I
guess it’s time that we talk about the sacrament of Holy Communion. Either
that, or we have to assume that the appointed reading from John’s gospel in this
week’s Revised Common Lectionary (John 6:51-58) is referring to cannibalism.
In
researching this week’s gospel, I took a look at the Catholic priest and former
Temple University professor Gerard Sloyan’s commentary on John in the Interpretation bible series (John Knox
Press, 1988). Professor Sloyan warns us about stampeding towards a sacramental
understanding of verses 51-57 by reminding us that we really don’t know exactly
what the heck the evangelist was
thinking when he wrote these words. Nevertheless, the smart dudes of the Jesus
Seminar (See The Five Gospels, McMillan
Press, 1993) are pretty darn sure these verses are about the Sacrament of the
Altar. Their commentary suggests that maybe these verses were added to the text
of the Fourth Gospel in later editions, noting that the type of language used
here occurs nowhere else in John and that John makes no reference to a new
sacrament when he tells the story of the Last Supper in chapters 13 through 17.
Of course, it’s also quite possible that John doesn’t mention the sacrament because
everybody already knew about it by the time he got around to writing his
gospel. Who knows?
(BTW:
There’s a really cool explanation for the institution of the sacrament found in
Bruce Chilton’s 2000 opus, Rabbi Jesus
(Doubleday). I won’t go into it because I’ve already written about it three
years ago in a post called “I Am the Bread of Life” which you can click on
under “Popular Posts” on the right column of this blog. Chilton’s theory makes
sense to me.)
For
my own part, I’m pretty sure these verses are talking about our Christian sacrament,
and I don’t think we can ever go too far wrong in re-examining what this ritual
means and why we continue to do it week after week. Professor Sloyan says that
this passage and the whole notion of Jesus as the Bread of Life suggests that
we take Jesus as our nourishment. “This nourishment,” he writes,” is a strong
and intimate faith in the person of Jesus.” Indeed, we are being pretty
intimate when we touch and smell and taste our Lord’s person. When we come to
the table in faith we are accepting in our hands and in our mouths the
brutality of the cross. Here are the gushing wounds, the torn flesh, and the
spilt blood. Here is the betrayal, the abandonment, the physical agony, the
carrying of the burden, the exhaustion, the helplessness, the indignity, and
the inescapable knowledge of death—all of the things which are part of our human
existence whether we choose to acknowledge them or not. And we eat them—we take them all in. That
which was Jesus’ body is also our own. He who was born of God is one with us,
in us, and always part of us. Abiding with us.
But
there is so much more. Not only do we receive Christ in and of ourselves, but
we recognize the same hunger, the same weak, frailty in all those who kneel
before the table with us. We all hurt. We all are inheritors of suffering and
death. We all share a part in the callousness which permits the obscenity of
human cruelty—that cruelty so vividly on display when we look to the cross of
Jesus—to go on in this world. We all make our mistakes and feel the curse of
unworthiness. We all hunger for the words, “Father, forgive them.”
The
miracle comes when we take into ourselves the truth of our weakness and the
love of Jesus who chose to share it with us. We are nourished, strengthened,
and changed. But this change requires the meeting of Jesus’ promise of full,
abundant, and eternal life, with our faithful “Amen!”
Some
Sundays, when I preside at the altar, I feel a sense of awe at the mingling of
pain and joy which gathers around the table. There are those whose secret pain
I know. There are those who will not meet my eyes as I pronounce, “The body of
Christ is broken for you.” There are those who look up at me and smile with the
joyful “Amen.” It is at this moment that I feel love most profoundly, and I am
humbled by this.
In
my parish I have made the liturgical choice to receive the sacrament after all
others have received. Unlike the Roman tradition in which the priest receives
first so as to be in grace when he dispenses grace, I know the beauty and power
of this eating and drinking has nothing to do with me. It is an intimacy
between Jesus and those who receive him. In the spirit of John’s gospel, where
Jesus washes the feet of his disciples, I feel I should be a good host and wait
until I have served everyone else before partaking myself. It’s only polite.
There
are few things in life more satisfying than a meal with loved ones. At Christ’s
table, we are always well fed.
Thanks
for dropping by, my friend. Join me for a meal this Sunday, won't you?
No comments:
Post a Comment