Scripture can be found here…
“Remember me.”
Every month we gather around the communion table. The table is always there, present, and visible to us. But once a month when we walk into our sanctuary, we see that the table has been set for us. A meal has been prepared. It is the Lord’s table. We do what we do here, in memory of him.
Tonight we read the story of our table. Actually, two stories. In one, we heard the words Jesus said during the meal. In the other, we heard the words he said later, after the meal. This is the week in which we remember. We remember that Jesus came to Jerusalem with all deliberation, knowing what was waiting for him there.
Jesus comes to Jerusalem, knowing that by week’s end, he will be dead… at the same time, he comes trusting that his story will not end there.
So, of course, Jesus gathers around a table with the people who are closest to him. We speak of the joyful feast of the Lord’s table, but for Jesus it must have been a little like a living wake, that time when people gather to remember the dead… except, he was still here.
The twelve apostles were there—the inner circle of disciples—the gospels all agree. But we also know that, in addition to the twelve, Jesus was followed by a group of women, whose numbers we don’t know, but who supported his ministry out of their own resources. I think it is safe to assume these women were there as well. And even though, we read that Jesus sends Peter and John to prepare the meal, women tended to be responsible for the preparation of food in that era. And the other gospels simply say “disciples” were sent to prepare it; Jesus and the twelve came when the meal was ready.
The women most likely prepared the meal. There were women gathered around the table alongside the men, they were included. Women have always been at the table for the Passover meal, from its very inception.
The meal Jesus and his friends shared was a Passover dinner, but it was not a Seder. The Passover Seder developed later in Jewish history. But we can assume the dinner included more than bread and wine. Lamb, of course. Other Middle Eastern delicacies, such as olives and figs and dates. Vegetables. Eggs.
But when we gather around the table, just two of the elements of that original meal are present: the bread—which would have been unleavened—and the fruit of the vine. That’s because Jesus spoke of these, and the words he said have been the source of two thousand years of debate, and consternation, and wonder, as well as wondering.
In Luke’s gospel, Jesus does not speak of the bread as his body or the wine as his blood right away. Instead, he talks about the meal to raise a kind of melancholy toast:
“I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he said, “Take this and divide it among yourselves; for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.”
Jesus is signaling his sorrow, perhaps even his fear, by talking about something he has been preaching about since the day he returned from his wilderness journey: the kingdom of God. The kingdom of God is at hand, he has said. He has shared parables about it. He has described those who will enter it. But he has always been clear: the kingdom of God is coming—it is so near—but it is not yet fully here.
And now, it is the not-yet nature of the kingdom he is emphasizing. This is the last time I will eat the Passover with you, the last time I will drink wine with you… I won’t do these things again until the kingdom is here. Please remember, he is saying. Remember me.
Then Jesus says the words that have caused so much confusion.
“This is my body, which is given for you.”
“This is my blood of the covenant. Do this, and remember me.” Remember me.
What on earth did he mean?
Some Christians today understand these words as entirely metaphorical or symbolic, while others understand them to be literally true. The Presbyterian position see both these positions—poles on each extreme of the continuum—as incomplete. We believe that, in the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, the Holy Spirit feeds us with the bread of life and the cup of salvation. We remember, and in our remembering, we the power of the Spirit transcends both the metaphorical and the literal.
Presbyterian great grandpa John Calvin believed that we truly encounter Christ in the sacrament. He refers to the words of the Apostle Paul, who wrote to the church at Corinth:
“The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a koinonia in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a koinonia in the body of Christ?” ~ 1 Corinthians 10:16
That word, koinonia, is doing a lot of heavy lifting in these sentences. It can be translated, “communion,” or “sharing,” or “fellowship,” or “partnership.” In other words, the central event of the Lord’s Supper is what it does to us. It gathers us together as the church, which Paul calls “the body of Christ.” We remember, and we are gathered into relationship, not only with Christ, but with one another—with the other people sitting in this room and eating this bread, and drinking from this cup. And with all those the world over who take this meal, and who see and encounter Christ in it. We remember, together.
As Jesus’ disciples sat around that table, and heard him proclaim that the bread was somehow his body, and the cup in some way, contained his blood, they were gathered into an experience of his presence unlike any they had previously shared. Jesus offered his presence, his life, as nourishment for them, and promised that presence would nurture them into the future. Whether or not he was visibly present with them, he would continue to be present through the power of the Holy Spirit. That presence is our inheritance, to this day. This is my body. This is my blood. Christ is with us, powerfully, in this sacrament, binding us together, even when are apart, as we remember.
We remember.
This is the first story, the story of Jesus’ words at the table.
The second story is shorter, and simpler, but it is the beating heart of the first.
The gospel of John tells us, in the middle of the meal, Jesus left the table and washed his disciples’ feet. He offered them a vision of what mutual service would look like, and it looked like humility. It looked like the willingness to humble ourselves, and to do the work of caring for one another. Then he said this:
“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”
John’s gospel doesn’t tell us about all Jesus’ words at table, though the other evangelists do, and Paul does. But John does tell us about Jesus’ actions, followed by this commandment. Jesus shows and tells what love looks like.
Remember me.
Remember: Love is giving of yourself.
Remember: Love is caring for one another.
We remember: Christ is with us in this meal. The table has grown ever larger, as more and more disciples have continued to gather around it over the course of these two millennia. And each time we gather, we remember a love that gave freely of itself. We remember both the simplicity and the deep mystery of bread and cup.
We remember, and we know that we are loved. We remember, and we know that we are called to love.
Thanks be to God. Amen.