Come to the Table

(sermon 10/6/19 – World Communion Sunday)

Photo used with permission –

Isaiah 25:6-8

On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. And the Lord will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations, and will swallow up death forever. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and will take away from all the earth the disgrace of the people, for the Lord has spoken.


There’s just something special about the idea of sharing a meal together. When we’re happy, we throw a feast, a party. When we’re in mourning, we share unspoken love and compassion through the sharing of a casserole or some other comfort food. Every holiday, every milestone, every major occasion in our lives, is usually marked by sharing some special food. It’s universal, something that’s common to every human culture and across all times, and it’s something that goes far beyond simple biological sustenance. And just as a particular smell can instantly take us to another time and place and memory in our lives, a particular food can immediately transport us to some other time and place in our lives, too. It can remind us of where we’re grounded, what are our roots, and where we’ve been along our life’s journey. Speaking for myself, I grew up in an area where there were many Polish and other eastern European immigrants, so even though I don’t think I’ve got a bit of Polish heritage myself, a lot 0f that special food for me is Polish – pierogi, and halupki, and kolachi, and so on. And I’m sure that all of you have your own particular “soul food,” too, that you might be thinking of right now. It doesn’t really matter if it’s the finest Japanese beef, or a humble bowl of chili, the taste is important, of course, but what makes it really special, what makes it deeply meaningful, even sacred, holy, it that we’re sharing the experience, preparing it, eating it, even cleaning up afterward, with other family, friends, people who we love and care deeply about. Sharing that common meal at a common table draws us together and creates a special bond among us.

Given that universal reality, it shouldn’t be any surprise that one of the defining sacraments that Christ instituted within our faith is the reenactment of a shared meal. Really, what better way could there be to illustrate the kind of relationship, the bond, the unity, that God has made with humanity, and that God wants all of humanity to have among itself, than to use a common meal at a common table? In both of the testaments in the scriptures, God uses the imagery of an eternal banquet, a feast, to represent eternal life in God’s presence. It makes perfect sense that in order to remember and live out this common bond, this unity, that we have with God and one another, we come to the Lord’s Table for the Lord’s Supper; Communion.

Of course, this is World Communion Sunday, when many Christian denominations and traditions serve Communion on the same day as an even greater sign of this unity and common bond. And most of us have heard on previous World Communion Sundays that the whole thing got started by a Presbyterian church in Pittsburgh, and that the idea really gained traction when then-President Truman plugged the idea in a radio broadcast. It’s a nice bit of Presbyterian trivia that we can all take some pride in, I guess.

So it’s a good thing to observe World Communion Sunday, to take a stand for unity within the church, and to observe Communion in general. But it’s only a good thing if we’re using it to represent and participate in the kingdom of God as God sees it, and not the way we see it. If we understand that we come to this table as deeply flawed individuals, all of us, and as people who, no matter how much we might try to sincerely understand and follow God and God’s ways, are going to get at least as much of our understanding wrong as we get right. If we come to the table realizing that we haven’t done anything to have earned or deserved our being at the table any more than the person sitting next to us – if we recognize that we’re just as flawed and imperfect and undeserving as they are. If we recognize that  everyone at this table – at this eternal banquet – has been invited by God, on God’s terms, using God’s logic, and not ours.

Observing the Lord’s Supper that way is a very good thing. But it isn’t a good thing at all if we see it as something used to exclude. Something to limit. Something that says that we think we’re better than others, or that we’re God’s favorites or God’s chosen people over against everyone else. It isn’t a good thing if we use this sacrament intended to enact divine and human unity,  and to represent God’s vision of that eternal banquet, eternal life, as a club to beat other people over the head with to say that we’re part of God’s in-group, and they aren’t.

In Isaiah, God says that all people, all nations will participate in the eternal banquet of God’s kingdom. In the gospels, Jesus tells his disciples that he has “other sheep” that those disciples didn’t know. And his teachings about the nature and basis of the final judgment make a pretty bold statement that when considering what will be important in that judgment of whether or not we’ll be welcomed into that eternal banquet, the question of whether a person was or wasn’t a professing Christian never seems to come up. I have to think that John Calvin had these and other scriptures in mind when he wrote about what he called the “visible church” and the “invisible church” – that the visible church was the institution and its people that we see in the world and think of as the church; but the invisible church was the actual, true church, known only to God – and that many in the visible church weren’t really a part of the true, invisible church, and that many not in the visible church actually are part of the invisible church.

That should keep us very humble. It should also keep us very mindful of who we might or might not welcome to participate in the Lord’s Supper. In the past, and in some cases in the present, the church has been very restrictive about who is welcome to participate in the sacrament of Communion. Here, we practice what the church calls an “open table” – that is, any person from any Christian faith, regardless of whether they’re Presbyterian or not, are welcome to participate in this sacrament with us to the fullest extent of their own conscience. We don’t have to hold the same theological beliefs about what, if anything, is happening within the sacrament. We don’t have to hold the same beliefs about how, or even if, Christ himself is present in the sacrament. We hold this view of Communion in large part because Christ said simply “Do this in remembrance of me.” He didn’t say “Only do this after you understand it perfectly, and everyone agrees on that,” and it’s a good thing, because frankly, we never will. He simply said to do it. And so we do.

But I will share with you that personally, I also believe something else about this. I am a firm believer in the visible and invisible church. And I believe Isaiah’s imagery of all people being a part of the eternal banquet, and I believe Christ when he teaches about the nature of the final judgment and welcome into the kingdom.  And because of that,  my own view of the “open table” is this: If you feel God drawing you to participate in this sacrament; if you understand that the good news from God that Christ proclaimed in the world was the message proclaimed by the angels when Jesus was born, a message of God’s favor and love for all of humanity; if you understand the importance of living out love of God in your life, and extending that love to your fellow human beings – then to me, you understand the gospel as well as anyone. You are a part of that invisible church, and you are just as welcome at the Lord’s Table as anyone else. Not only that, but, as the apostle Peter said in the Book of Acts, if God has given you the same Spirit that was given to me, then who am I that I would be an obstacle to you taking your place at the Lord’s Table? To be frank, I believe that I would actually be sinning if I obstructed you or in any way discouraged you from participating along with everyone else.

So today, whether that special food you love to share with loved ones originated in Scotland, or England, or Italy, or Poland, or Iran, or Taiwan, or Korea, or Puerto Rico, or Mexico, or anywhere else, today, we come together to share a simpler common meal – a little bit of bread, and a little bit of wine or juice. But in reality, it is so much more than that. It’s the physical manifestation of God’s love itself. It’s the physical taste of the joyful sharing of our lives together with God, and with one another. So today, on World Communion Sunday, let’s enjoy this meal, this sacrament, and let’s enjoy it together with love.

Thanks be to God.


(Sermon 10/4/15 – World Communion Sunday)

Screenshot-Oregon Shooting CNN 2015-10-01-at-11.10.18-PM

On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.  – Isaiah 25:6-8


I was sitting in a local restaurant the other day, working on today’s sermon – or at least, where I thought it was headed at the time. The television on the wall was full of news about the school shooting in Roseburg, Oregon, where, once again, a mentally deranged young man killed and wounded a number of people in order to redress grievances that we don’t even fully understand yet.

These gun-related mass murders happen so often now that they all start to blend together. We can’t even remember the names of all their locations; we confuse the details about the shooter in Sandy Hook with the one in Aurora with the one in Charleston, and soon enough, this one will blend into that mix, too.

While I was sitting in the restaurant, two women and a man were sitting in the booth next to mine. The man blurted out, “Oh great, I see ‘Comrade Obama’ is already using this shooting to call for more gun laws! I’m telling you, what really needs to happen is for someone to take a gun and take *him* out!” At that point, one of his friends shushed him, but he asked, “Why? You worry too much about what other people think.”

As followers of Jesus, we’re called to live in his way of peace. That includes speaking out against the insane amount of gun violence that plagues our society. I believe that as Christians, we have a moral obligation to work to tighten the ridiculously easy access to firearms in this country that make these tragedies all too possible, and all too common. We need tougher laws, and they need to be toughly enforced. People of good will can certainly debate the details of that, but no one can deny that the current situation clearly isn’t working.

But people who say that changing the laws won’t solve the whole problem are right, too. Our society exhibits a terrible devaluation of human life married to a glorification of violence, and as long as that continues, so will tragedies like Oregon. Gun ownership and gun violence are so widespread in our society because we’ve been brainwashed practically from infancy to believe that nothing is ever fully settled as long as there’s still an unused violent option available.

When tragedies like this shooting occur, we wring our hands and wonder where these unstable people would ever get the idea that such actions could ever be justified. We need look no further than the mindset of that gentleman in the restaurant. When our culture produces supposedly normal, sane, people who can, without a hint of shame, publicly advocate the murder of another human being, President or otherwise, that’s evidence of a deep societal sickness.

So there I was, sitting there writing a sermon for World Communion Sunday, a day emphasizing the unity that we have in Christ, and with one another through the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. A day emphasizing global Christian unity and a commitment to living together peacefully despite individual differences. The day that we receive our annual Peacemaking Offering. The dissonance between the theme of today’s service and the words coming from the television and the next booth couldn’t have been any sharper.

As Christians, we believe that God’s nature and will is so intensely infused in the life and words of Jesus Christ that we can say that in him, we see and know God in the flesh. If we’re serious about that, we have to take him seriously when he points us to ways of peace and nonviolence. That becomes an inseparable part of our proclaiming the gospel – God’s good news of hope and love for all people. As a matter of faith, and regardless of political affiliation, we have to take a stand against violence in our society – against both the proliferation of the tools that carry it out, and the moral sickness that glorifies or justifies it to begin with.

We’ll never teach the unstable members of our society that gun violence is a terrible option if we don’t first successfully teach it to the supposedly normal people like that bonehead in the restaurant. If his mindset passes for acceptable, supposedly “normal” discourse, why should we ever expect unstable people to think differently?

Working for peace and nonviolence might seem like wishful thinking to some. For anyone professing the Christian faith, however, we don’t have an option. We can’t reject Jesus’ teachings as being unrealistic or unworkable in the “real world,” a world that we profess he created and that he rules over. To the contrary, it’s exactly what we’ve been called to do.

So today, as we celebrate the Lord’s Supper, and World Communion Sunday, let’s all understand that. Let’s all recommit ourselves to do whatever we can to work for peace and nonviolence. Let’s recommit ourselves to do whatever we can to make these kinds of shootings a thing of the past – because I’ve grown hoarse, and sick and tired, of offering up yet more prayers, month after month, for the victims of yet another senseless, avoidable mass murder – and I’ll bet you have, too.


The Heavenly Feast (sermon 8/16/15)

Jesus Bread of LifeWatch video of this sermon here:

Wisdom has built her house, she has hewn her seven pillars. She has slaughtered her animals, she has mixed her wine, she has also set her table. She has sent out her servant-girls, she calls from the highest places in the town, “You that are simple, turn in here!” To those without sense she says, “Come, eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed. Lay aside immaturity, and live, and walk in the way of insight.” – Proverbs 9:1-6


[Jesus said,] “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” So Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.”  – John 6:51-58


For a number of weeks now we’ve had Lectionary texts that dealt with bread and people being fed. We heard about the manna in the wilderness, and Jesus being the bread of life from heaven, and this week we get that taken to its logical conclusion in today’s gospel text that makes the connection to the Lord’s Supper – that unless a person eats Jesus’ flesh and drinks his blood, they have no eternal life in them.

It’s hard to imagine that the way people have interpreted this handful of words attributed to Jesus has caused more dissention, more division, more bitterness, hateful words, even violence within the church than any other subject, bar none – and considering many of the other disagreements in the church, that’s really saying something. What I’m talking about here is the different ways that different church traditions have understood what’s actually going on in Communion, the Eucharist, the Lord’s Supper.

Our Roman Catholic, and Orthodox, and Episcopalian brothers and sisters interpret these words very literally, and therefore, believe that in some mysterious way we can’t understand, the bread and wine change into the literal, physical flesh and blood of Jesus, even though they continue to look, and smell, and taste like bread and wine. On the other hand, our Lutheran brothers and sisters take these same words very literally, but they say that the bread and wine remain bread and wine – but at the same time, in some mysterious way Jesus’ literal, physical flesh and blood enter in the bread and wine, intermingling with it maybe at the molecular level. Still other Christians say that Communion is just a “memorial meal,” that we do to simply remember and pay respect to Jesus because he said to do it, but Jesus isn’t actually present in any special way in the Communion.

For our part, John Calvin wrote that the Lord’s Supper is certainly more than just a symbolic memorial meal. But he also said that it seems pretty obvious that when Jesus talked about people eating his flesh and blood, he was speaking metaphorically – that it seemed pretty obvious that when it came to the bread and wine, the thing was and remained what it appeared to be. According to Calvin, Christ is present in the Lord’s Supper in a special way, and through the sacrament we’re united with him and with all believers, but that our communion with Christ is on a strictly spiritual level. Calvin basically said that in the scriptures, God chose not to ever spell out in concrete detail what was going on in the sacrament – so apparently, God didn’t feel we needed to know or worry about it, so we shouldn’t waste time arguing over something we can never really know the right answer to.

Of course, it took the churches established by Calvin, I’d estimate, about five and a half minutes to do exactly what he said they shouldn’t do, arguing over minutiae of how the sacrament works and who was to be considered worthy to participate in it. We’ll talk a little bit more about that in a few weeks, on World Communion Sunday.

In the history of the entire Christian church, arguments over exactly what Jesus meant when he said these words we heard today have led to people be excommunicated, deemed heretics, and burnt at the stake. A series of European wars in the 1500s and 1600s were fought for reasons that certainly had multiple causes, but one large cause was religious difference between Catholics, Lutherans, and Calvinists, and largely focusing on this one particular piece of theology. It was crazy. It was insane. It was sinful.

And it’s still crazy, and in my opinion, sinful, when the same thing happens today. When different factions within the church would keep anyone professing faith in Jesus away from the Table, away from the sacrament, just because they understand the details of the sacrament differently. When one Christian tradition won’t allow members of another Christian tradition to participate in the sacrament. And it’s just as crazy, and sinful, when any group within the church would assume the power or authority to keep another professing Christian away from the Table, this sacrament, because of secondary things – whether they’re a member of the church or not, or how much money they’d given, or how often they attended, or how many times they’d been married, or what their sexual orientation is, or how they voted on abortion, or any other reason. Jesus didn’t say to come to this Table only if we knew we understood what was happening perfectly. He didn’t say to come to the Table only if we were all in agreement. And he didn’t give anyone the authority to keep another believer from participating. Jesus said to do this in remembrance of him, and he said it to each and every one of us, without need for filters or intermediaries. Anyone who can honestly profess “Jesus is Lord” – even if they have questions, or doubts, and honestly, even if we have different understandings of the definition of “Lord”, should be welcome to come to the Table and be part of this sacrament. I believe that if God has spoken in the heart of any person to the point that they want to participate in this sacrament, and they felt drawn to be united with the Spirit of Christ, then we don’t dare to set ourselves up as an obstacle to that happening.

Why is all this important? Am I just rambling on and on about some stupid, abstract point of theology that only church nerds care about? Well, if for no other reason It’s important because of this one thing. The Lord’s Supper, Communion, the Eucharist, whatever a person wants to call it, isn’t just a reenactment of Jesus’ meals with his disciples. It isn’t just a sign of the covenant between us and God that God initiated with us. And it isn’t even just a way that we renew our union with Christ, as important as that is. Beyond those things, this sacrament is also meant to be a reference to, and a reflection of a model, of what the kingdom of God is supposed to be like, what it’s supposed to be all about.

In our First reading this week, he heard about God – in this passage, called Wisdom – preparing this amazing, delicious, sumptuous feast, and inviting all of us to come participate in the feast. In fact, there are a number of places where the kingdom of God is compared to an incredible eternal banquet, that all peoples will be invited to and drawn to.

And that’s the key. When we observe the Lord’s Supper, it’s a celebration of thanks for the great, unmerited good – the grace – that God has poured out upon us. And part of that celebration calls for us to extend that same kind of grace, out to all those around us. Coming to this Table, partaking of this meal, is supposed to be a reflection of the fullness and wideness of God’s kingdom, which doesn’t wait until sometime in the future to begin, but has already begun in the here and now. We’re called to model this view of God’s kingdom – inviting, and welcoming, all to be a part of this kingdom, and not setting up any barriers to any person from hearing God’s good news for them, and welcoming them into this very communion with God and with one another. Regardless of all the other theological squabbles about the mechanics of it all, regardless of what else it might mean, this is what it means to have taken into yourself, to have consumed Jesus’ flesh and blood, to have truly internalized Jesus, to have eternal life within you.

So I guess today is another of those sermons I just leave you with a question to reflect on. As we think about ourselves – both collectively, as the church, and as we live out our lives of faith as individuals – are there things that we’re doing, unintentionally or otherwise, that serve to build a fence around the gospel, around the kingdom of God? Are there things that we’re doing that are pushing people away, that are off-putting to others? And if there are, how can we change them, in order to be more faithful to our call to be Christ-followers? Is there anything that we can be doing, individually or together, to allow more people to come to the Table, and be part of the Heavenly Feast that Christ has set the Table for?

Thanks be to God.