Discerning the Body

A Maundy Thursday Meditation

1 Corinthians 11:23-30; John 13:1-17, 31b-35

When I was a newly minted priest in the Diocese of Chicago, William Wiedrich was the suffragan bishop. Bishop Wiedrich was known as a great storyteller. I am particularly fond of a story he told of a church he once served as rector that seems to have had a problem with static electricity. This problem was only exacerbated when they installed a new carpet in the sanctuary. The combination of dry air and the new carpet built up a considerable electrical charge. The first Sunday after the new carpet was installed, Father Wiedrich prepared to distribute the body of Christ. It happened that the first person at the altar rail was his senior warden, kneeling reverently with his mouth open to receive the sacrament. Father Wiedrich said, “The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven.” But, as he placed the wafer on the tongue of his warden, there was such an electric discharge that it knocked the warden on his backside. The static electricity became such a problem that Wiedrich enlisted an acolyte to stay near him so he could touch the acolyte to take the shock rather than the people at the rail. The acolytes, in turn, began to draw straws to see who would have to serve as the rector’s human electrical ground. At least at that church, people began to understand that celebrating the Lord’s Supper is serious business and not altogether safe. 

Apparently, the church at Corinth had forgotten that. Of course, the Corinthian church is notorious for being dysfunctional. There were divisions of several kinds. Some of its members were so sure of their superior spiritual prowess that they had pretty much left everyone else behind, including Paul. Some prided themselves on their sophistication and looked down on those they considered unsophisticated in their faith. Others were scandalized by those who did not see things their way. The church was divided over which leader of the larger Christian movement was most worthy to be associated with. There was sexual misconduct and confusion. There were class prejudices that divided the church when they gathered for the Lord’s Supper. In other words, it was pretty much church as usual.

In 1 Corinthians, Paul, rather sternly, reminds them–and reminds us–that church as usual is not the same as being the body of Christ. He warns us against being content with anything less than living together as the body of Christ. He does that by reminding us of the Lord’s Supper and its seriousness. It is serious business because it is where the body of Christ ‘happens’. In the mystery of the Eucharist we encounter, tangibly, the presence of Christ in the Bread and Wine. And in that same mystery, we who have been baptized into the body of Christ are re-membered again and again as we regather in communion at the Communion Table. It is shocking and not altogether safe because what happens is partly determined by the quality of our common life. The quality of our encounter with the Body of Christ in the Eucharist is inseparable from the quality of our common life and the way we engage one another as the body of Christ in our life together and in the world. Paul even warns that if our life together does not rhyme with his, it is possible to receive Jesus in an unworthy manner. We can eat and drink judgement to ourselves. That is shocking.

                                     

Jesus said, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” That is part of the command the we receive on Maundy Thursday. Jesus freely offers himself to us, nourishing, forgiving, healing, and transforming. But, essential to that remembrance is obeying the other command which he enacts in the footwashing. "So 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 also should do as I have done to you." Then he lays down the fundamental mandatum, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” They are all of a piece.

Discerning the body means we recognize Jesus in our midst and in each other. So we submit ourselves to one another in love, giving ourselves to one another and receiving one another, just as Jesus gives himself to us and we receive him in the Eucharist. Discerning the body means every Eucharist is a challenge to again take up the cross and follow Jesus in his Passion; to live as he lived, to love as he loved, to serve as he served, to be people of the basin and towel. Discerning the body means recognizing that the Lord’s Supper, the self-denying disciplines of love, and life in community are inseparable. Am I prepared to receive Jesus in the Bread and Wine if I am not prepared to receive him in the neighbor who comes to Table with me? Am I prepared to receive Jesus offered in the Bread and Wine if I am not prepared to similarly offer myself to that neighbor? If we discern the body, we will engage one another with the reverence and gentleness due the body of Christ.

We are made the body of Christ in baptism and called to live the grace-filled Eucharistic life of Jesus with and for one another. We are both judged and nourished by the body of Christ in the Eucharist. Together we are called to be the body of Christ, broken and poured out for the sake of a hungry, hurting world. That is serious business. It is not altogether safe. It is not the usual, expected way of the world. When we actually live it, it is also, in the best sense of the word, shocking.

See also:

He Washed Our Feet!

Whose Feet Will You Wash?

Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world

According to a recent report from Christianity Today, America’s favorite Bible verse is Romans 12:2 in which the Apostle Paul encourages Christians to "not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind."

Romans 12:2 is a good and provocative verse. But, by itself it does not tell us much. What exactly is the pattern of this world that Paul is warning against? What transformation is he encouraging? What kind of thinking needs renewing? On its own, without any context, Romans 12:2 can be made to mean whatever I want it to mean. But, in our time, it is imperative that we get what Paul is actually talking about. Too much of our political rhetoric and the sentiments it is tapping into conforms to the pattern of this world.

The context of Romans 12:2 – what immediately precedes and follows it – reveals what Paul has in mind. Let’s look at that context:  

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God--this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will. (Romans 12:1-2)

The passage begins with “Therefore” indicating that Paul is drawing a conclusion from what has gone before. What has gone before in the letter to the Romans is Paul’s grappling with the universality of human bondage to Sin and the particular “problem” in his view that his fellow Jews have not responded to Jesus as the Messiah who has come to deliver all humanity from that bondage. At the end of Chapter 11, he declares the wonder of God’s unsearchable and inscrutable mercy in spite of our universal disobedience:

For God has imprisoned all in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all.

O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!

‘For who has known the mind of the Lord?

           Or who has been his counselor?’

‘Or who has given a gift to him,

                        to receive a gift in return?’

For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory for ever. Amen.

It is in the context of God’s unexpected and unimaginable mercy that Paul encourages the church in Rome – by the mercies of God – to be living sacrifices, not conformed to the pattern of this world, but transformed by the renewing of their minds.

Again, what does that mean? What might it mean to be conformed to the pattern of this world? What might it mean to be transformed by the renewing of our minds?

Paul answers those question in the rest of Romans 12.

For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you. (Rom. 12:3)

Do not be conformed to this world’s pattern of self-aggrandizement, self-assertion, and self-promotion. Rather, be transformed by humility.

Paul goes on

Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. (Rom. 12:4-5)

Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world in which we are told that we are individuals first and each person is primarily responsible for and to themselves. Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world polarized by politics, race, ethnicity, nationality, and other divisions. Rather, be transformed by the understanding that we are in fact members of one another and the recognition that we cannot separate ourselves from others whether we like them or agree with them or not.

Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. (Rom. 12:9)

Talk of love is cheap. Genuine love requires being willing to be a living sacrifice for the sake of the other. The evil we are to hate is never another person. In fact we should be more critical of the evil that arises within our own hearts.

love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. (Rom. 12:10)

Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world with its addiction to disparaging and tearing down others. Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world where every disagreement is a cause for battle. Rather, be transformed and compete to show honor – even to those who you believe have dishonored you.

Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. (Rom. 12:11-12)

In a world full of despair and grievances, given to complaining; be hopeful, patient, and prayerful. Be patient in affliction – maintaining love and joy, peace and gentleness toward all.

Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality. (Rom. 12:13)

The pattern of this world is to celebrate wealth and the accumulation of stuff along with a vigilant guarding of what we consider our own. With that comes a resentful and suspicious spirit toward those in need. Paul summons us to be transformed by generosity and detachment from worldly wealth and possessions.

Practice hospitality.

Rather than be conformed to the pattern of this world with its suspicion of those who are other or different or unknown, we are to be transformed by open-hearted hospitality to strangers. Surely this includes our Muslim neighbors as well as others.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. (Rom. 12:14)

In a world where cursing opponents is the norm, be transformed by the practice of blessing even those who persecute you. Paul had no illusions that this was easy. He knew real persecution. Still, blessing and not cursing are essential to the transformation Paul is talking about. If we are to bless and not curse those who are actually persecuting us, how much more those who merely make us uncomfortable because they differ from us? Anything else is conforming to the pattern of this world.

Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. (Rom. 12:15)

In a world where it is common to rejoice when one’s opponents weep and weep when one’s opponents rejoice, be transformed by the renewing of your minds. In a world where it is normal to divide the world into those whose rejoicing and weeping matter more and those whose rejoicing and weeping matter less, be transformed and rejoice with all those who rejoice and all those who weep.

Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited. (Rom. 12:16)

Disharmony is the pattern of this world. To live in harmony is to anticipate the kingdom of God. Pride and self-righteousness are the pattern of this world. Seek humility instead. It is the fundamental transformation. Be prepared to acknowledge that you know less than you want to admit. Be prepared to be the one who is wrong.

Associate with those who are lowly – the poor, the weak, the marginalized, those who others are attacking.

And then it gets even harder:

Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," says the Lord. On the contrary: "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. (Rom. 12:17-21)

Can anything be more counter-cultural and otherworldly than this? In a world where vengeance is the operative motivation for the main characters in much of our entertainment? Where vengeance animates our attitude toward those by whom we feel threatened? Where violence toward those we don’t like is justified and rationalized? In a world where politicians have recently played on our fears and suspicions of those different from us?

Again, Paul is not being sentimental here. He has no illusions about what he is calling us to. He had real enemies. As did Jesus who said the same thing.

We are to show kindness to our enemies – food and drink, etc. The line about burning coals probably means embarrassing or shaming our enemy when we return good for evil, by out-loving them. Perhaps that will lead them to repent making reconciliation possible.

Dare we in our day return good for evil? This is hard. But, the alternative is to conform to the pattern of this world – the pattern of division, hatred, vengeance, and violence.

Responding to God’s unsearchable and inscrutable mercy, do not be conformed to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds and extend that mercy to others, learning the hard discipline of overcoming evil with good – with generosity, hospitality, patience, and peace. That is what it means to be “living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God--this is your spiritual act of worship.”

A "Whiskey Priest" Church

The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene is one of the great novels of the 20th century. Set in Mexico in the 1930’s during a period of revolution, its protagonist is the last Catholic priest in a state where the Church has been outlawed. But this outlaw priest proves an odd protagonist. He is a “whiskey priest” who is usually either drunk, hung over, or yearning for the next drink. He also has sired a daughter in a village in the mountains. On the run from the police, he first appears in the story about to catch a river boat to escape to safety in another state. Cowardly, morally suspect, and self-interested, the Whiskey Priest is hardly exemplary.

And yet. The priest’s attempts to escape are foiled by his own sense of obligation to his sacramental ministry. Though often with a sense of regret, or resentment even, he does hear confession, baptize, and administer Eucharist. While he is in many ways self-interested, the priest is also self-aware and convinced of his own failure. And though he is convinced he is a failure, it is clear throughout the novel that he has indeed ministered to many. In spite of himself, it seems the Spirit never abandons him. By the end of the story, it is clear that, while his witness is mixed, the priest has indeed borne witness to the gospel.

It is a story of God’s amazing grace as he uses one dissolute priest to demonstrate his power and glory. It gives hope to all of us who, while perhaps less obviously dissolute, are nonetheless able to carry on only because we live under the Mercy. It is one of the handful of books that have truly changed me.

The protagonist in The Power and the Glory is also a good metaphor for the Church. We would like to imagine the Church striding through history like a hero or a saint. But, if we are honest, we must admit that the Church has ever staggered through history like the Whiskey Priest – all too often drunk on (worldly) power and sin, cowardly, less than faithful, self-interested, etc. But, while it has never been more than a Whiskey Priest, it has, by the grace of God, never been less. In spite of all its shortcomings, it has borne Word and Sacrament to the world. And it has also raised up exemplary saints – known and unknown. As with Graham Greene’s priest, we know that in spite of its shortcomings, the Spirit does not abandon the Church and God’s power and glory are present in and through it. But only and always by God’s grace, not its own heroic or saintly purity.

And there’s the rub. The compulsion and presumption to create a pure Church, whether that be pure in holiness or pure in teaching or pure in justice – however and by whomever any of those is defined – is rooted in either pride or impatience (or both). If we continually expect and demand that the Church stride through history like a hero-saint we will continually be frustrated by its actual plodding through history like a Whiskey Priest. But we will also miss the opportunity to learn what it means to live by God’s power and glory rather than our own. We will miss the fact of God’s sheer grace. I wonder if the refusal to accept and love the Church as a corpus permixtum – a mixed body of sinners and saints – is not rooted in our own unwillingness to see ourselves as simul justus et peccator – simultaneously righteous and sinful. We only ever live under the Mercy.

The Whiskey Priest has no such illusions about himself. As a result, he ends up exhibiting those basic gospel virtues, humility and charity – virtues that continue to be shaped even, and perhaps especially, in a Church that, like the Whiskey Priest, bears the Good News in spite of its all too evident imperfections.

Baptized into Eucharist - The Problem With "Open" Communion. Some Anecdotes

First, here is a quote from Rowan Williams, former Archbishop of Canterbury:

It must be said, of course, that this complete sharing of baptismal and Eucharistic life does not happen rapidly or easily, and the problem remains of how the church is to show its openness without simply abandoning its explicit commitment to the one focal interpretive story of Jesus. To share Eucharistic communion with someone unbaptized, or committed to another story or system, is odd-not because the sacrament is 'profaned', or because grace cannot he be given to those outside the household, but because the symbolic integrity of the Eucharist depends upon its being celebrated by those who both commit themselves to the paradigm of Jesus' death and resurrection and acknowledge that their violence is violence offered to Jesus. All their betrayals are to be understood as betrayals of him; and through that understanding comes forgiveness and hope. Those who do not so understand themselves and their sin or their loss will not make the same identification of their victims with Jesus, nor will they necessarily understand their hope for their vocation in relation to him and his community. Their participation is thus anomalous: it is hard to see the meaning of what is being done.

–  Rowan Williams, Resurrection: Interpreting the Easter Gospel, p. 61

I agree with Williams and am convinced that the church is right to maintain the connection between baptism and Eucharist. For one thing, it respects the integrity of the other in her/his disbelief or belief in something other than “the paradigm of Jesus' death and resurrection” and being "committed to another story or system." From my own experience I know that we can do that while also extending deep hospitality to one another when we worship and to our guests. Here are some examples:

1. At the church I served before becoming bishop, we had a blurb in our bulletin that invited all who wanted to to come forward – to receive Communion if baptized or a blessing if not. It also allowed for the possibility that someone might prefer to refrain from either and stay seated. And there was an invitation to discuss baptism and membership. I did not generally call attention to it verbally. I did always make a point during announcements of inviting everyone to join us in sharing food and drinks at our fellowship/hospitality time immediately following the liturgy. I never interrogated visitors who came forward to receive Communion. Contrary to common misrepresentation, this is not about trying to protect Jesus from the unworthy or ignorant.

2. We did not pass the plate. Rather, members knew that belonging – communing – includes financial commitments and know where and how to give. It seems to me that if one of our concerns is to be more hospitable, a good place to start would be to stop hitting up visitors for cash. I would start there rather than changing church doctrine or discipline, or disregarding church canons.

3. We had a new member of our congregation who received communion every Sunday for several months before mentioning that he was not baptized. He had been raised, and had been an officer in, the Salvation Army which does not do sacraments. Upon learning this, we had a conversation in which I explained the rationale for requiring baptism. We then met for several weeks of baptismal preparation. During which time he came forward during Communion for a blessing. Once baptized, he received communion again. It was no big deal.

4. There are ways to make noncommunicants welcome while still respecting distinctions. Another member of the congregation I served is married to a man who years ago became a Buddhist while he was in college. In many ways he is more active than many of the baptized members, attending congregational events beyond his regular Sunday attendance. He and his wife linger long at the fellowship/hospitality time after the liturgy. He is even the chair of the IT committee. By his own admission, he feels most welcome. When I asked him what he thought of our limiting Eucharist to the baptized and if it bothered him, his response was, “Why would I take Communion, I am not a Christian.” I suggest that we respected him more and he us by acknowledging that distinction than if we had pretended it was irrelevant.

5. Several years ago, I was a guest speaker at an event at a mosque around the corner from our church. Since the main event took place in their place of worship, they requested/made us take our shoes off before entering. I could have taken offense, I suppose, at this expectation. I believe it is sufficient to remove the sandals of our hearts (though as one who takes bodily action seriously, I do wonder if they are onto something). Would I not be guilty of presumption if I had ignored the request? Would they not have been disrespectful of their own tradition’s understanding of God/Allah had they not insisted? Would they not have been less than respectful of me and my convictions if they had just said that our differences don’t matter and I could go ahead and wear my shoes if I wanted to since we are all just generic people seeking an experience of a generic 'Holy'?

I remain convinced that inviting anyone, regardless of baptism to participate in Eucharist is a theological error that is neither respectful nor hospitable. Striving for both hospitality and honesty is harder, but better.

Previous:

Baptized into Eucharist - The Problem With "Open" Communion. Part 1

Baptized into Eucharist - The Problem With "Open" Communion. Part 2

Bonus: On Not Taking Offense When I am Not Invited to Communion

Baptized into Eucharist - The Problem With "Open" Communion. Part 2

Transformation

In the sacraments the body of Christ “happens.” In baptism a new member of the body is “made” by incorporation. In the Eucharist the body happens in several ways. It is the feast by which we remember the life, death, and resurrection of the one whose historical body was broken for us. It is the feast in which the bread and wine become for us the body and blood of Christ. And it is the feast by which the body of Christ, the Church, is re-membered and its members fed. “[I]n these holy Mysteries we are made one with Christ, and Christ with us; we are made one body in him, and members one of another” (American BCP, p. 316). Thus, in the well-known Augustinian exhortation: “Behold what you are. Become what you see: the Body of Christ, beloved of God” (Homily 57, On the Holy Eucharist). And Augustine adds that when we consume the body of Christ in the bread and wine, we do not so much transform that food into our bodies as we are transformed by it into his body.

Participation in the Eucharist is therefore not simply about experiencing God’s consolation. It is that, but it is much more. It is about transformation. It is part of our conversion process on the way to what the Eastern Christian tradition calls theosis: our being made capable of being “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Pet. 2:4), capable of bearing the absolute love, goodness, beauty, and joy of God. We expect to be transfigured, or as Dante put it, transhumanized into glory.

We cannot, and dare not, however, expect that transformation to be easy or painless. Indeed, Scripture suggests otherwise. Through Jeremiah, God, “the LORD of hosts,” promises to “refine” and “test” us; “for what else can I do, because of my people?” (Jer. 9:7; cf. Zech. 13:9 and Mal. 3:3). As wonderful as beautiful, shining silver is, the ore does not welcome, we might say, the heat of the crucible. To be sure there is hope, in the words of Jesus: “I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). But, before that, in verse 2, he promises: “Every branch of mine that bears no fruit, God takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit God prunes, that it may bear more fruit.” In this light, we do people a disservice if we invite them to the eucharistic table without the warning, and promise, that potentially painful refining and pruning is part of the deal.

Whose Table?

It is sometimes suggested that since the eucharistic table is God’s table, it is not for us to decide who can participate. But given the logic of the liturgy, one might just as reasonably suggest that because it is God’s table we should not be glib in our own participation or in inviting others to join us. Indeed, one might wonder if an open invitation is not more presumptuous in its certainty of our own knowledge and goodness, reflecting a form of cheap grace. It evokes an altogether domesticated and sentimental “God.”

I think here of Annie Dillard’s famous dissuasive to supposing God is tame, in Teaching a Stone to Talk:

On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside of the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sun- day morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping God may wake some- day and take offense, or the waking God may draw us out to where we can never return.

If, as we often claim, we “believe what we pray” (lex orandi, lex credendi: the rule of prayer is the rule of belief), we would do well to attend to the logic of the liturgy which suggests a certain caution in coming to the Lord’s Table. As Moses drew near to the strange sight of the burning bush, he was commanded to remove his sandals for he was on holy ground. Just so, symbolically, as we move through the eucharistic liturgy, we stop periodically to remind ourselves that we are approaching holy ground and that doing so is an awesome thing. The one into whose presence we are coming is awe-inspiring and, while not wholly unknown, remains a mystery beyond our comprehension. We are aware of our failure to live lives of love and truth and trust, and thus of the distance between us and God.

Though it is not often read these days, an exhortation before the rites of Holy Eucharist in the Book of Common Prayer reads, in part:

if we are to share rightly in the celebration of those holy Mysteries, and be nourished by that spiritual Food, we must remember the dignity of that holy Sacrament. I therefore call upon you to consider how Saint Paul exhorts all persons to prepare themselves care- fully before eating of that Bread and drinking of that Cup.

For, as the benefit is great, if with penitent hearts and living faith we receive the holy Sacrament, so is the danger great, if we receive it improperly, not recognizing the Lord’s Body. Judge yourselves, there- fore, lest you be judged by the Lord (BCP, p. 316).

The liturgy is like an elaborate spiral dance in which we symbolically circle around and around the altar, drawing closer to the eucharistic mystery. At intervals in the dance we stop to acknowledge our ignorance and sinfulness, and ask for God’s mercy as we proceed deeper into the holy mystery. In the Collect for Purity, we ask God to cleanse the thoughts of our hearts that we may perfectly love him and worthily magnify his holy Name … and we dance a little closer. We sing the Gloria, the Kyrie, or the Trisagion, each of which asks again for mercy: closer still. Then, after hearing God’s word read and proclaimed, we confess our sins against God and our neighbor, receive the promise of forgiveness, and exchange the peace, before dancing yet closer to the altar of the Prince of Peace. And on it goes — acknowledging God’s presence as holy (the Sanctus) and asking for forgiveness (the Lord’s Prayer). In every case, we acknowledge that we do not really know what we are up to, that the One with whom we are dealing is holy, and that we are ignorant, sinful and broken people in need of forgiveness. And yet, by God’s amazing grace, we are invited and encouraged to draw near with confidence “to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:16) — a confidence that avoids presumption because it is born in baptism.

Hospitality

Even so, the practice of inviting all to the eucharistic table without regard to baptism is often expressed in terms of “radical hospitality.” What shall we make of this?

Hospitality is certainly a gospel virtue. The God revealed in the history of Israel and the ministry of Jesus is indeed hospitable. And we are encouraged to “welcome one another, therefore, as Christ has welcomed [us], for the glory of God” (Rom. 15:7). While that particular exhortation is about members of the body of Christ welcoming one another, the Letter to the Hebrews encourages a broader hospitality: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels” (Heb. 13:2).

Hospitality is an essential mark of any church. It is not clear, however, that opening eucharistic fellowship to the unbaptized is a good means of practicing such hospitality, nor that it is in fact hospitable or radical to do so.

Thinking of the Eucharist in terms of hospitality calls for some reflection on who is the host and who is the guest when we gather at the altar. Of course, the ultimate host is God, revealed in the self-giving love of the Trinity, manifested on the cross in the sacrifice of Jesus. To eat at the table of this Host is to participate in the life of one who wills to reconfigure us in his own cruciform image.

Second, there is a penultimate eucharistic host, namely, the body of Christ itself, re-membered in the practice of communion. To host anyone we must have a sense of identity and place. A welcoming place is rich with stories, rituals, and history. It is never simply a physical space, but a place alive with commitments and relationships. Accordingly, as Christine Pohl observes:

Boundaries help define what a household, family, church or community holds precious. However, the modern world is deeply ambivalent about boundaries and community. Although we yearn for home and a place to belong, often we find our- selves more comfortable with empty space where we can “sing our own song” and pursue our own plans. Hospitality is fundamentally connected to place — a space bounded by commitments, values, and meanings. Part of the difficulty in recovering hospitality is connected with our uncertainty about community and particular identity 

(Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition,  pp. 135–136).

If we are not clear about our own identity and the identity-forming nature of the Eucharist, we have nothing to offer but what Henri Nouwen called “a bland neutrality that serves nobody” (Reaching Out, p. 99). It mistakes mere pleasantness for deep hospitality. And since it avoids the scandal and offense of particular, bounded identity, it is neither very costly nor very radical.

If the penultimate host of the Eucharist is therefore the Church, who then is the guest? Paradoxically, it is again God. In the Eucharist, the baptized are both guest and host, and the divine Host is also the Guest. We invite the Holy Spirit to descend upon the gifts that they may be “the Body of Christ and his Blood of the new Covenant.” Because the Guest is nothing less than the Holy Mystery at the heart of all, we pray that we might be sanctified by the same Holy Spirit “that we may faithfully receive” this Guest in the “gifts of God for the people of God.” 

It is significant that in the gospels Jesus is most often the guest at the table of others. And as Zacchaeus and Simon the Pharisee discovered, hosting Jesus brings us face to face with the expectations of Jesus. Likewise, as ones who have been incorporated into the community of hosts through baptism, we have some inkling of who our guest is, and the expectations that Guest places upon the community that seeks to accommodate him.

Conclusion

Elizabeth Newman identifies “a pervasive feature of late modernity":

a gnawing homelessness, a lack of a sense of place. If we are truly to envision and embody a faithful hospitality, we must see how deeply our current understanding and experience of ‘home’ and ‘place’ have up to now prevented us from living a profound hospitality” (Untamed Hospitality, p. 34).

This is particularly true in contemporary America where our hyper mobility means few of us live in the communities in which we were raised, surrounded by and connected to family and neighbors with whom we have long history and a sense of place characterized by particular customs and traditions. Absent that sense of place, we are reduced to detached individuals roaming context-less space as tourists and consumers. The public space of the shopping mall is the clearest manifestation of this condition, but it is pervasive.

If we are not careful, our worship will reflect and reinforce that formation and that training. And then we

will be unable to offer Christian hospitality, a practice that relies on a sense of place, a shared tradition, one in which we are not strangers in the universe (or to each other) but part of God’s good creation, created so that God might love us and so that we might in return love God, each other, the stranger, and even the enemy (Nouwen, p. 44).

In such an environment, what does our practice of Eucharist signify? Inviting anyone to participate wherever they are on their spiritual journey reinforces the ideology of the individual as consumer. It signifies that a church is like other public spaces where individual consumers go to satisfy a felt need. The church is then like a sort of religious restaurant with spiritual food on the menu catering to individual customers who come and go through its public space. Is this costly, or “radical”?

Far better to communicate to newcomers that here is a place where people belong to one another and to God, who gives them an identity as members of a diverse body with many members, “made” in baptism and Eucharist. Accordingly, the Church promises, after Jesus’ own pledge, that he will be present as Redeemer and Judge in the waters of baptism and in the bread and wine of the Eucharist.

To reserve the Eucharist for those who are baptized does not limit God. As Luther insisted, Jesus — risen and ascended — is present everywhere and can surprise us in our cabbage soup, if he so desires. Indeed, I agree with Sara Miles, in her book Take This Bread, that God has so surprised even the occasional unbaptized eucharistic communicant. We need not try to protect the purity of the Eucharist. And that is not what this is about.

The discipline of reserving the Eucharist for those already baptized is, however, about maintaining the very boundaries of identity that make a place in which to be formed as a community that can properly practice hospitality. And it is about being honest about who we are called to be as members of Christ’s body, and respectful of the real otherness of those who are not yet committed to the loyalties of such a communion.

The body of Christ is a eucharistic community with all that that entails; and we are baptized into Eucharist.

Next: Baptized into Eucharist - Some Anecdotes

Previous: Baptized into Eucharist - The Problem With "Open Communion." Part 1

Baptized into Eucharist - The Problem With "Open" Communion. Part 1

“No unbaptized person shall be eligible to receive Holy Communion in this Church.” — Canon I.17.7 of the Constitution & Canons of the Episcopal Church

When we are baptized into Christ, we are made members of his body, the Church. As the body of Christ, the Church is called to witness to and be a sign and foretaste of the kingdom of God. The central sign and practice of this body is the Eucharist. In the Eucharist, the Church is nourished by Christ himself. We remember what God has done in Christ and anticipate God’s restoration of all things in him as we participate in Christ, nourished by his body and blood. In this way, the Church is a eucharistic community living in remembrance and anticipation, nourished by her participation in Christ, even as a note of accountability — judgment — enters in, as the community is called to live eucharistically.

It is the ancient understanding of the Church that the Eucharist as remembrance, anticipation, and participation only makes sense for those who have been baptized. And that has been the discipline of the Episcopal Church, as also of most other churches. Increasingly, however, this traditional understanding and discipline is being questioned, and in many places the Eucharist is now “opened” to the unbaptized. While this is well meant, I will suggest that such a practice undermines what the Church and Eucharist are about. Accordingly, what follows is a sketch in several parts of a defense of the logic of the traditional discipline of expecting those who partake of the body of Christ in the Eucharist to be baptized members of the Church, living into its discipline.

Baptism and Jesus’ Disciples at the Last Supper

Sometimes people wonder whether the disciples gathered around Jesus at the Last Supper were themselves baptized. In all likelihood, they were. Andrew was certainly a follower of John the Baptist (John 1:40) and thus presumably baptized. More significantly, Jesus is recorded as baptizing (John 3:26), or at least having his disciples baptize (John 4:1). And, of course, Jesus himself was baptized. John’s baptism is arguably irrelevant to subsequent Christian practice and we see the early Church understanding it as inadequate (Acts 19:1–7). But the evidence that Jesus — or at least his disciples on his behalf — baptized those who wished to respond to his call suggests that Jesus was not bashful about making distinctions between those who responded to his summons and those who did not, and marking that distinction in public ritual.

While the Church’s sacrament of baptism has its roots in John’s and Jesus’ practice, it is somewhat other. Since we are baptized into Christ’s death and resurrection in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, our baptism is not the same as that of John or even Jesus and his (pre-Easter) disciples. It is an Easter event. And it is the risen Jesus who commands his followers to make disciples and baptize — as the mark of our incorporation into the resurrection; or, at the very least, into the body of witness to the resurrection, which must logically precede the typical meal by which we are nourished in the resurrection life.

Renewal and Incorporation

Jesus famously welcomed sinners and outcasts into his movement. But it is easy for us to ignore the particularity of Jesus and his ministry in ways that are misleading. Simplistic appeals to his inclusiveness miss some of the contours of what Jesus was about. He was not a generic spiritual person teaching universal truths about God to generic people. Nor was his summons simply inclusive without context or expectation.

There is no reason to suppose that Jesus did not accept the particularly Jewish belief that God had chosen and called Israel to bless the nations, even as he recalled Israel to its mission and ultimately fulfilled it himself. Nor was his summons to enter the kingdom a generic welcome of any and all, regardless of repentance and the embrace of particular commitments (see Luke 15:1–10).

Jesus’ movement was a Jewish renewal movement; his mission was to “the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (Matt. 10:5–6, 15:24). His words and actions thus need to be understood in that context. Whatever symbolic fellowship meals he shared were limited to those who were already members of the covenant people. They make sense, as several parables indicate, as prophetic enactments of the wedding banquet of Yahweh and Israel, following on their courtship. Jesus therefore welcomed the outcasts of Israel and called all Jews to repent of their neglect of their particular call to be holy and the light of the world. In this context, he gathered around himself a renewed Israel, represented by the call of 12 disciples paralleling the 12 tribes.

Though Jesus showed interest in and compassion toward Gentiles and hinted at their eventual incorporation, he did not gather them into his movement. As one would expect of an observant Jew of his time, there is no indication that he ever ate with Gentiles, outcast or otherwise. There is no reason to suppose that the multitude that was fed miraculously was any- thing other than a Jewish multitude. It was the fragments of Israel that Jesus gathered into the baskets of his movement.

Only after Easter and Pentecost does the Church emerge as a New Israel, in which the old divisions have been overcome by the breaking in of the kingdom of God through Jesus’ resurrection and the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. Now Gentiles, as the “wild olive branches,” are to be grafted onto the “cultivated olive tree” of Israel (Rom. 11:17–24). In this way, the Church is not a generic faith community but an extension of a particular people. Gentiles are welcomed, but only by means of repentance and baptism through which they are identified with Christ and incorporated into his body.

Accordingly, baptism is seen early on as analogous to circumcision, by which new members are incorporated into the covenant community (Col. 2:12–13). And it is the natural expectation for those who wish to come near and keep the feast of the new covenant, the Lord’s Supper (with its own parallels to the Passover meal: see Ex. 12:48). It is about the formation of a people with normal boundaries and normative practices. To miss this is to make Christianity less Jewish than it is.

Community vs. Association

The Eucharist is a communal meal, hence its other name, Holy Communion. That communion is not simply a matter of our communing with God. It is also an expression of and means toward the communion of the gathered body of Christ.

Do we believe that the divine-human drama centers primarily on the individual, or rather on a community? Are we essentially individuals who associate with other individuals, for one reason or another, or are we persons shaped in community, in which case belonging is essential?

Historically, Christianity has emphasized community and belonging. Part of the Church’s rejection of Gnosticism had to do with the latter’s appeal to esoteric knowledge, focused on individual enlightenment apart from communal traditions and disciplines.

In an American, post-Enlightenment context, shaped by the ideology of individualism, the difference between real community and an association of individuals can be hard to appreciate. Inviting someone to the Eucharist irrespective of “where they are on their spiritual journey” puts the emphasis on the individual rather than on our being members of one another with responsibility for, and accountability to, the whole. The Church cannot counter the ideology of individualism by reinforcing that ideology in its central communal practice.

Fellow Citizens

We belong to one another, and to “another country.” We are citizens of heaven and of the kingdom of God (Phil. 3:20, Eph. 2:9). In this perspective, we will do well to look more carefully at what it may mean to live in a post-Christian/post-Christendom context. Under Christendom, the Church acted as the chaplain of a (presumed) Christian society which included every- one. When, out of long habit, the Church continues that role in a post-Christian context, the distinctive practices, disciplines, and beliefs that are the marks of membership become an embarrassment. Thus, we may be tempted to minimize the particulars of Christian discipleship, while emphasizing the generic spiritual journey of all citizens of the society.

Where our true citizenship lies is a question both the religious right and the religious left of the United States tend to get wrong. Baptism is, in fact, our naturalization into a nation other than the one into which we are first born (1 Pet. 2:9). The creed is our pledge of allegiance. And Eucharist is the characteristic privilege and responsibility of citizenship that shapes us as a people and calls us to live as members of the body of Christ with each other in the world. As William Cavanaugh writes:

In the Eucharist one is fellow citizen not of other present “Chileans” [or Americans] but of other members of the body of Christ, past, present and future. The Christian wanders among the earthly nations on the way to her eternal patria, the Kingdom of God. The Eucharist makes clear, however, that this Kingdom does not simply stand out- side of history, nor is heaven simply a goal for the individual to achieve at death. Under the sign of the Eucharist the Kingdom becomes present in history through Christ the heavenly High Priest. In the Eucharist the heavens are opened, and the Church of all times and places is gathered around the altar (Torture and Eucharist: Theology, Politics,and the Body of Christ, p. 224).

The Church is therefore a body of people who are citizens of another country and the Eucharist is one of our constitutive practices, marking our loyalties as different from, and often at odds with, those of others. That Christians all too often subsume Christianity into local prejudices does not negate our responsibility to get our heads on straight. And part of this should include an honesty with others that participating in the Church’s citizenship carries with it particular responsibilities and accountabilities.

Under Judgment

Are we living in communion with one another as the body of Christ such that partaking of his body and blood makes sense? Are we living together into the deep reconciliation God is working in Christ? Are we bearing one another’s burdens? Is our common life reflective of scriptural mandates like those in Matthew 5–7, Luke 6, Romans 12, Philippians 2, and Ephesians 4? Is our life together “a sign of Christ’s love to this sinful and broken world, that unity may overcome estrangement, forgiveness heal guilt, and joy conquer despair”? To participate in the Eucharist is to enter into such expectations. And with such expectation comes judgment.

1 Corinthians 11 emphasizes the serious expectations that come along with partaking of the Lord’s Supper. That text is about how those who take part in the feast of Christ treat each other as members of the body of Christ. That is what discerning the body means. Unless we take seriously our belonging to and caring for one another, we have not discerned the body, and our communion is false — with one another and with Christ. Thus the Eucharist is as much an act of commitment and accountability as is baptism. Again, William Cavanaugh puts his finger on the point:

The parousia is to be a time not only of redemption but of judgment, when the “world” — meaning that part of creation which refuses the sovereignty of Christ — will be overthrown. As the sacrament which anticipates the parousia now, the Eucharist is also placed in the context of judgment. Those who do not “discern the body” and become a member of Christ risk condemnation along with the forces that oppose Christ. The failure to “discern the body” refers not only to the body on the table but the ecclesial body as well (Torture and Eucharist, p. 235).

Beyond the responsibility for, and accountability to, one another as members of the body of Christ into which we are absorbed in the Eucharist, there is a call to mission. To partake in the Eucharist is not a matter of simple passive receiving but of participating in the passion of Christ. Feeding on the body broken for us and drinking from the cup shed for us implicates us in the mission to be ourselves broken and poured out for the sake of a hungry and thirsty world. As our Lord told James and John, baptism and Eucharist go together, in his life and passion (Mark 10:35–45).

The fact that many who are baptized members of the Church do not understand the responsibilities that go with discerning the body is a shortcoming of the Church’s catechesis. That all too often the Church does not face up to those responsibilities is a scandal that places it under judgment. At the same time, inviting people to partake of the Lord’s Supper without being clear about the expectations laid on those who participate places them under a particular judgment unawares, and is neither responsible nor particularly hospitable.

Next: Baptized into Eucharist - The Problem With "Open Communion." Part 2

Also: Baptized into Eucharist - The Problem With "Open" Communion. Some Anecdotes

Bonus: On Not Taking Offense When I am Not Invited to Communion

The Feast of Pentecost - Charged with the Holy Spirit

When I was growing up on the farm we had an electric fence to keep the livestock from pushing against the regular fence. Being curious, or foolish, or both, my brothers and I would play games with the electric fence. You could hear the click, click as the electric charge pulsed through the fence. So, one game was to see if we could pinch the wire between the clicks. If you timed it right, you could pinch and let go of the wire between electric pulses and never get shocked. Of course, if you didn’t time it right, you got a bit of a jolt. We also experimented to see what would conduct electricity. If you place an old section of rubber hose on the electric fence, nothing happens. If you place a dry stick or an old dry bone on the wire, nothing much happens. If you do the same with a loose piece of wire . . . electricity gets conducted!

The Holy Spirit is like divine electricity given to energize, empower, transform, and sometimes jolt the Church into action. Disoriented and disillusioned, fearful and uncertain, the followers of Jesus who gathered in the upper room on Pentecost were bereft of the life, energy, and power they had known in his presence. Then the Holy Spirit charged – shocked is not too strong a word – them with new life and power.

That first generation of the Church was not energized by some new religious insight. Nor were they energized by some new ethical ideal. They were energized by the power of Spirit of God – the same Spirit that had descended upon Jesus and that he had promised to pass on to his followers. The current of that Spirit electrified them with the love, peace, joy, and hope of Jesus. Empowered by his Holy Spirit, Peter and the others were transformed and became transformers who shocked the world, turning it upside down with the power of the good news of what God had done and was doing through Jesus the Christ.

The Church is like an electric grid, charged through with the Holy Spirit. It is an ever-expanding grid that extends through out the world and back through time to the original Pentecost. As one definition has it, the Church is an ever-widening sphere of an ever-deepening reconciliation. The Holy Spirit is given to the Church to empower and energize that reconciliation which is a sign of the promised “restoration of all things” (Acts 3:21).

Pentecost is a reminder that the divine-human drama centers not on the individual but on the community. While not strictly a matter of either/or, it does matter where we put the emphasis. By the Holy Spirit, God calls us into community where we learn to love one another as God loves us. In, with and under that community, the Holy Spirit moves like an electric current empowering the Church to make our “life together a sign of Christ’s love to this sinful and broken world, that unity may overcome estrangement, forgiveness heal guilt, and joy conquer despair.” (BCP 429).

While the Spirit is free to blow where it chooses, the normal way its presence and power are

accessed is by being connected to the community that it animates and energizes. When we are baptized we are connected to the grid and electrified by the Holy Spirit. Or, to use the more organic language of the New Testament, in baptism we are grafted into the vineyard of the Church. There we are able to abide in Christ by the power of his Spirit and bear fruit.

The Holy Spirit is given to us personally primarily through that connection. So connected, individuals are energized and empowered by the love and joy of Jesus. As we learn to love in community, participate in worship and sacraments, pray, study scripture and serve we are continually energized and recharged by that same Spirit. Like the Apostles before us, we too are charged with the spiritual electricity of new life, new creation. And, unlike my crude experiments on the farm, whatever in us that resists conducting that Spirit – the rubber, dead wood, and dry bone of our sinfulness and brokenness – will be transformed into live wire.

What is Trump?

A Sermon*

John 15:9-17

[Shuffling a deck of cards]

What is trump?

When I was growing up in Indiana we played a lot euchre. 

Not just any kind of Euchre, double-deck, bid euchre.

When my mom’s family got together,

we played euchre.

When my dad’s family got together,

we played euchre

One rite of passage to adulthood in our family

was the daunting invitation to play euchre at the adult table

In double-deck, bid euchre, as in regular euchre and bridge,

there is what is called “trump”. 

If you’ve played cards you understand trump. 

Whichever suit of the deck is named trump

becomes the most powerful suit.

Once trump is declared, a nine of trump will beat an ace of anything else

because trump always wins. 

Today’s passage from the Gospel of John has me thinking about trump,

What is trump in my life?

What is trump in your life? 

What motivates us,

animates us in our relationships with others? 

What do we use to measure our own worth? 

What do we rely on for security?

What do I think will make my joy complete?

Maybe clubs are trump.  [Hold up the ace of clubs]

Clubs could stand for force, power, or violence. 

When push comes to shove, do I push? 

Do you shove? 

Do you use force to get people to comply with your wishes? 

Do you use power to get your way?  Coercion? 

Or maybe you like the more subtle kinds of power like manipulation,

manipulating people using such tried and true methods

as guilt to get people to conform to your will, to your desires.

If I can just exercise enough power and influence,

Will my joy be complete?

When we resort to violent solutions or glorify the use of violence,

we are playing clubs as trump.

Clubs –it is one of the more common trumps in human society,

in the human game. 

But, if Jesus is Lord,

clubs is not trump. [Flick ace of clubs onto the floor]

Or perhaps diamonds are trump.  [Hold up the ace of diamonds]

Few of us probably would admit that diamonds is our trump. 

None of us wants to admit that money and possessions

are really what drive us,

what really shape our time and our imagination. 

And yet, in American society, diamonds certainly seem to be trump. 

If you watch television,

if you pay attention

(or even if you don’t pay attention,

because ads and advertising are so pervasive)

you would think that trump in American society

is always diamonds. 

The more you have,

the more important you are;

the more you possess the happier you will be. 

Diamonds is trump when we find ourselves believing,

consciously or unconsciously,

that we just need to buy this one more thing to be really happy,

to complete our joy.

Participating uncritically in a system

in which the opportunities of the “have-nots” are squeezed

while the privileges of the “haves” are protected

is another way of playing the trump of diamonds. 

Diamonds – another popular trump in the human game. 

But, if Jesus is Lord,

diamonds is not trump. [Flick ace of diamonds onto the floor]

Perhaps spades are trump.  [Hold up the ace of spades]

Work, achievement, what you do,

 is another form of trump. 

What have I achieved? 

What have I done? 

How good am I? 

All these questions fall under the category of spades. 

When spades is trump life is all about achieving the things you

(or others)

believe you’re supposed to. 

You have to earn the favor of others

by achievement,

by making a name for yourself,

            proving that you are good enough.

Spades say you have to prove your worth,

you have to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps.

And those who don’t or can’t are worth less.

Spades says each person has to make it on his or her own.

When spades is trump our worth is measured by our resumes

It is a popular trump in American society.

But, if Jesus is Lord,

spades is not trump. [Flick ace of spades onto the floor]

Jesus comes along and says,

"This is my commandment,

that you love one another as I have loved you.

No one has greater love than this,

to lay down one's life for one's friends.”

Jesus declares that hearts is trump.  [Hold up the ace of hearts]

Love is trump. 

In the end, Jesus says, love trumps all. 

It is not how much you have. 

It is not what you do.

It is not what you can get or make or achieve through power

that matters. 

Love is trump. 

On some level, being good, faithful church folk,

we all know this. 

But, we don’t always play are cards as if it were so.

Each of us is born with a full deck – more or less.

From birth, each of us has in our deck of cards each of these trump.

If we are honest with ourselves we must admit – I must admit –  

that, at various times in our lives,

I have played each of them. 

And probably, if we are honest with ourselves,

on any given day we might be able to point to examples

where we have played the trump of spades when

we were convinced that it is what we do that really matters,

or it is what the other person is not doing that really matters. 

Or, we play the trump of diamonds

and allow the accumulation and protection of money and stuff

to dominate our decisions. 

Or we play the trump of clubs

and find ourselves coercing, forcing, manipulating others

to conform to our will. 

As you read the gospels,

you get the sense that

part of what Jesus is up to is reshuffling the deck again and again. 

He says, “What you thought was trump is not trump in the kingdom of God. 

In the kingdom of God the only trump is hearts;

the only trump is love. 

Not vague and undefined love, but love as I loved.” 

Love as Jesus loved – love that is sacrificial,

love that is open and welcoming,

love that is generous and outpouring of self,

love in which we lay down our lives for others.

Love is trump. It sounds nice.

But of course it turns out to be difficult.

Real love and the sustaining of real relationship is hard.

Real love means loving real people.

Each of us at, one time or another,

finds it hard to love someone –

even when that someone is very dear to us.

And each of us,

at one time or another,

is hard to love.

And even at our best efforts at love we are often pretty clumsy.

My father, who was a master at euchre used to tell us,

when we complained about the hands we were being dealt,

“Learn to play with those and we’ll give you better ones.”

By analogy, the people in your life

are the hand you’ve been dealt.

They are the ones you are supposed to learn to love.

This family. These relatives.

            These neighbors.

                        These opponents. These enemies.

When you join the church – in baptism, confirmation, or by being received –

            You are being dealt into this hand.

These people – you people –

are the hand you’ve been dealt.

The people you know and like,

the people you don’t know so well or like less,

the people with whom you agree,

the people with whom you disagree,

the people push your buttons or rub you wrong –

these people are the hand God has dealt you.

Learn to play with them.

Learn to love one another.

That, as much as anything, is what church is about.

Such a love is only possible

if we are open to receiving the love God pours into us so freely. 

There is our worth measured. 

There is our security.

There is our joy.

As we open ourselves to the Holy Spirit

and allow that Spirit of Christ to be poured into our lives

hearts is trump and love begins to pervade and prevail. 

The really good news is that

Christians don’t just believe that love is trump.

We do not only believe that love is at the heart of it all.

We believe that out of the heart of it all,

the one who is at the heart of it all

has entered into the game to play it for us through us.

Christians believe God has entered into the game in the person of Jesus –

the Jack of Hearts.

And when we were in the hole,

against all odds,

the Jack of Hearts shot the moon.

Now, when we give our hearts to the Jack of Hearts,

we can begin to know the forgiveness and healing of all brokenness.

All broken hearts can be mended.

All relationships can be healed and healing –

relationships with family, friends,

neighbors and strangers.

And even enemies.

Most importantly, our relationship with God – the Love at the heart of it all.

            And that is where our joy is made complete

Brothers and sisters,

What is trump in your life?

*The inspiration for this sermon came from a quote of G. K. Chesterton's I read some years ago.