I can't recall now who said it; it started out as a joke. My Young Adult Missionary class had just gotten out of a communion service during our training last summer. We were eating the leftover bread, and someone had joked about how tasty the grace of God was – warm and chewy, perfectly accompanied by a few drops of grape juice. And from the crowd of us, somewhere, someone said, "What if the Grace we received was directly proportional to the amount of communion bread we ate?" While it was laughed off at first, the theme came up again, and I couldn't shake myself of it. From that time to this, I've considered the thought. What implications might it have if bread were my only source of Grace?
Well, practically, once people started making the connection, we’d probably see attendance rise at churches (particularly on the first Sunday of the month). And the communion line itself wouldn’t be so solemn – we’d probably be jumping for joy. People would come around two or three times just to get a little more of that Grace. I daresay women might have a more positive body image, and being thin would not be quite as popular as it is today. And our mission focus might change, too. Since we acknowledge that it is only by God’s Grace that we are cleansed of our sin, only by Grace that we turn to God at all, I imagine that when missionaries packed their suitcases, they’d be 90% yeast and flour, 10% other. And I guess we might be a little freer about who we allow to perform the sacraments, wouldn’t we?
Luckily for us, our Grace does not come only from bread. It is not in meal and millet that God blesses us. The meal we share is simply a memory. Or perhaps more appropriately (since I think very few of us were actually around to witness that first-last-supper), the meal is an example. God says to us, “Come to this table. Even in something as normal as sharing bread and wine I am with you. I am blessing you always.”
In today’s lectionary, Jesus tells us that he is leaving us a model. Actually, we hear about three. The first, as mentioned earlier, comes to us in the first letter to the Corinthians. Here Jesus gives us an example of how we might remember him, and remember our call (“Remember, friends, whenever you take a meal together. Remember the love you’ve experienced, and remember the good news I told you to spread.”).
The next model comes at the beginning of the gospel text, in John chapter 13. Jesus and his friends have gathered for a meal just before Passover. And during supper, Jesus rises from the table. He takes off his outer robe (his jacket, if you will), he pulls out a towel and a basin of water, and he begins to wash his friends’ feet.
Okay.
Now, I’m sure the disciples are used to Jesus doing some pretty unusual things. They’ve seen him perform miracles, dine with the unclean, defy rules and traditions, a few weeks ago we even heard how Peter saw Jesus glowing on the mountain. Now, as then, Peter (along with the rest of the twelve, I’d be willing to guess) doesn’t quite know how to handle the situation. And as usual, instead of keeping his mouth shut and waiting for things to be explained, Peter gets a little ahead of him. On the mountain, Peter wanted to build some houses for Moses and Elijah, to stay on the mountaintop and keep experiencing what he rightly recognizes as “good.” Here too, he rightly recognizes that Jesus is trying to tell them something about serving one another. But instead of letting Jesus explain what he means, Peter jumps ahead: “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” and after a little back and forth, Jesus does finally manage the task. He asks them, “Do you know what I have done to you?... If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you should do as I have done to you.” Jesus is telling his disciples that they, too, can be instruments of God’s Grace. The work of God was not meant for just one person, but for all of God’s children.
About this, Jesus could not be more clear. Here is our final model: “Little children,” Jesus says, “Where I am going you cannot come. I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”
Stop for a minute and imagine that you’ve just heard these things from your friend, Jesus. You think back on your journey: where were you a year ago? Two years ago? What has happened in your family? How has your path changed? How has this son of a carpenter, son of God, influenced you? And more importantly, what must you now do with your life?
Now imagine that you wake up on the following Saturday morning. The hot, mid morning sun is streaming through your window. The air is dusty. You remember the events of the last few days. Your friend, teacher, Lord, is dead. You walk across town, through a market bustling with color and energy. You reach the edge of town and gaze out on God’s creation. How does it feel? You’ve been told to spread the Good News of God… but how? You return to your room and break bread, remembering Jesus’ words: “This is my body that is for you.”
Could you have eaten it?
We must. EVERY DAY we must remember the example of love Christ set for us. We must remember and give thanks for the Grace amply given, in so many ways. And above all, we must share our bread, our grace, with one another. For his last meal, Jesus gathered his friends all together. Our table is not a place for solitude.
There are times when I feel that receiving Grace would be just as painful as bearing my burdens on my own. It is at just these times when I need it most. So I pick up my loaf of bread, give thanks to God, I break it, and I share it with my friends. And I remember. To this I was called.
