Actions speak louder
than words. It’s something we say, and it’s also something we’ve
experienced… when someone’s words just sort of float over us, and we go
somewhere else in our imagination.
But tonight, worship is centered around action. If you have
ever had the opportunity to join with Jewish neighbors in a Passover Seder, you
have tasted this. Each action has a meaning. Each food we eat has a memory. The matzah (unleavened bread), maror (bitter herbs) and charoset
(an apple chutney paste reminding us of the mud used to make bricks)… each one
tells a part of the shared story of moving from slavery to freedom.
We learn—through the questions we ask and the songs we sing. So, in
keeping with the Passover roots of this night, as Jesus shared supper with
disciples, this is a night when we tell the story mostly through action.
We practice confession and forgiveness—the words, yes, but
also a time to come forward and kneel and have someone’s hands rest gently on
us and someone’s voice speak “You are forgiven.” The weight is lifted. And
then, like Jesus did for disciples, we wash each other’s feet… or hands… taking
time to pour water over and dry with a towel, so we can feel the blessing of
someone else ministering to us. And in giving and receiving in that tender way,
we are startled by the way it meets a need we didn’t even know we had.[1]
And then, we share a meal—not so different than the meal
some of us shared downstairs, where everyone can come and get a little
something to eat. This communion meal is ordinary in a way—we share it every
Sunday. But in another way, this meal is different because Jesus says to
disciples (and to us) that somehow, God is present in this bread and cup in
ways that change us. Now, we can never look at bread again in the same way,
ever since Jesus pointed out that God is present in the bread. Now, we can
never look at the cup in the same way, since Jesus said “I will never drink it
again until I drink it with you.”
Jesus is present here and not only says, “This is my body,
this is my blood,” but says “You are my body.” And with that action mixed with
these words, we see Jesus differently. We see ourselves differently. We see
others differently.
Finally, there is the action of stripping the altar. In one
way, it’s a reminder of all that is horrifying about this story. On this night,
Jesus was betrayed by some of those who loved him best. They ate supper
together and then they went to the garden of Gethsemane to pray… but only Jesus
could stay awake to pour out his heart to God. His closest friends were so
weary that they fell asleep at the moment when Jesus really needed them. They
weren’t able to pay attention, but we are trained now to be alert. Sometimes we
are. We watch carefully this night and think about Gethsemanes behind us and ahead.[2]
And later, disciples were so afraid that they resorted to
violence and then, they scattered in terror… denying they even knew Jesus.
Tonight, the story goes… Jesus was arrested, had an unfair trial, and was
beaten. Tonight, he waited for the morning when his sentence—public execution—would
be carried out over many hours. That is the story of Jesus being stripped of
his clothes, his followers, his friends, and his dignity… but that is not all
of the story.
Another part of the story, another reason why we move
through this action on this night is because of the way that in this part of
the action, all distractions are stripped away. Martin Luther had a word for all
that might distract us from the main action of God and it is adiaphora.
We don’t look to the cross because it is gory, because it’s
horrifying. We look to Jesus on the cross because it’s there that all the adiaphora (all the unimportant things)
are cleared away and we know more deeply what is most essential in death and in
life.
All the beautiful things in our lives and spaces can also
become too important, all the treasures that we use to adorn our worship space.
We remove everything, everything becomes simple, stripped down, to help us look
only to Jesus’ body—to watch, to witness, to accompany him all the way to the
cross, and somehow in that mystery, to learn how to become the body that Jesus
says we already are.
And so for tonight, along with our actions, words of blessing
from Jan Richardson.[3]
Blessing the Bread,
the Cup
Let us bless the bread, that gives itself to us, with its
terrible weight, its infinite grace.
Let us bless the cup, poured out for us, with a love, that
makes us anew.
Let us gather, around these gifts, simply given, and deeply
blessed.
And then let us go, bearing the bread, carrying the cup,
laying the table, within a hungering world.
Blessing for Staying
Awake
Even in slumber
even in dreaming
even in sorrow
even in
pain:
awake, awake
awake my soul
to the One
who keeps vigil
at
all times for you.
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