This year also marks the Tenth Anniversary of 9/11. St. James will soon begin planning a musical/liturgical tribute to mark an event that continues to affect our nation on a daily basis. As September draws near we will watch replays of video footage, documentaries and reports of where we are now, ten years later.
Anniversaries play an important role in our lives. They mark the passage of time in an orderly way. They inform the metanarrives of our human existence and give reverence and meaning to particular parts of our lives. Some anniversaries carry the joyful weight of hope and expectation - like wedding anniversaries and the birthday celebrations of children. Others, like the death anniversaries of those we have lost are at times almost too heavy to bear.
The Christian calendar marks the passage of God's time and our place in it. The observance of Maundy Thursday is one such anniversary, albeit bittersweet. We remember the camaraderie of Jesus and the disciples, the bonds of love and loyalty that ran as deep as the fathoms of the oceans. The foreknowledge of the betrayal of Judas that is to come seems a tragedy unfolding before our eyes. We are powerless; it is beyond our reach to prevent or stop. All of the anniversaries observed in Holy Week remind us of both the power entrusted to us and the limits of that power. We have the power to create the conditions for intractable catastrophes and then stand powerless in the face of their aftermath. And when we have run out of fixes and options, when there is no where to turn but to God - for mercy; to forgive our misguided displays of strength, to make right those things over which we, finally, have no power at all.
Almighty God, have mercy upon us, for we are sinners in your sight.
As a perpetual reminder of God's enduring mercy, the messiah whom God sent on our behalf instituted the Eucharist; a word which simply means 'thanksgiving.' Christ broke bread in thanksgiving for all God's gifts: manna from heaven, and water from a stone, for bread and for wine, for free will and for forgiveness, for life and for life after death. We gather each week at the Lord's table to be reminded not of our God-given self-sufficiency but of our dependence on God. It is God who has the final word; God, who in Christ and with Christ, gave to us this holy meal of refreshment and renewal, strength and pardon.
Almighty God, have mercy upon us, for we are sinners in your sight.
My father, who is a priest as well, gave me some advice when I was first ordained. He made a strong suggestion that I do not fail to offer the sacraments as often as possible to the sick, shut-ins, prisoners, and the dying. He felt that we must not underestimate or any way discount the importance of this holy meal, especially to those who were physically or spiritually weakened by unfortunate circumstances. Now, having had some years of experience in pastoral matters, I too would conclude that the sharing of this meal of thanksgiving, in the privacy of homes, in the anxious environment of hospitals, and at ICU deathbeds, is to extend the mercy and love of God where words, however reverently crafted and elegant, would certainly fail. How does one begin to explain this mystery?
I recently connected with old friend via facebook. After some initial messaging, I was so surprised to hear his voice when he called me last week. One of the first questions he had was, "So what made you want to become a pastor?" In ten years, I have yet to find one simple sentence answer to this question. I usually say something like, "Well, I tried everything else first, and at the end of the day, there just was no other choice left." But the real answer to that question, and I think it is universal for those of us who have been entrusted charge over the sacraments, it that it was by bread and wine that our souls became bound to Christ. It is at the Lord's table that the call is initiated. It begins with an irresistible need to be fed heavenly food and great longing when separated from it. It grows into an irrepressible need to serve at the table at every possible opportunity. And it ends in an overwhelming desire to serve as God's hands in the distribution of what is holy food and drink; to participate in some tangible way in the sacramental mystery of invisible, inward grace extended through outward and visible means.
Tonight we are bound together in the remembrance of our Lord's last supper by the retelling of the story. In its telling we recall the sweetness of the ties that bind and the bitterness of the betrayal at hand. With foreboding we are distracted from the fullness of this holy and precious moment between Jesus and those who love him. But let us not forget that the institution of this food as holy and substantiative, was done in love and not in regret. Unlike acts of terrorism and oil rig explosions, the anniversary we observe this night is not a tragedy; that being a situation in which all parties experience terrible, irredeemable loss. Rather, the anniversary we observe is one of perpetual hope; just ask someone who has received the holy sacrament when they were very ill or very depressed, or very sad. It first fed the twelve who loved and served him, including the one who would betray him and the one who would, not once, but three times, deny him. Through the centuries it has fed millions of others, many of lesser faith than Judas and Peter, including us. This very night hundreds of thousands are observing this anniversary. Many are washing one another's feet, acknowledging that we who claim Christ as the head of the church and the author of our salvation, are bound together, not by means of mutual admiration, but by this celebration of praise and thanksgiving, by this holy food and drink of new and unending life in him.
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