1 Corinthians 11:17-26
Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians is a letter to a church in conflict. He had started the house churches in Corinth a few years earlier, and they were experiencing serious growing pains. They argued over some central concepts of the church, including: the Holy Spirit, marital and sexual norms, worship practices, and women’s roles. (Come to think of it, that sounds like the church in America for the last fifty years, too!) Rumors had reached Paul, and he was not at all happy about what he heard. This is what was happening in the portion of his letter I just read.
“The Lord’s Supper occurred during the course of a larger gathering and common meal of the Corinthian community. It appears that the practice had gotten out of hand. The earlier guests were those of higher social status, who brought with them great quantities of food and drink and then proceeded to consume them with gluttony and drunkenness before the rest of the guests had arrived. Those who came later were the servants and those of lesser means, who often had very little to bring with them to contribute to the feast. . . . The wealthier members of the community were acting selfishly and their selfishness also flaunted their indifference to the needs and situation of the lesser members and the poor in general. . . . The gluttony and drunkenness were bad enough, but the mistreatment of members of the community injured the church and violated the very body of Christ being remembered.”[1]
On a basic level, Paul is giving instructions for the church potluck. Don’t just eat what you brought; share with others. And don’t start until everybody gets there! More importantly, he is saying, “We are all one in the body of Christ. Start acting like it!”
A couple of weeks ago I attended a meeting sponsored by the NAACP to discuss our community’s response to the situation in Ferguson, Missouri. It was scheduled for 5:00. A few days before the event they realized that people who relied on the soup kitchen for dinner either wouldn’t be able to attend—or wouldn’t get dinner—because it was at the same time. So at the last minute they turned the gathering into a potluck. It didn’t really work. It was last minute, and with a 5:00 start time, many of us came straight from work. Nobody had time to cook before attending. I looked at the table when I walked by. There was hummus and pita bread, a small vegetable tray, some grapes, a few bags of chips—things obviously purchased on the way. I couldn’t judge—I didn’t bring anything. And it was better than nothing. But I did wonder if that would be all some people got for dinner that night.
This is World Communion Sunday, so we want to remember that we gather in a huge community with people around the country and around the world. Now, for years I have said that World Communion Sunday is celebrated around the world, but apparently it is not. Colleagues in the U.K. have never even heard of it. But Christians in many places celebrate every Sunday, so we are celebrating with them. And besides, maybe Christians in Africa don’t need to be reminded that they celebrate us. Maybe we Americans need to be reminded that we celebrate with them. We need to remember that we are connected to them, that their joys are our joys and their suffering ours as well . . . which sounds good but isn’t actually true. Most of us don’t know that much about that kind of suffering, that much about hunger, that much about the despair of relentless poverty . . . which is why it exists, because we don’t see it.
I want to share with you a letter from Rev. John Campbell-Nelson who serves in Indonesia and East Timor. He writes:
“Much has changed in Indonesia over the last 25 years, and many people’s lives have improved. But the shift from a traditional to a “modern” way of life is a constant source of social conflict. The hidden constant in this conflict is the role of personal relationships and social status: you are who you know, and who knows you. If you don’t know anybody, you are nobody. That realization has been haunting me lately. . . .
Her name was Rita Norlina Selan. Her mother died when Rita was a few weeks old. Her father is a farm laborer who had no money. Unable to buy milk, he fed her rice water and sugared tea. Rita starved to death. This sort of thing happens in the hills of Timor all too often. But in Rita’s case, it happened less than a mile from our house. The milk she needed was sitting on a shelf in our pantry. The car that could have taken her to the hospital (or her mother before her) was parked in our garage. So why didn’t she get the help she needed? Because her father didn’t know us, and we didn’t know him. When asked why he didn’t come to us for help, he said he was malu (translate that as a combination of shy, ashamed, and afraid). He knew who we were and where we lived, but he did not feel socially important enough to make requests of the “Big White People.” Rita reminds me that social analyses of the causes of poverty and training on nutrition and public health, while important, are secondary. What is of primary importance is building the kind of community where no one is nobody. That’s the kind of community that Jesus worked to create, and it’s the kind of community we have yet to become.[2]
It is World Communion Sunday – to remind us that we are part of the world. But this is not the message of the culture around us and so it is hard to hear, hard to remember. This poem by Dennis Alger more accurately reflects our society’s view. It is called “Never Mind.”
“Never mind,” they say, “about persons so distant from you in
Language, geography, and, certainly Culture.
Too different, too remote, too whatever.”
However, the same sun rises in the East
(Thankfully; because I’m all turned around)
and the same faith connects our Spirits
and the same Desire for solidarity for Community for peace for Friendship
that miles and oceans cannot dissipate
But merely anticipate and Celebrate the possibilities.
Never mind the distance for Shalom unites nevertheless
And like the grace of God is “‘all you can eat’ Rice” and love without measure.[3]
Shalom and the grace of God are “all you can eat.”
One day this summer we were serving communion by intinction, and Jennifer Fetting was serving beside me. Our line had finished, and there were still a few people in the other line. Jen held out the loaf in her hands and said, “Free bread!” I loved it. The bread of heaven – free bread – for anyone and everyone. We practice that—we proudly celebrate an open table, where all our welcome. Let us not forget those who do not come for fear of rejection, who do not come for lack of knowledge of another way, who cannot come because so many things stand in their way.
We started several bread machines here in the sanctuary early this morning. One person said to me this morning, “It’s not fair baking the communion bread during worship! It makes us want it!” And I said, “Yes! Yes, it does!” It makes us eager to come to the table. When the Spiritual Life & Worship team planned this, our intention was for you to come into worship and smell the bread baking . . . for worship to involve your senses, not just your thinking. Too often worship is all about hearing—listening to the sermon, the music, etc. That’s why occasionally I’ll add an element that involves touch or movement—to remind us that we worship with our whole bodies.
But for today in particular, we wanted the sense of smell to be triggered, for the sense of smell is closing related to memory. I’m told this is because the olfactory bulb is part of the brain’s limbic system. I don’t know about that. I just know that I can smell a particular flower or cologne and immediately I’m back in another time or place. And homemade bread is one of those scents that just smells like home . . . even if we lived in a family that ate only Wonder bread. I hoped that the smell of bread, connected to communion, would both trigger memories of home in the past, and form an association for the future: the smell of bread connecting us to our spiritual home as well as our physical one.
But sometimes “home” is hard.
The organization called Global Ministries is a joint effort between the United Church of Christ and the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Their primary purpose is “To receive and share the Good News of Jesus Christ by joining with global and local partners to work for justice, reconciliation and peace.” Through Global Ministries we, as a UCC congregation, participate in building justice and in relieving the suffering of people around the world. One of the ways Global Ministries involves the local church is by providing worship materials that focus our hearts and minds on these needs. This year Global Ministries asked a missionary to Israel and Palestine to write an opening prayer for World Communion Sunday. With all of the unrest in that region, it seemed a good choice, a wise choice. This missionary, however, found it to be a difficult task. In a piece called “A New Song Eventhough,” Rev. Loren McGrail writes:
“It seemed appropriate that one of the missionaries assigned to Israel and Palestine should offer a prayer from the Holy Land, from Jerusalem, the city that still knows no peace, for her church. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t figure out how to talk about a body sacrificed after a summer of genocide in Gaza and nightly violence literally outside my doorstep. I couldn’t write at night because the sounds were too scary and the morning was filled with memories of the night. So instead dear ones I wrote a poem and the poem led me to the prayer. I humbly offer it to you as both a reflection and food for your journey.”
Birds on the fence and the cry of a small kitten
wake me from a vigilant sleep
night prayers of worry still hang in the fresh air
like laundry that should have been brought in days ago.
The long night of violent attacks and counter attacks
is silenced but my body holds onto fear
like a dirty blanket familiar and soiled.
My mind relives the sound details
searching for evidence of how much death or destruction this time
as if the count of explosives is any real measurement.
Yesterday mourners gathered to go to the cemetery.
They delivered huge pots of chicken and rice
for the after meal into a darkened doorway.
A shopkeeper said, “Don’t worry, it’s just a funeral.
God’s death not Israel’s.”
I didn’t know there was a difference.
Is there?
Last night the moonlight in my garden
of olive and orange trees and a single majestic pine
made the feral felines appear bigger than they are.
The sweet fragrance of the jasmine blended
with the putrid smell of fresh skunk water
to make an intoxicating perfume.
The incessant beat of arab disco
was background to the steady firing
of sound bombs and firecrackers
and the whoosh of tear gas
and the secret moans
of lovers completing each other.
This went on for hours
as I sat trying to write a prayer
the call to the table of holy communion.
Jesus knew when he broke bread
his body would be broken open.
He knew when he poured the sabbath wine
his blood would be spilled.
These boys know they could become martyrs
in a flash, their bodies destroyed.
They know their rocks and firecrackers
are no match for the fire power waiting for them.
They know their spirit of resistance
outweighs the orders to wound, injury, destroy or kill them
they know this truth
just like He knew
that death is final
but not victorious.
So come to the table
dear ones just as you are
to be reminded that His suffering is yours
their suffering yours
that you are one body
condemned and redeemed
not because of the suffering
but in spite of it.
Come eat and share the bread of life.
Come to the table
dear ones just as you are
to remember that the wine
is both spilled blood and
the fruit of the harvest,
it is the blood of the lamb.
Come drink from the cup of blessing.
Come for all things are ready
and all are invited.
Come confess
how the long nights have colored your mornings
how your sins have crowded out your good traits
how your pettiness has overshadowed your generosity
how your need for security has overtaken your ability to share
how you tried to make yourself numb by saying it is normal
how you silenced yourself so you didn’t have to speak about the pain.
You who are hungry
eat this bread.
You who are thirsty
drink this wine.
You will be filled.
You who are hungry for peace
come and be fed so you can feed others.
You who are thirsty for justice
come and be filled so you can pour yourself out for others.
You will be filled.
Come
for the world needs you strong and humble
to stand in the streets
to weep with the prophets
to sing above the explosions.[4]
I hope you can hear the personal in the global—how each of us needs healing from our pettiness and our numbness to life, how we silence ourselves to avoid speaking of the pain. We are healed in communion and community.
We come to this table to remember. Let us remember it all.
[1] Reierson, Gary B. Feasting on the Word. Year A, Volume 2.
[2] http://globalministries.org/resources/special-days/WCS/wcs-service.html#Never_Alone
[3] http://globalministries.org/bulletin/en/june-2014.html
[4] http://globalministries.org/resources/special-days/WCS/a-new-song-eventhough.html