That's Why It's Called Communion (Reflections on Maundy Thursday)

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” John 13:34

Maundy Thursday—literally Commandment Thursday—the night we celebrate Jesus' last meal with his disciples before his arrest and crucifixion. It's the night he gave us the commandments to love one another and to “do this” (ie: Holy Communion) in remembrance of him. At Faith Lutheran in Philadelphia it's also the night in which some of our youngsters make their First Holy Communion, so it's a night I always look forward to.

When I was a kid growing up in the strict Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod (Just think of the ELCA and then suck every ounce of enjoyment out of worship and you'll get a pretty good idea of the LC-MS of my youth!), we didn't receive our first communion until after we had made confirmation. I guess those Missouri Synod folks were frightened that kids taking communion without understanding it were doomed to hell per some weird interpretation of 1 Corinthians 11:29 in that old King James translation they loved so much. In the ELCA we've tended to sneak the age of First Holy Communion down to about third grade in order to get the children more involved in the worship life of the church.

When I became pastor at Faith I was pretty surprised to learn that First Holy Communion was celebrated on Ash Wednesday. My reaction was, “Say whaaatt..? Ash Wenesday..?” I really didn't like the liturgical juxtaposition of this. It felt like we were saying to the kids, “Welcome to the Lord's table. Now you're gonna DIE!” So for years we celebrated this milestone on Palm Sunday. I figured that getting lots of folks in church for Palm Sunday to see the youngsters make First Communion would give me the opportunity to plug our Holy Week liturgies. Unfortunately, this never had any effect since people loved Palm Sunday for the souvenir palms and would show up, First Holy Communion or not, but still stayed away from Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. I finally got smart a few years ago. The logical time to have First Holy Communion is on Maundy Thursday—the night commemorating Jesus' institution of this sacrament. It's been SRO ever since.

Again, if you read my post on Palm Sunday, you know I love the theatricality of this event. During this liturgy I wash the feet of my third and fourth grade first-time communicants. I think the historic re-enactment makes the gospel real to us. I want people to see Jesus' act of servant-hood. I think what this night most says to me is that we are called to be Christ in community. I am no holier or more “saved” than the children whose feet I wash. We are all one body, and we all need each other. That's where grace is found.

Although the night tends to focus on the sacrament, our gospel lesson (John 13:1-17, 31b-35) points us to our need to be family, to serve and be served, love and be loved. Poor Peter in this story has a little bit of an issue with the “being loved” part. He's okay with loving Jesus, but he can't seem to let Jesus love him. He seems to be hung up on his own sense of unworthiness. If you ask me, the dude has some control issues.

I remember talking to a buddy of mine in grad school some thirty years ago. She said something I haven't forgotten. “If I had the choice,” she said, “of being hopelessly in love with someone who would never never love me back, or having someone be in love with me whom I didn't love—I would rather be the one in love.” I get that. It's so hard for us to accept another's devotion because we can't control it. But truth be told, we can't control God's love for us. It's hard to accept that it's not about us. It's only about God.

That's why Jesus gave us this sacrament. Communion. Community. Togetherness. We don't eat alone. We come to the table of remembrance knowing that everyone around it has sinned and fallen short of the glory of God just like us, and in that community we witness to each other. And in that mutuality with our fellow sinful foot-washers we are letting ourselves be loved.

The best thing I can compare this to is an AA meeting. One of the great traditions of the 12-step program is that someone sharing their story in a meeting will begin by introducing themselves. “I'm Owen, and I'm an alcoholic.” It's basically an act of confession and contrition just to say those words. But what follows is an act of grace. Everyone in the meeting responds as if liturgically by saying, “Hi, Owen!” The effusive greeting says, “You may be a screw-up, but you're welcome here.”

We can read of God's grace through Jesus' sacrifice in the words of scripture, but nothing is quite like having another human being look you in the eye and express that grace to you. We need each other. That's why we come together to eat the meal of remembrance. That's why we're church.

I hope you, dear Reader, will find the time to worship this week and let yourself be loved by those you encounter.