What Not to Wear to the Cedarcrest Prom

This blog post is based on my sermon from March 24, 2019.

(thank you to Sue Kravits for the meme)

Then Jesus said to him, "Someone gave a great dinner and invited many. At the time for the dinner he sent his slave to say to those who had been invited, 'Come; for everything is ready now.' But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said to him, 'I have bought a piece of land, and I must go out and see it; please accept my regrets.' Another said, 'I have bought five yokes of oxen, and I am going to try them out; please accept my regrets.' Another said, 'I have just been married, and therefore I cannot come.' So the slave returned and reported this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and said to his slave, 'Go out at once into the streets ad lanes of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame.' And the slave said, 'Sir, what you have ordered has been done, and there is still room.' Then the master said to the slave, 'Go out into the roads and lanes, and compel people to come in, so that my house may be filled. For I tell you, none of those who were invited will taste my dinner.'"

--Luke 14:16-24

Once more Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying: "The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. Again, he sent other slaves, saying, 'Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.' But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while the rest seized his slaves, mistreated them, and killed them. The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. Then he said to his slaves, 'The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.' Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so, the wedding hall was filled with guests. But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, 'Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?' And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, 'Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.' For many are called, but few are chosen."

--Matthew 22:1-14

Now that's a very different version of the parable from the one that we heard in Luke!

In Luke's version, someone gives a great dinner, but all the invited guests have excuses for why they can't come. The house owner then tells his servant to go out into the streets and lanes of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame. The servant reports back that what the house owner had ordered was done and that there is still more room at the banquet. So the house owner told him to go out into the roads and lanes and compel people to come, so that the house would be full. Finally, the house owner, with a seemingly surly reply, declares that none of the original invited guests will taste the dinner. That's Luke's version of the parable.

Parable of the Great Supper, illustrated by Harold Copping (1863-1932)

"Go out into the roads and lanes, and compel people to come!"

In Matthew's version of the parable people actually die! A king gives a wedding banquet for his sons. When the king's slaves go out to spread the word, some of them are mistreated and killed. Then the king sends his troops to destroy the murderers and burn their city. Somehow a spurned banquet invitation leads to all-out war. I prefer Luke's version of the parable, where the house owner simply says to the no-shows, "Well, no dinner for you!"

I'm troubled by the gratuitous violence in Matthew's parable, but I don't believe that Matthew is advocating violence. The last thing we need is for a parable to advocate violence, particularly after what happened a little over a week ago in Christchurch, New Zealand! We do NOT need a religious text that seemingly advocates violence in the name of religion!

Instead of advocating violence, I believe that the Gospel writer Matthew was most likely reporting violence that had already happened. Most scholars believe that Matthew was writing to Christians who lived in Syria between the years 80 and 90 of the Common Era. To them the reference to the destroyed city would have evoked memories of the destruction of Jerusalem in the year 70. The earlier mistreatment and murder of the slaves would have been heard as a reference to Israel's rejection of the prophets. And the members of Matthew's church would have recognized themselves as the last-minute replacement guests assembled in the great wedding hall (insights from Thomas G. Long, Matthew, Westminster Bible Companion Series, pp. 246-247).

If we put ourselves in the place of these last-minute replacement guests, then the parable, far from advocating violence, becomes a motivational lesson about living faithfully, even in times of violence and persecution.

Because of the times in which we live, there is an urgency about our faith. There is a compelling motivation to take our faith seriously enough to dress the part!

Look at the interaction in the parable between the king and someone who failed to dress the part.

When the king notices that one guest in particular is not wearing a wedding robe, the king says, "Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?"

This is another difference between Luke and Matthew. In the Gospel of Luke, the word "friend" has a positive connotation, but in the Gospel of Matthew it has a negative connotation and really means something more like "buster" (see Long, p. 247). Thus, the king is saying, in essence, "Hey, buster, where's your tux?" The guest is speechless, and the king orders him to be thrown into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth, which is an ancient Jewish way of saying that his life will unfold in endless tragedy.

Endless tragedy? Simply for forgetting to wear a tux? Why does Jesus make such a big to-do about wearing the proper attire?

If we were to survey the full scope of the Bible, we would notice an interesting preoccupation with with what we wear. In the words of one preacher, the Bible begins with God dressing Adam and Eve in the Garden, and it ends with the saints being given white robes to wear in the New Jerusalem. In between there is Paul's reminder to the Galatians that "as many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ." Likewise, the Christians in Colossae, in a passage that is often quoted at weddings, are told to clothe themselves with "compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience" (insight from Bob Dunham, in a sermon preached at University Presbyterian Church, Chapel Hill, North Carolina, October 9, 2011).

Thus, it shouldn't be surprising that the Gospel writer Matthew also has a keen interest in what we wear. In our parable, the wedding robe itself represents the Christian life. In the words of preacher and scholar Tom Long, the parable reminds us with urgency that being a part of the Christian community should make a discernible difference in who we are and how we live . . .

There should be a sense of awe and responsiveness about . . . belonging to the community of Christ . . . Sure, the spotlighted guest in the parable was [whisked away] from the street unexpectedly and was probably wearing cutoffs and [sneakers], but, when he got inside, only a fool would fail to see the difference between what he wore and where he was. He was in the banquet hall of the king; he was at the wedding feast of the royal son . . . He is the recipient of massive grace. Where is his awe? Where is his wonder? Where is his regard for generosity? [The other guests have quietly traded] their street clothes for the garments of worship and celebration, but there he is bellying up to the punch bowl, stuffing his mouth with fig preserves, and wiping his hands on his T-shirt. When the host demands to know where his wedding garment is, the man is speechless, and well he should be. In his self-absorption, he [hadn't fully realized] until that very moment that he was at a wedding banquet at all! Just so, to come into the church in response to the gracious and unmerited invitation of Christ and then not conform one's life to that mercy is to demonstrate a spiritual narcissism so profound that one cannot tell the difference between the wedding feast of the Lamb of God and happy hour in a bus station bar (Long, pp. 247-248).

Many commentators have suggested that a guest at an ancient Mediterranean wedding would have been provided with a robe to wear, which perhaps explain the rage of the king upon discovering that this man had casually tossed his wedding robe onto a bar stool while taking advantage of the free booze.

For me, I'll admit that it makes the ending of the parable easier to swallow if the wayward guest had been given a robe to wear and then simply refused to wear it.

But part of me wonders that even if he hadn't been provided with a robe, wouldn't his awe and gratitude at being invited to the royal wedding have bee enough to motivate him to procure a robe? Wouldn't his thankfulness have been enough to spur him to new levels of ingenuity and creativity?

For most of my ministry, I have preached a gospel of gracious inclusion. All people are invited to the feast. God loves and cares for each one of us. In response the church is called to go out into the streets and invite still more people to come, because there is plenty of room in the banquet hall. And for those of you who need to hear that message this morning, I pray that is the message you will hear.

But for those of us who have heard that message, for those of us who have responded to the invitation and find ourselves assembled in the great wedding hall, there is another message--namely, that if we truly comprehend what a marvelous thing it is to be included in the family of God, then it will motivate us to take our faith seriously enough to dress the part!

The gospel message is "come as you are" not "come as you were." Grace is free, but it isn't cheap.

We have all been invited to the $500,000 per plate dinner that we could have never afforded on our own. The creative challenge before us is to figure out how to dress. Even if the tuxes and gowns are not passed out as we walk through the door, surely we have enough ingenuity to figure out how to dress to the nines anyway.

Surely, we have enough awe and gratitude to help each other grow in our generosity, to help each other grow in our spiritual disciplines. And in the midst of the violence in our world, it is all the more crucial that we dress the part, that we look and sound like peacemakers and seekers of justice.

In Keene, New Hampshire, there is a facility named Cedarcrest that provides round-the-clock treatment for children with severe mental and developmental disabilities. Most families are too overwhelmed to provide that level of twenty-four hour care at home.

One Saturday I was making a pastoral visit to Cedarcrest with a family from the congregation I once served in Vermont, and I noticed that all along the walls of the front hallway were pictures of the Cedarcrest children in evening gowns and tuxedos.

One 12-year-old boy had a jacket and tails draped over the back of his highly specialized wheelchair.

Another photo showed a toddler wearing an absolutely stunning sequined dress.

I asked one of the staff members about the photographs, and she told me that they were photos from the Cedarcrest Prom. I remarked how the staff must have spent hours and hours custom fitting the formal wear and painstakingly dressing each child, not to mention all the other preparations for the prom.

And she smiled and nodded her head in a way that indicated that all of those hours of work had been a labor of love.

If you are ever invited to the Cedarcrest Prom, you wouldn't dare show up in a T-shirt and jeans!

The View from the Back of the Line

This blog post is based on my sermon from March 10, 2019.

For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o'clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, "You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right." So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o'clock, he did the same. And about five o'clock he went out and found others standing around; and said to them, "Why are you standing idle all day?" They said to him, "Because no one has hired us." He said to them, "You also go into the vineyard." When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, "Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first." When those hired about five o'clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, "These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat. But he replied to one of them, "Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?" So the last will be first, and the first will be last.

--Matthew 20:1-16, New Revised Standard Version

 (with thanks to Sue Kravits for the meme)

If you're a fan of the filmmaker John Sayles, then you surely know the movie "Matewan," which was about the attempt to unionize coal miners in Matewan, West Virginia in 1920. The film is narrated by fifteen-year-old Danny Radnor. At this young age Danny is already a coal miner, and he's a part-time Baptist preacher. From time to time he preaches at both of the Baptist churches in his small town: the Hard Shell Baptist and the Soft Shell Baptist. 

One night Danny is preaching at the Hard Shell Baptist Church. He reads the same parable that we just read, the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard. Now, by way of background you should know that Danny's father was killed in a mining accident, and Danny is hoping that the coal miners in his town will be able to get the union so that they can press for safer practices and better pay. However, the pastor of the Hard Shell Baptist Church (played by John Sayles in cameo) believes that the union organizers are all communists and agents of Satan!

In this particular scene Danny reads the parable from the pulpit while the Hard Shell pastor sits in the chancel and looks over Danny's shoulder. Danny finishes reading the parable, and then he says, "Now, it's clear from this parable that Jesus ain't heard nothin' about the union! Cuz if he had, he'd of changed his tune! He'd say everyone should get the same dollar for the same work!" And that's about as far as Danny got with his sermon before the Hard Shell pastor chased him out of the pulpit!

When we hear this parable, we're tempted to think that there are all kinds of things that Jesus ain't heard nothing about.

Has Jesus ever been to college, for instance? Apparently Jesus doesn't understand that if you're taking a university-level course that you simply cannot ditch class the entire semester, fail to turn in any work whatsoever, play hooky on the day of the midterm, and then show up on the last day of classes and announce that you'd like full credit for the course! That's not how it works.

Also, Jesus apparently has never stood in line at King Kone on a summer's evening. That bit about the "last will be first, and the first will be last" is never going to play well with those at the front of the line who have already been waiting patiently for their ice cream.

Perhaps the cruelest part of the parable is when those who were hired first were made to wait at the end of the line to get their pay. They had bargained for the usual daily wage--a "denarius" in the Greek--in other words, just enough money to provide for their needs for that one day. They watch as the others get paid, and they see that those who were hired last, who only worked one hour, also got the full, usual daily wage--a denarius. And then they brighten up, because all of a sudden, it's no longer a denarius for a day's work; it's now one denarius per hour! Thus, those who have worked the full twelve-hour day can now expect to be paid twelve denarii! (Barbara Brown Taylor imagines a similar scene in her sermon titled, "Beginning at the End").

Automatically, they start calculating everything that twelve denarii will buy. Some of them are planning vacations. Others, who are more prudent, are planning on how they can pay off their credit cards and medical bills. Maybe they'll even have a little left over to put into savings. And, of course, before they even reach the manager and receive their paycheck, those twelve denarii have already been spent! Imagine their profound disappointment when they, too, only receive the usual daily wage. Yes, it was what they bargained for. But it's fundamentally unfair that those who worked only one hour would get paid the same as those who worked three, six, nine, or twelve hours.

Later, when the vineyard owner asks, "Are you envious because I am generous?" The answer is "You bet we are!" That's the PG-rated answer at any rate. It's probably not appropriate for me to quote the profanity-laced answer, but who wouldn't be tempted to swear at an employer who pulled such shenanigans!?

Are you envious because I am generous? You bet we are. Of course, we are!

Perhaps it is the inherent unfairness that upsets us the most. Like Danny Radnor, we believe that every worker should get the same dollar for the same amount of work.

Others of us may be okay with the unfairness, as long as we are the beneficiaries of the unfair practices. We might not want to admit that out loud, but, as Calvinists, we shouldn't be surprised either!

Have you ever seen that bumper sticker: "Jesus loves you, but I'm his favorite"? Yes, if there is going to be a favored group, then most of us would prefer to be in that favored group.

Some of you may recall the Academy-award winning film "Amadeus." It was based on Peter Shaffer's play of the same name. The action of the play centers on the bitter, intense rivalry between Antonio Salieri, an 18th century Italian composer who was living in Vienna, and his nemesis, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. As Salieri tells us, Salieri himself was a virtuous, hard-working man. From his boyhood Salieri only wanted to compose music. As a teenage, Salieri slipped into a church and made a bargain with God; he would write God glorious music, and God would grant him fame and fortune in return. As the play begins, it would appear that both Salieri and God have kept their respective ends of the bargain. Salieri is writing church music, and he has indeed become a succesful and admired composer.

Then we meet Mozart, who as a child prodigy had composed his first symphony at the age of five. In the play Mozart is portrayed as a vulgar, notorious womanizer, who is also tactless, arrogant, rude, irreverent, and musically talented beyond imagination.

Salieri has worked hard to compose beautiful music, but Mozart does so effortlessly. The music flows from Mozart as if by grace. Salieri himself believes that Mozart's music flows directly from God, that Mozart is indeed Amadeus, a name that means "beloved of God." Yes, it's true that Salieri received the acclaim he had bargained for, but nothing near the fame and renown that Mozart would enjoy.

Are you envious because I am generous? Well, yes, if you're name is Salieri, you most certainly are! We can imagine Salieri standing at the back of the line, stewing in bitterness.

The way that Jesus teaches the parable forces the listeners to imagine themselves at the end of the line as well. All of us watch together as those who worked less hours than we did get paid the same exact wage that we were promised.

My friend and mentor Patrick Willson, a retired Presbyterian pastor, speculates that Jesus told the parable this way because Jesus wants us to view the action from the back of the line, so that we can see what is happening with everyone else. (see comments by Patrick J. Willson in Feasting on the Gospels. I am also indebted to Patrick for the reference to Peter Shaffer's play "Amadeus").

We all have a tendency to be too wrapped up in ourselves, to see everything that we receive as something we're entitled to. This is true even in the church, even among those of us who ought to know that we have received we have received through mercy and not merit. But even in the church we often look through the lens of entitlement. In one of the churches I served there was a dear saint of the church who had been a part of that congregation for forty years, and one day she confided in me that she still felt like the new kid on the block. With seniority comes entitlement, those of us who have stood around a little longer, who have been in this line a little or even a lot longer, expect more.

But as we watch from the end of the line as everyone else gets paid first, when we have honest conversations with one another, we can begin to see the goodness and mercy of God toward others.

That question, are you envious because I am generous, could be translated, "Is your eye evil because I am good?" Earlier in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus has said that the eye is the lamp of the body. We know, of course, that our eyes are receptors of light, which falls on the retina, which sends signals to the brain via the optic nerve, and then the brain interprets what the eyes see. But in the ancient world, in Jesus' day, the eye was understood to be a lamp that emits light. Thus, what you would see would depend entirely on what was already inside of you. (see comments by Thomas G. Long in Matthew, Westminster Bible Companion series).

"The eye is the lamp of the body"

Oil lamp typical of the first century.

To the extent that you are full of bitterness, you will see people and situations that make you feel even more bitter.

To the extent that you are full of gratitude, you will see people and situations that make you feel even more grateful.

So, what do we see from our vantage point at the end of the line? Perhaps we still see the fundamental unfairness of paying everyone the same wage for different amounts of work. But, if we look carefully from our vantage point, we can see signs of God's goodness and mercy.

We might see, for instance, that some of those who worked only one hour had spent the entire day in the marketplace worried sick that no had hired them. The twelve-hour workers were quick to point out that they had worked all that time in the hot sun, but which is worse?: to toil the entire time in the vineyard knowing that you're assured the usual daily wage at the end, or to spend the entire day in the marketplace, also under a hot sun, fretting that you won't find any work and won't have any pay at the end of the day? And if you had spent most of the day in the marketplace, imagine your relief when someone finally does hire you for that last hour, and to your utter amazement, you end up receiving the full, usual daily wage, which you desperately need to provide for your family. Surely, that would be an example of God's goodness and mercy.

Yet from our vantage point at the end of the line we might also see that some of the others who were hred last had indeed fritted the whole day away and didn't show up at the marketplace until the very last minute. In that instance we might insist that they don't deserve the full daily wage, but from our vantage point we can see other situations in which people have received mercy that they did not deserve. And if we look especially carefully, we will see how we ourselves have received mercies that we did not deserve.

If we begrudge others the mercies they have received which they did not deserve, then what should we say about the mercies that we have received which we did not deserve?

Preacher and writer Tom Long has a wonderful image that helped me unlock the riddle of this parable. Imagine that you, along with everyone else, are standing in a downpour, getting utterly drenched in God's mercy. Rivers of peace are flowing down your cheeks and everyone else's cheeks as well. Do you then complain that you're not getting your fair share of the rain? (from Thomas G. Long's Matthew commentary).

A friend of mine went to a very competitive medical school. The air was thick with spirit of competition. One day, as it neared the time that residencies would be announced and the anxiety about how everyone measured up seemed particularly acute, one of their professors interrupted his own lecture, looked out over the class, and asked, "Do you know what they call the person who graduates dead last in this program?"

"Doctor!"

Well, what do you suppose they call the person who is dead last in the kingdom of heaven?

A beloved child of God.

All glory and praise be to our God. Amen.

Daydreaming During Communion

This blog post is based on my sermon from March 3, 2019, which was titled, "Daydreaming During Communion."

This is all that's showing of the sermon title after Sunday night's snowfall. 

Katonah, NY, morning of Monday, March 4, 2019

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, "Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, "This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!" When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome with fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, "Get up and do not be afraid." And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.                                       --Matthew 17:1-8, New Revised Standard Version

I have an honest, soul-searching question for you. Have you ever daydreamed during communion?

I'll answer that question honestly. There have been moments when I've been sitting in that chair in the chancel, doing my best to think devotional thoughts, and then the next thing I know I'm in the mountains, sitting on an Adirondack chair, and I can see four figures in the distance. Are they lost hikers, perhaps? And then I realize that those four figures are the four elders who have been serving communion to the congregation, and they are standing at the back of the sanctuary, looking at me expectantly and most likely wondering why I haven't given them the signal to come forward yet.

Perhaps you've had moments like that. You're seated in your chair, doing your best to think devotional thoughts, but you end up wondering whether you remembered to make those brunch reservations, or you're wondering if your dentist appointment is tomorrow or the next day, or perhaps you've opened the wardrobe door to peek into Narnia, and then suddenly you look around to your left and to the right, and standing on opposite ends of your row are Moses and Elijah themselves, waiting for you to hurry up already and take a piece of bread and pass the tray.

(thank you to Sue Kravits for the meme)

When I was young I was warned of the consequences of daydreaming during communion. My grandmother would quote 1 Corinthians 11:29 in the King James Version: "For he that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself." 

That was a frightening verse to a ten-year-old, and it quite literally scared the hell into me. Years later I learned that the Apostle Paul was actually speaking of those who indulged in the Lord's Supper while excluding others. 

Nowadays I have an entirely different take on daydreaming during communion. Now I believe that our daydreams and visions help us to understand that there is always so much more to communion than what we can observe with our eyes or taste with our tongues.

My friend and mentor Roland Perdue is a retired Presbyterian pastor, a gifted preacher, and a wonderful storyteller. He tells the story of walking by the church his family attended when he was in high school in College Park, Georgia. The door to the church was open--an unusual occurrence on a Friday afternoon. Roland started up the steps to close the door, but something caught his eye. He walked into the sanctuary and noticed that the communion table was completely bathed in red. Roland said it looked as if all the communions ever celebrated in that sanctuary had been gathered up and poured over the table, splattered on the legs, and splashed on the floors and the walls. Roland thought of the connection between the red colors of communion and the life of a man from the past, dying for him, rising in glory, and inviting him to eat with him the next time the table was spread.

And then, suddenly, the communion table was bathed in green light. It stayed green for a while, and then everything briefly turned to yellow before turning red again, and Roland realized that the entire visual effect was being caused by the traffic light outside. Common sense told him that. But he also believed that he saw the extraordinary radiance of God shimmering in the ordinary and reflected lights from the street. (from a sermon by Roland Perdue, "Painted Bunting")

I am becoming more convinced that we need dreams and visions and wild imaginations to appreciate everything that happens at this table.

(Oh, the visions we'll see when the traffic light shines through the church windows!)

We often say that the communion meal is a memorial meal reminding us of Jesus' suffering and death. But we also say that the Lord's Supper is the joyful feast of the people of God. How can it be both at the same time? 

Perhaps we need a dream or a vision to help us make the connection.

When the Transfiguration scene takes place in Matthew's Gospel, Jesus has just told the disciples that he must suffer and die. Matthew goes on to narrate how Jesus is eventually arrested and put to death, describing the crucifixion in gruesome detail. But before Matthew tells us the story of the crucifixion he tells us another story--the story of Transfiguration--a story which discloses to us who Jesus is and what his ministry means. (I'm in debt to Thomas G. Long, Matthew, Westminster Bible Companion, p. 94, for the insight into the juxtaposition of the Transfiguration and Crucifixion stories).

So when Matthew later tells us how the soldiers gambled over Jesus' clothing, he wants us to remember that in the moment of Transfiguration Jesus' clothes were shining with glimmering brilliance.

When Jesus on the cross is surrounded by two criminals, one on his left and one on his right, Matthew wants us to remember how in the Transfiguration Jesus was flanked by both Moses and Elijah.

On the cross Jesus is taunted by people crying out, "If you're really the Son of God, take yourself down from that cross!," but in the moment of Transfiguration, there was a voice from heaven which proclaimed, "This is my beloved Son!"

In the crucifixion scene Jesus dies in humiliation with the crowds waiting to see whether Elijah will come to save him, and in the Transfiguration scene Moses and Elijah depart the scene at the end, leaving Jesus alone to shine in glory.

So, how can this meal be both a memorial of Jesus' death and the joyful feast of the people of God? It is both because whenever we think of Jesus' suffering and death we can also think of Jesus' shining splendor and glory. We can hear and understand one story in the light of the other.

When you and I daydream during communion, 

when our minds wander from one thing to another, 

when we sit in our rows passing the trays 

but our minds are racing and our hearts are grieving 

because we've just heard some devastating family news 

or received an unexpected and frightening medical diagnosis, 

even in those moments, 

when our minds are a million miles away and definitely not thinking devotional thoughts, 

all it takes is a little bit of bread and a cup to connect us with the Jesus who gently touches us on the shoulder and tells us not to be afraid.

Joanna Adams is a Presbyterian pastor who served churches in Atlanta. She tells the story of a pastoral visit she paid to a retired minister in her congregation whose mind and memory had been ravaged by Alzheimer's disease. She went to take him communion. She read some scripture, and finally set the elements before him. In a momentary fit of rage he said, "What is this?" Then he shouted, "WHAT IS THIS?!" Joanna said she was searching her mind for some way of calming him down, when suddenly he answered his own question: "This is the joyful feast of the people of God," he said, and then lifting his eyes to the heavens, he prayed, "Almighty God, we thank You for this supper shared in the Spirit with your son Jesus." And for a few moments, he was reconnected with grace and standing in the presence of glory. (from a sermon preached by Joanna Adams, when she was pastor of Atlanta's Trinity Presbyterian Church)

In a few minutes we will pass the trays. We will share the bread of heaven and the cup of blessing. 

And who knows what dreams may come.

All glory and praise be to our God. Amen.

For discussion: what do you often think about during communion? Is there a particular vision or thought that has helped you connect the sacrament to your own life?