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The song in the Hamilton musical called “In the Room Where It Happens” is about what historians call The Compromise of 1790. Alexander Hamilton (and others) wanted the federal government to assume the debts the states had incurred during the Revolutionary War and establish a national bank. But Southern states in particular were opposed to this because they thought it was federal government overreach, and besides they didn’t have the same kind of debts that the northern states had.
Composer Lin-Manuel Miranda had outlined the disagreement in a previous song that turned a Cabinet battle into a rap battle.
Thomas Jefferson says “If New York’s in debt, why should Virginia bear it?
Uh, our debts are paid, I’m afraid
Don’t tax the South ’cause we got it made in the shade
In Virginia, we plant seeds in the ground
We create, you just wanna move our money around.”
But Hamilton takes issue with Jefferson’s words.
“A civics lesson from a slaver, hey neighbor
Your debts are paid ’cause you don’t pay for labor
‘We plant seeds in the South. We create.’ Yeah, keep ranting
We know who’s really doing the planting.”
But they are at a stalemate. Neither side will give, and time is running out. Finally Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and Alexander Hamilton meet over dinner, and when they are done, they have a compromise:
The federal government will assume state debts and establish a national bank, AND the capital of the United States will be moved from New York to the South. Historians don’t know much about how the compromise came about. The only record we have is from Thomas Jefferson’s writings, which are brief on the subject. But in the musical, Aaron Burr tells this story as
“No one else was in the room where it happened.”
No one really knows how the parties get to yes
The pieces that are sacrificed in ev’ry game of chess
We just assume that it happens
But no one else is in the room where it happens.”
In the musical, this song becomes a turning point for Aaron Burr. He realizes that his approach of “wait for it, wait for it” is causing him to miss out on being one of the decision-makers. He decides HE wants to be in the room where it happens. The next song tells us that Aaron Burr won a seat in the Senate by defeating Hamilton’s father-in-law.
Given that our music in the service so far has centered on communion, you may have guessed that I’ve been thinking about another famous room and what happened in it. The cartoon I used earlier in the children’s time tells the story from John’s Gospel. The Gospel According to John is the only one that tells the story of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet. Matthew, Mark, and Luke do not tell this story. These three synoptic gospels start similarly—with either Jesus or the disciples pointing out that Passover is coming and they need a place to celebrate it. In Mark and Luke, Jesus tells the disciples to enter the city and they will see a man carrying a water pitcher. They are to follow him to the house that he enters, and ask the owner house if they may prepare for the meal there. But in Matthew, Jesus tells the disciples to go into the city and go to “a certain man” and tell him we’re going to eat at your house. I don’t know how they were supposed to find this “certain man.”
There are other differences, too. In Matthew and Luke, Jesus predicts that one of the disciples will betray him while they are eating supper, but before the actions that instituted the Lord’s Supper as we celebrate it. But in Mark, Jesus predicts the betrayal after the sharing of the bread and cup. Luke’s Gospel says that after the meal, the disciples argued over who was the greatest. Mark’s Gospel has that story four chapters earlier, and Matthew doesn’t have it at all. And I’m left wondering, “Who was in the room where it happened?” In spite of the names of the Gospels, most scholars do not believe they were written by eyewitnesses. So if none of these writers were actually “in the room where it happened,” what can we trust?
First of all, we look at what they do have in common. The Synoptic gospels all say that Jesus took bread, and he gave thanks for it or blessed it, and then he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then he took the cup and he gave thanks for it or blessed it, and said, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.” His body—broken. His blood—poured out. His words and actions were themselves a prediction of what was to come.
There is one other phrase from these stories that is crucial to our understanding. “Do this in remembrance of me.”
A Mennonite friend of mine, Susan Gascho-Cooke, points out something profound here. From what we know of Jesus’ life through the various windows of the gospels, we see a man who is almost always the leader, the teacher, the healer, the confronter, the explainer. In the last days of his life, leading up to the crucifixion, we glimpse a different Jesus, and I think we get the first glimpse of that at the Last Supper. I see this Jesus wanting companionship, wanting presence, wanting to cut through the isolation that he must have felt as a set-apart figure during his ministry. This Jesus just wanted his disciples to stay nearby, stay awake with him, pray with him and for him. And he wanted them to remember him when he was gone. What a deeply human desire—to know that you are remembered, even when you are not present. So he asked his disciples to remember him when they broke bread and shared a cup together—an act they probably did together daily.
To remember is to re-member—to put back together. So, paradoxically, Jesus introduces a ritual where the sharing of something broken somehow puts that broken thing back together—re-members it. I’m guessing some of us wonder these days, too—are we remembered? At the many tables we are missing from, are we remembered? As we break bread together today, at our many tables, we are experiencing communion as Christ does—having faith in one another that we are remembered at many scattered tables at which we are physically absent. It is somehow comforting that even Jesus wondered, maybe even worried, that he might be forgotten in his absence. And yet also comforting to be sharing in this ritual that declares our commitment to remember and to re-member. Christ. Ourselves. One another.
Today, we once again remember Jesus the Christ. And we remember one another. I remember your faces and the many times you have come forward to receive communion at 301 Cottage Road, and today I’m sad that we’re not all in that room where it happens— that room where love happens, where grace happens.
Still I have been honored to be the one of the people to call you by name and say, “This is the bread of life, given for you. This is the cup of blessing.” In remembering the One who came to us as Love Incarnate, we remember who we are. We remember and believe our capacity to know and love, as we remember and believe that we are known and loved.
I want to play for you now one of my favorite communion hymns. It’s not in either of our hymnals, and it’s based on both this story of the Last Supper and from Galatians 3, which says:
“In Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” One bread, one body.
COMMUNION:
(Members of the Spiritual Life & Worship team will now call us to the table.)
As we come to your table, we remember the night that Jesus sat with his friends and disciples. We remember that they gathered together for a meal of celebration, remembrance, and hope. As they were eating, Jesus looked at these folks who had walked with him. He picked up the bread, gave thanks for it, and he broke it, and with all their eyes on him, listening intently, he said, “This is my body, given for you.” He took a cup and gave thanks for it and looked at them and said, “This is my blood of the covenant. Do this in remembrance of me.”
Let us pray. God, consecrate these many gifts in many places. Whatever it is we bring to you, we ask you to consecrate and make holy through your loving grace. Amen.
Take and eat, for this is the bread of life. Take and eat, for this is the cup of blessing.
Thank you, God, for the bread and the cup, for the life and the love. May we welcome all to your table, we pray. Amen.