A Sacred Feast

Sacrament: an outward and visible sign of an inward, invisible grace

Liturgy: the work of the people

We gathered together in an upper room, tucked away from the hundreds of others who had come from north and south, east and west to do the important work of electing two new bishops who would serve in the Northeast Jurisdiction of the United Methodist Church. As important as that work was, we had gathered for a different reason. It had been four long years since we had all been together. During that time marriages had been celebrated and marriages had crumbled, babies had breathed their first breath and babies had been lost, some of us had been ordained and others were still struggling through the process. We gathered together to be in community, a circle of women and children because we needed to be with one another. Not talk on the phone, not connect over Facebook, but to sit in one another’s presence.

As our time together drew to a close, we gathered together in an upper room and began the work of setting the Table. Except, there was no table. There was no altar, no paraments, no white linen cloths. No candles, no stained glass, not even a cross except for the one that adorned Shannon’s neck. But there was a whole wheat sub roll that Julia had acquired, and a bottle of grape juice Shannon had given her in a care package, and the chalice and paten I had used at the nursing home just four days ago was still in the trunk of my car. It was enough. We sat in a circle on the floor of the conference room, with our sub roll and grape juice and over-tired children, and we began.

‘When we gather at the table,’ Shannon said, looking at the four children who were wiggling in front of her, ‘we start by saying thank you to God for all the wonderful things God has done. What are we thankful for?’ We thanked God for our community, we thanked God for the way in which we had been brought together in seminary so many years ago. S climbed into Roslyn’s lap and said her family. Auden was thankful for Mia. Mia was thankful for Auden.

I picked up the next portion of the liturgy. ‘We give thanks for Jesus, who loved us and showed us how to love one another,’ and then we sang ‘Jesus Loves Me,’ soprano and alto voices blending with the toneless voices of toddlers who have not yet learned how to sing. ‘Yes, Jesus loves me,’ we sang, smiling.

‘On his last night Jesus gathered all his friends-’ and we looked at one another, tears in our eyes. ‘He gathered all his friends and said,’ Shannon paused and looked at Auden. ‘Auden, will you lift the bread?’ I clapped my hand to stifle the sob the burst forth as my beautiful, precocious, pixie-like child solemnly cupped the paten in her tiny hands and lifted it slowly above her head as her godmother continued the ancient words we all knew by heart: ‘This is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’

Lent, Light, and Love: John 1

**This sermon was given at North Hunterdon UMC on the first Sunday of Lent, February 14, 2016. The scripture passage was the Prologue from the Gospel of John 1:1-14**

I’m going to be honest with you, I didn’t really plan on addressing the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day at all. Because really, what in the world could Valentine’s Day and Lent have to do with one another? And especially with our scripture lesson this morning, the Prologue from John. But the more I thought about it I realized, you know what, this just might work! Let’s see if we can find some sort of connection between these three seemingly unrelated events: our scripture that begins, in the beginning was the Word, the start of our Lenten journey, and the day in which we celebrate love.

Would you pray with me?

Gracious and loving God, we give you thanks for the many ways in which you make yourself known to us throughout our lives. We thank you for those who journey with us and who are reflections of your love. As we reflect upon the words that we have already heard, I ask that the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts might be pleasing to you. In the name of Jesus, the Word made Flesh, we pray. Amen.

I’m not particularly fond of Valentine’s Day- like many others I tend to resist the idea that I need a special day to spend money buying things in an attempt to show my love for another. Why do I need to buy a card, or buy flowers, or buy chocolates to give to my love on February 14th? And yet, I do buy the card, and the chocolates, and sometimes even flowers- or maybe a houseplant- because I enjoy festivities in general and because I realize that maybe I don’t always tell my loves just how much they mean to me, and perhaps we all need the reminder to stop and tell someone just how much we love them.

Have I ever told you about Daniel? Daniel was my first love- we were going to get married, and have ten babies. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays he was going to be a doctor and I was going to be the nurse. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he was going to be a detective while I was a waitress. When my father told Daniel that, if he was going to marry me he would need to have a job, he proudly told my father that he already had one- collecting the garbage on trash night. This is how the mind- and hearts- of four year olds work. The problem came when Daniel’s family moved to Atlanta. We sent cards, but the hearts of four and five year olds are fickle, and soon Daniel had a new little girlfriend, which I thought was just wonderful.

When I was in the first grade my family packed up our minivan and made the long drive to Atlanta over spring break to see Daniel’s family. It had been three years since our mothers, who were best friends, had seen one another. Spring break also coincided that year with Valentine’s Day, which is also my parent’s anniversary. When we got there, I didn’t recognize Daniel. He was different. I was different. We were no longer the same, we had grown up. Seven year old boys aren’t too keen on playing with seven year old girls most of the time, and so instead of being reunited with my love on Valentine’s Day- even then I was a romantic at heart- I spent the trip playing with his older sisters and my younger sisters. Except on Valentine’s Day, when our parents brought us all together for a treasure hunt. They had put together a little game, I’m sure you’re familiar with it. You’re given a clue, usually a riddle, that you have to figure out and it leads you to some place like the mailbox or the laundry room, and then you find another clue which leads you to the refrigerator, where there’s another clue and so on and so on until you finally reach the treasure at the end. And with each clue your excitement mounts because you know you’re getting closer and closer and yet you never quite know when you’re actually going to get to the prize until suddenly--- the treasure is in your hands. In our case it was boxes of conversation hearts, and Valentine’s that simply said: I love you.

Of course, we already knew that. We knew that our parents loved us, we said it to one another every morning and every night. But in that moment we knew. Their love was made known to us through the time that it took to plan the game, through the anticipation they felt alongside us as we journeyed towards that prize at the end. Their love was made known in the chalky candy with X’s and O’s printed on them, in the heart shaped cards they had made, and in the hugs and kisses we received. Sometimes you carry knowledge within you that you forget in the day to day acts of living, and it takes something really special to open your eyes so that you can really see.

In the piece we read earlier that comes out of the Iona Community we heard in a new way what we know to be true from the scriptures but often forget. We heard how, time and again, God reached out to humanity, trying to show us signs of God’s love, trying to bring us back into right relationship with God, but we couldn’t see. And we couldn’t hear. Or we couldn’t remember long enough for it to make a difference. Some part of us knew that God loved us, but in the day to day act of living and surviving we forgot what that really meant. So finally God said, I’ll go down there myself and show them! Which brings us to our Gospel lesson this morning, these famous words from the Gospel of John that have served to shape doctrine and theology and Christology for centuries yet carry a truth simple enough for even a little child to understand: that the God who is love came to earth in a way we would recognize, in a form we could relate to, in a way we could love. We celebrate this at Christmas, when we retell the birth stories of Jesus, that moment when the Word put on flesh and lived among us. When Love put on skin and walked beside us.

But here’s the problem: even then, the world didn’t know him. Even when the Word put on flesh, ‘the world did not know him’ (NRSV). Even when the Light came to earth to shine in the darkness ‘the world didn’t recognize the light’ (CEB). Even when Love came in a way that looked like us, ‘the world didn’t even notice. [Love] came to his own people, but they didn’t want him.’ (The Message).

Sometimes we don’t recognize love, even when it’s right in front of us.

Sometimes we want love to look like flowers and chocolates and poems, and instead it shows up washing of dishes and folding laundry.

Sometimes we want love to look like long walks under the sunset, arm in arm with the one we love, and instead it shows up as the one who remains when everyone else has gone away.

Sometimes we want love to look like a powerful deliverer, with a strong arm and the ability to bring tyrants to their knees, and instead love shows up as a vulnerable infant.

Sometimes we want love to look like happily ever after, and instead love is arms stretched out on the beams of a cross.

Often we stumble around in our own personal darkness, searching for meaning, searching for connection, searching for love, and even when it’s standing right in front of us, reaching out a hand of healing, calling to us by name, we do not recognize it. We are not alone, when we do this. We are not the only ones. Throughout the gospels we see time and time again love standing in front of people in the form of Jesus and they do not recognize him. They are not able to see. But still he is there; he welcomes the one who comes to him under the cover of night. He reaches out to touch the one who is blind, he calls out to the one who is held by the darkness of death... and little by little we begin to see. Like the Valentine’s treasure hunt we pick up these clues about who this man Jesus is- that he brings abundance, and blessing. That he makes the lame to walk and the blind to see. That he is the way, the truth, and the light, that he is the resurrection and the life, that he is the Light that shines in our darkness. That he is Love.

As we begin this journey through Lent, this journey from the darkness of fear or doubt or grief or sadness, may the one that is Love walk beside us, and may his light shine not only on our path, but on all who find themselves seeking for truth: that God loved the world so much he put on flesh and lived among us, to teach us how to love.