because he saw our need, knew he could provide what we need, and cared enough to act?
Compassion has that power. It leads to action. In Mark 6 we see an example of it in the ministry of Jesus. It came at a time when Jesus and his disciples were tired. In a sense they were suffering from ministry fatigue. Every day they faced great crowds of sick, hungry and desperate people. Mark tells us that Jesus said to his twelve apostles, "Let's go off to a secluded, quiet place and rest for awhile." They needed to get away for a time, to rest and to find renewal. So they got into a boat, perhaps at Capernaum, and started out across the northern tip of the Sea of Galilee.
But people saw where they were going and rushed along the shore. The numbers grew until finally Jesus and the apostles were faced by 5,000 men, plus women and children. What should they do? Leave again? try to find another secluded area? Mark says that when Jesus saw the multitude "he had compassion for them because they were like sheep without a shepherd, and he began to teach them."
As the day wore on and it became quite late Jesus realized that these desperate people needed more than teaching -- they were hungry and needed food. But this was a lonely, deserted area and there wasn't a fast food place in sight. So Jesus asked his disciples to feed them. We know the rest of the story. The meager number of loaves and fish and the miraculous multiplication until all had eaten and there were leftovers enough to fill twelve baskets.
Have you noticed the Eucharistic hints in this story, how it parallels and anticipates the Lord's Supper? There are at least two ways. First, it was compassion that led Jesus to act, both in going to the cross on our behalf and in feeding the 5,000. Second, his action anticipates the Last (Lord's) Supper: he blessed and broke and distributed the bread. Mark's story seems to be saying to us that when Jesus blesses and breaks bread our greatest needs are met.
As we come to the Lord's Table we experience the benefits of his compassion, but we also receive the challenge of his compassion -- the challenge to lift our eyes from the table and from ourselves and look upon the multitude, as he did, and act out of compassion to meet their needs. We, like the early disciples, can become the hands that distribute bread to the hungry.
Compassion has that power. It leads to action. In Mark 6 we see an example of it in the ministry of Jesus. It came at a time when Jesus and his disciples were tired. In a sense they were suffering from ministry fatigue. Every day they faced great crowds of sick, hungry and desperate people. Mark tells us that Jesus said to his twelve apostles, "Let's go off to a secluded, quiet place and rest for awhile." They needed to get away for a time, to rest and to find renewal. So they got into a boat, perhaps at Capernaum, and started out across the northern tip of the Sea of Galilee.
But people saw where they were going and rushed along the shore. The numbers grew until finally Jesus and the apostles were faced by 5,000 men, plus women and children. What should they do? Leave again? try to find another secluded area? Mark says that when Jesus saw the multitude "he had compassion for them because they were like sheep without a shepherd, and he began to teach them."
As the day wore on and it became quite late Jesus realized that these desperate people needed more than teaching -- they were hungry and needed food. But this was a lonely, deserted area and there wasn't a fast food place in sight. So Jesus asked his disciples to feed them. We know the rest of the story. The meager number of loaves and fish and the miraculous multiplication until all had eaten and there were leftovers enough to fill twelve baskets.
Have you noticed the Eucharistic hints in this story, how it parallels and anticipates the Lord's Supper? There are at least two ways. First, it was compassion that led Jesus to act, both in going to the cross on our behalf and in feeding the 5,000. Second, his action anticipates the Last (Lord's) Supper: he blessed and broke and distributed the bread. Mark's story seems to be saying to us that when Jesus blesses and breaks bread our greatest needs are met.
As we come to the Lord's Table we experience the benefits of his compassion, but we also receive the challenge of his compassion -- the challenge to lift our eyes from the table and from ourselves and look upon the multitude, as he did, and act out of compassion to meet their needs. We, like the early disciples, can become the hands that distribute bread to the hungry.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
THE TABLE OF BEGINNING AGAIN
I stand before you today to confess my sins -- as a golfer. I must confess that I am often guilty, in a golfing sense, of sinfulness. The New Testament word for sin means literally, "missing the mark." When you swing a 44 inch club at great speed and try to hit a very small, round object it is not unusual to miss the mark. Even the best golfers miss, if only by a little. Follow Tiger Woods around a course and you will see him fail to hit the ball perfectly many times. In golf, as in life, "all sin and fall short."
One of the things I like about golf is that you get to start over again regularly. So you mess up on #1, OK, just go to the next tee and start again. Regularly you can begin again. You can leave the mishits behind and start over. In a full round of golf you have 18 second chances.
In life, also, we need opportunities to begin again. A song writer, Neil Morse, has put it well in the lyrics to "The Land of Beginning again."
One of the things I like about golf is that you get to start over again regularly. So you mess up on #1, OK, just go to the next tee and start again. Regularly you can begin again. You can leave the mishits behind and start over. In a full round of golf you have 18 second chances.
In life, also, we need opportunities to begin again. A song writer, Neil Morse, has put it well in the lyrics to "The Land of Beginning again."
I wish there was a way to start again.
Just blink and count to ten
In the land of beginning again,
Where no one knows the bad things that you've done.
The past is truly gone
In the land of beginning again.
One of the reasons I like having the Lord's Supper every Sunday is that it gives me the opportunity on a regular basis to leave behind the mishits and begin again. Paul spoke of "forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead" (Philippians 3:13). It is good, in golf, that the opportunity comes frequently. I would not want to play a par 40 hole instead of a par 4. There would be a lot of mishits before I could regroup and start again. Likewise, it is good that we can come frequently to the Lord's Table, acknowledge our mishits, confess our sins, find forgiveness and start the week with a clean slate.
We call this the Table of Remembrance but it could also be called The Table of Beginning Again. I know there are other means available to us to find forgiveness and renewal, but I like the idea that Jesus meets us here every week and says, "this is my body given for you; this is my blood of the covenant shed for the forgiveness of sins." God must have known that we would need a regular opportunity to begin again, and this is it.
Monday, December 29, 2008
From Crib to Cross
Although Christmas day has passed it still seems like Christmas to me because I heard "O Little Town of Bethlehem" on the radio this morning, and because a gift I ordered online for my wife has not yet arrived. Also, we were unable to make it to our daughter's home for Christmas because of snow and ice so we have not yet exchanged gifts. Since it still seems like Christmas I want to share a Christmas communion meditation.*
An episode in the famous television series, MASH, captures some of what Christmas means. It is Christmas day in Korea and the MASH unit is looking forward to a relatively slow day. But the fragile cease fire called for earlier by both sides is broken and casualties will soon be streaming in. The hospital goes into full frenzy, with doctors operating, nurses moving from patient to patient, and Father Mulcahy doing anything he can to help.
Our attention is soon focused on one patient for whom it is obvious that death is waiting nearby. It is Christmas day though, and the staff is determined to keep the soldier alive until December 26 so they won't have to put Dec 25 on the death certificate. They don't want his family to be reminded of his death every Christmas. "Christmas should be a day of birth," says Father Mulcahey.
Long after the rest of the unit has gone off to celebrate the holiday, Hawkeye, B.J., Margaret and Father Mulcahy continue to do all they can to keep the soldier's heart pumping and his lungs filling. Despite their heroic efforts the patient dies around 11:30 PM. All their work seems to have been for naught. In the midst of war and death they had tried to bring a small piece of light. But they had failed. Or so it seems. Just as the tears begin to well up, Hawkeye goes over to the clock on the wall and moves the hands forward to read 12:05 AM. Can they falsify a record? Can they break a serious regulation? Yes. Father Mulcahy reminds them, "Christmas day is a day of birth." So the death certificate reads December 26.
Christmas is, indeed, a day of birth and yet when we gather around the Lord's Table at Christmas time it reminds us of a death. The death of a cherished son. A painful death. A terrible death. But we remember it because our Lord instructed us to remember it.
No one wants to be reminded of a death on Christmas. Especially the death of a cherished son. We know how Hawkeye and his friends felt about remembering a death on this special day. But as we gather with the shepherds around the manger and look at the baby, what do we see? Vulnerability. Helplessness. Just like any other child he is subject to the world around him.
And so we remember. We remember that this one who came on a Christmas night also died on a dark afternoon. We remember that without a death there can be no resurrection. We remember that the one who lived from crib to cross has brought us from cross to crib and given us the gift of new life. And so we remember his words: This is my body ... This is my blood ... and we give thanks.
An episode in the famous television series, MASH, captures some of what Christmas means. It is Christmas day in Korea and the MASH unit is looking forward to a relatively slow day. But the fragile cease fire called for earlier by both sides is broken and casualties will soon be streaming in. The hospital goes into full frenzy, with doctors operating, nurses moving from patient to patient, and Father Mulcahy doing anything he can to help.
Our attention is soon focused on one patient for whom it is obvious that death is waiting nearby. It is Christmas day though, and the staff is determined to keep the soldier alive until December 26 so they won't have to put Dec 25 on the death certificate. They don't want his family to be reminded of his death every Christmas. "Christmas should be a day of birth," says Father Mulcahey.
Long after the rest of the unit has gone off to celebrate the holiday, Hawkeye, B.J., Margaret and Father Mulcahy continue to do all they can to keep the soldier's heart pumping and his lungs filling. Despite their heroic efforts the patient dies around 11:30 PM. All their work seems to have been for naught. In the midst of war and death they had tried to bring a small piece of light. But they had failed. Or so it seems. Just as the tears begin to well up, Hawkeye goes over to the clock on the wall and moves the hands forward to read 12:05 AM. Can they falsify a record? Can they break a serious regulation? Yes. Father Mulcahy reminds them, "Christmas day is a day of birth." So the death certificate reads December 26.
Christmas is, indeed, a day of birth and yet when we gather around the Lord's Table at Christmas time it reminds us of a death. The death of a cherished son. A painful death. A terrible death. But we remember it because our Lord instructed us to remember it.
No one wants to be reminded of a death on Christmas. Especially the death of a cherished son. We know how Hawkeye and his friends felt about remembering a death on this special day. But as we gather with the shepherds around the manger and look at the baby, what do we see? Vulnerability. Helplessness. Just like any other child he is subject to the world around him.
And so we remember. We remember that this one who came on a Christmas night also died on a dark afternoon. We remember that without a death there can be no resurrection. We remember that the one who lived from crib to cross has brought us from cross to crib and given us the gift of new life. And so we remember his words: This is my body ... This is my blood ... and we give thanks.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Our Covenant Commitment Matthew 26:27-28
You may have heard about the chicken and the pig who were out for a morning stroll. Soon they came upon a small diner and out in front was a sign with big bold letters: "HAM AND EGGS -- 99 CENTS." "Oh boy," said Chicken, I could go for that right now. Let's go in." "Well," said Pig thoughtfully, "I don't think I want to do that. For you its just a contribution ... but for me it's total commitment." A lot of people, also, would like to get by with just a contribution. Making a commitment is difficult. It is not always easy because commitments can cost something and may even require a sacrifice.
In the upper room when Jesus gave directions for remembering him with the Lord's Supper he used a term and called for an action that called for total commitment. He held the cup before his disciples and said, "This is my blood of the covenant," and he asked them all to drink of it. Covenants always require commitments, often costly commitments. In this case it cost Jesus his life.
He was committed, but more than that, he was asking for their commitment. When he asked them to drink from the cup of the covenant he was asking for their commitment. He was asking them to form a covenant community that would be committed to him and to each other.
Did the twelve become that committed covenant community? One went out to betray him and was lost. Another went out to deny him, but was redeemed by the resurrected Christ. Others who had been with Jesus earlier joined them. Then, on the day of Pentecost, 50 days after the resurrection, 3,000 more joined them and Luke says of them in Acts 2:42, "They continued steadfastly in the apostles teaching, the fellowship, the breaking of bread and the prayers." Luke goes on to say that the people in that fellowship took care of each other, "as anyone had need." Here is the covenant community, committed to Jesus Christ and to one another, faithfully breaking bread and joining in fellowship.
Each Sunday we renew our commitment as we share in worship and once again hear Jesus' words, "this is my body," and "this is my blood of the covenant," and as we hear him say again, "drink from it, all of you."
In the upper room when Jesus gave directions for remembering him with the Lord's Supper he used a term and called for an action that called for total commitment. He held the cup before his disciples and said, "This is my blood of the covenant," and he asked them all to drink of it. Covenants always require commitments, often costly commitments. In this case it cost Jesus his life.
He was committed, but more than that, he was asking for their commitment. When he asked them to drink from the cup of the covenant he was asking for their commitment. He was asking them to form a covenant community that would be committed to him and to each other.
Did the twelve become that committed covenant community? One went out to betray him and was lost. Another went out to deny him, but was redeemed by the resurrected Christ. Others who had been with Jesus earlier joined them. Then, on the day of Pentecost, 50 days after the resurrection, 3,000 more joined them and Luke says of them in Acts 2:42, "They continued steadfastly in the apostles teaching, the fellowship, the breaking of bread and the prayers." Luke goes on to say that the people in that fellowship took care of each other, "as anyone had need." Here is the covenant community, committed to Jesus Christ and to one another, faithfully breaking bread and joining in fellowship.
Each Sunday we renew our commitment as we share in worship and once again hear Jesus' words, "this is my body," and "this is my blood of the covenant," and as we hear him say again, "drink from it, all of you."
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Something Better To Come
Last Sunday an elder in our church began her communion meditation by saying that her 97 year old mother had died just a week ago. Judy went on to say that she reminded her of the woman whose story has been told on the Internet many times. You may recognize it.
She had been diagnosed with a disease and given three months to live. Her Dr. told her to start making preparations to die. So she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what she wanted to be wearing. The woman also told her pastor that she wanted to be buried with her favorite Bible. Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.
"There's one more thing," she said excitedly. "What's that?" came the pastor's reply? "This is very important. I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."
The pastor stood looking at the woman not knowing quite what to say. "That shocks you, doesn't it?" the woman asked. "Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," he said. The woman explained, "In all my years of attending church socials and functions where food was involved (and let's be honest, food is an important part of any church event; spiritual or otherwise); my favorite part was when whoever was clearing away the dishes of the main course would lean over and say 'you can keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming. They they told me to keep my fork I knew that something great was about to be given to me. It wasn't Jell-O or pudding. It was cake or pie. Something with substance. So I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder, 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: 'Something better is coming so keep your fork too.'"
When Judy told this story it made me think -- maybe we should pass out forks when we serve communion. After all, this "great thanksgiving feast" anticipates the banquet of heaven spoken of in Revelation 19:9 -- "Blessed are those who are called to the marriage supper of the Lamb!" Yes, when we come to this table we can look toward that day when all is fulfilled and "something better" than anything we have known here will be ours.
She had been diagnosed with a disease and given three months to live. Her Dr. told her to start making preparations to die. So she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what she wanted to be wearing. The woman also told her pastor that she wanted to be buried with her favorite Bible. Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.
"There's one more thing," she said excitedly. "What's that?" came the pastor's reply? "This is very important. I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."
The pastor stood looking at the woman not knowing quite what to say. "That shocks you, doesn't it?" the woman asked. "Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," he said. The woman explained, "In all my years of attending church socials and functions where food was involved (and let's be honest, food is an important part of any church event; spiritual or otherwise); my favorite part was when whoever was clearing away the dishes of the main course would lean over and say 'you can keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming. They they told me to keep my fork I knew that something great was about to be given to me. It wasn't Jell-O or pudding. It was cake or pie. Something with substance. So I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder, 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: 'Something better is coming so keep your fork too.'"
When Judy told this story it made me think -- maybe we should pass out forks when we serve communion. After all, this "great thanksgiving feast" anticipates the banquet of heaven spoken of in Revelation 19:9 -- "Blessed are those who are called to the marriage supper of the Lamb!" Yes, when we come to this table we can look toward that day when all is fulfilled and "something better" than anything we have known here will be ours.
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