Henrietta
United
Rev. David Inglis
“Communing with Christ”
Instead of having a separate sermon today, I’d like
to open up some ways for you to make our communion service a true experience of
communing with Christ.
Communion is a sacramental meal. A sacrament is often called “an outward sign
of an invisible grace.” So we have
outward signs–bread and juice–that help us experience something that’s
invisible--Christ’s love that nourishes, cleanses, heals, and frees our souls.
We appreciate a meal the most when we’re hungry for
it, and it’s the same with this meal for our souls. Our souls
get hungry whenever we feel disconnected from God, from our truest
selves and from each other. Let’s whet
our appetite for this meal by becoming aware of our spiritual hunger.
Litany of Preparation
L: Creator God, we have come to your table, hungry to
be fed.
Left side: We long for the bread of mercy, the fruit
of peace, the meat of truth, the waters of justice.
Right side: We hunger to be accepted and affirmed, to
feel centered and purposeful, to be met with understanding eyes and a
soul-embracing touch.
All: We crave a world where life is sacred, where the
oppressors and the oppressed both rediscover their true dignity, where peace
flows from the fount of justice.
L: We look up and see the table upon which you have
spread a feast. You beckon us to join you there.
Left side: Needy, we approach, only half believing
the goodness, the bounty, the grace.
Right side: Needy, we fear our masks will fall away
and our unworthiness will be discovered.
All: Incredibly, it is our fears that fall away as
you are broken and poured out for us.
L: God of life, your people are gathered in this
place. We are hungering for your presence, your renewal, your peace.
All: We are waiting and we are hungry. Feed us now.
Take a moment now to be aware of your
spiritual hunger that draws you to this table today.
Invitation to the meal
The scriptures reveal that Jesus had taken some pains
to arrange a place where he and his disciples could share the Passover
meal. The tension between Jesus and the
authorities was at its climax, so the disciples were confused and anxious about
this sense of danger they felt. He
wanted all of them to be together with him, because what he had to show them
and tell them would become the lifeline between them and him, helping their
faith and their community to survive when he was gone.
Jesus wanted Judas there, even with his hardened
heart and plot of betrayal in his mind.
He wanted Peter there, even with his potential to deny that he even knew
Jesus. He wanted James and John there, even though they were vying for favored
positions. He wanted Thomas there, even
though he was full of doubt. He wanted
them all there, even though they all would abandon him when fear overtook
them.
He wanted them all there, just as they were, so they
would know that no matter how badly they failed and how quickly they forsook him, he would not fail them or forsake
them. He wanted to give them
something tangible to help them remember that his forgiveness and love would
always be there for them to return to.
If they remembered this, they would tell others who needed to remember
that too. And they would tell others, through the generations
and centuries, until I am telling you here today, that Jesus wants you here,
just as you are, so he can tell you that no matter how you have failed,
and no matter who or what you have betrayed or denied or doubted or forsaken,
his forgiveness and love are here for you to return to as well.
That’s why everyone is welcome and invited to partake
communion here. We aren’t qualified to
commune with Jesus because of our virtue; we are invited because of our need.
So all who hunger for the healing, transforming,
renewing love that Jesus lived and died to give us, let us in our minds gather
together around this table that Jesus has prepared for you and me.
Words of institution
Now that we’re
at this table that Jesus has invited us to, let’s hear what he says and does.
“This is my
body broken for you. Take and eat. Do this is remembrance of me.”
“This cup is
a new covenant in my blood, shed for the forgiveness of sins. As often as you drink of it, remember me.”
These words
take our minds immediately to the scene of the cross where Jesus’ body was
broken and his blood was poured out.
Many things have been said to try to explain in
logical and theological terms how Jesus’ sacrificial death forgives us, saves
us, and transforms us. One of the best
things I’ve read abandons all logic and cuts right to the heart of it. In his
book Road to Daybreak, Henri Nouwen shares this poignant memory of
a Good Friday mass at a residence for the developmentally disabled.
Father Thomas and Father Gilbert took the huge
crucifix that hangs behind the altar from the wall and held it so that the
whole community could come and kiss the dead body of Christ. They all came,
more than four hundred people - handicapped men and women and their assistants
and friends. Everybody seemed to know very well what they were doing: expressing their love and gratitude for him
who gave his life for them.
As they were crowding around the cross and kissing
the feet and the head of Jesus, I closed my eyes and could see his sacred body
stretched out and crucified upon our planet earth. I saw the immense suffering
of humanity: people killing each other;
people dying from starvation and epidemics; people fleeing their homes; people
sleeping on the streets; people tortured, burned, and mutilated; people locked
in prison dungeons and labor camps; people all crying out with an anguished
voice:
"My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?"
As I imagined the lacerated body of Christ stretched
out over our globe, I was filled with the horror of so much suffering, so much
suffering.
But as I opened my eyes, I saw Jacques, who bears the
marks of suffering in his face, kiss the body with passion and tears in his
eyes. I saw Ivan carried on Michael's back
come and kiss Jesus’ suffering form.
I saw Edith coming in her wheelchair.
As they came–walking or limping, seeing or blind, hearing or deaf--I saw
the endless procession of humanity gathering around the sacred body of Jesus,
covering it with their tears and their kisses, and slowly moving away from it
comforted and consoled by such great love.
With my mind's eye I saw the huge crowds of isolated,
agonizing individuals walking away from the cross together, bound together by
the love they had seen with their own eyes and touched with their own lips. The
cross of horror became the cross of hope.
The tortured body became the body that gives new life. The gaping wounds became the source of
forgiveness, healing, and reconciliation.
(From The Road to Daybreak, Image Books, 1990)
“This is my body, broken--for you. This is my blood poured out--for you.” With these words and with this bread and cup,
Jesus becomes totally vulnerable and totally approachable. He shares the pain of all who are
suffering. He takes into himself the sin of all of us who, in our blindness,
have caused pain to God’s sons and daughters.
He suffers because of us and suffers with us and suffers for us. But he
offers his suffering as a gift and a sign that nothing we do and nothing that
is done to us can separate us from his forgiving love--nothing.
The body and blood of Christ
“This is my body, broken--for you. This is my blood poured out--for you.” Many things have been written to try to
explain in logical and theological terms in what way exactly this ordinary
bread and juice “become” the body of Christ and the blood of Christ. I think that misses the point. The point is, Do we receive Christ’s gift of
himself when we receive this bread and this juice? That’s what communion with Christ is all
about. Do we come to this table as we
are, and receive Christ’s forgiveness, Christ’s unconditional love, Christ’s
presence in our suffering, Christ’s compassion for all who suffer, Christ’s
trust that even death will yield to life when our lives are yielded to God?
The prayer of consecration is traditionally the
prayer where, either symbolically or in substance, the bread and wine “become”
the body and blood of Christ. In the
Roman Catholic church, a bell sounds to signify the “transubstantiation.” But I believe the real change is not in the
substances on the table, but in their meaning to us. To help this change happen, I’ve chosen a
prayer of consecration for us to pray together.
This was written by Ignatius Loyola, a 16th Century church leader who
became a saint in the Roman Catholic Church.
Let’s pray it together, and let his words become our words.
Prayer of consecration by
Ignatius Loyola
Lord Jesus,
may your body and blood be my food and drink.
May your
passion and death be my strength and life.
Jesus, with
you by my side, enough has been given.
May the
shelter I seek be the shadow of your cross.
Let me not
run from the love which you offer,
But hold me
safe from the forces of evil.
On each of
my dyings shed your light and your love.
Keep
calling to me until that day comes
When, with
your saints, I may praise you forever. Amen.
Receiving and giving the bread and cup
The communion servers are coming from among us. In a moment they will serve us the gift of
Christ’s body broken for us and Christ’s blood shed for us. And then we will serve it to each other, as
it passes from hand to hand. As we give
it and receive it and as we hold the bread and the cup in our hands, let us be
aware that we are giving and receiving the gift of Christ’s life, Christ’s
forgiving love, Christ’s abiding presence and
Christ’s eternal hope.
We receive christ’s body and blood
(As we receive the bread:) Jesus said, “This is my body--my life, my self,
which is broken for you. Take Christ’s
love and presence into your being as you eat this bread and let Christ feed you
where you are most hungry.
(As we receive the cup:) Jesus said, “This cup is the new covenant in my
blood, which is poured out for the forgiveness of your sins.” Let Christ’s
unconditional love for you, flow into you, filling your heart with his peace
and with his boundless love for you and for every person that you encounter.
After a
meal we always thank our host for feeding us.
Let us thank Jesus for the food he has given our souls today.
Prayer of thanksgiving
Living Christ, in your last supper you taught us to
come to you just as we are. In your
ministry you showed us that compassion is our life work. In calling your disciples you showed us how
to find our lives by seeking God first.
In your death and resurrection you showed us that our work is never
lost, never without purpose, never worthless.
We thank you for giving your all to reveal these truths to us. Let us be guided by your living example and
by your love that never leaves us.
Empower us to embody your light, your hope and your peace in our hurting
world. Amen.
As we
have communed with Jesus, his body has become a part of our body. And our bodies have become a part of his
body. We together, as people who have
received Christ into our lives, are now the body of Christ knit together by his
love. This reflection by James
Huffstutler that speaks to that mystery.
“The Body of Christ”
We are the body of
Christ
Strange,
that after all the
mean things
the kids on the block
called us
while we were
growing up
that we should
become
the body of Christ.
I never in a million
years
would have thought
that
Christ’s body would
have
warts and moles
and be always
slightly overweight.
But if it takes eyes
to see the ways
people need help
and ears
to hear what
somebody needs to listen to
and hands
to help out
and feet
to go on those
errands
and hearts
to love
and voices
to sing and shout
and holler
about how wonderful
God is
and what God can do
with these
eyes and
ears and
hands and
feet and
voices,
then I guess we are
the body of Christ!
God help us!
Funny that the body
of Christ is young and old
at the same time,
wise and naive,
gentle and
assertive,
completely in charge
and a little scatterbrained;
but oh, so full of
love.
Christ’s love.