Sermons from the Pulpit

     I've been looking at the history of World Communion Sunday. I've done some reading and some research on the Web, but I've also had some help from folks here in the church who have a personal connection with the history, Homer and Carrell Hall. Homer reminded me that Carrell's father was one of the leaders in the formation of the World Council of Churches and in the first World Communion Sunday.

     It was 1948, the period of recovery from the war and the actual year of the Marshall Plan, America reaching out to rebuild Europe. The World Council's leadership thought it would be a wonderful idea to celebrate its establishment with a huge ecumenical Communion service held in Amsterdam, all sorts of Protestants receiving the bread and the cup together at Christ's one table.

     Of course it was and is a wonderful idea, and maybe someday it will happen, but it didn't happen then and it hasn't happened yet. I bet it was the Americans who thought it could be done. Americans have always been underestimators of obstacles, it's our genius and our downfall. Forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, we press on toward the goal.

     But the Devil is in the details. Like, what is this piece of furniture here at the focal point of the sanctuary, anyway? Is it an altar? An altar is a place for making sacrificial offerings to God. Slaughter a bull on the altar. Or is it a table? A table is where you eat dinner. And what's happening at Communion? In what sense, if any, is the living Christ truly present at every Communion, offering himself again and again for our salvation - or is it rather that we are sharing a symbolic meal in remembrance of the Last Supper? Or is it some other thing altogether? And what is Communion bread: real stuff that you can taste and chew, or an ethereal wafer that literally dissolves on your tongue? What's in the cup: wine, or grape juice? Do you share a common cup, or do you have little individual cups? Do you dip, or do you drink? Where do you it: at the table, or in the pews? What are the qualifications for participating? What are the qualifications for presiding over it?

     They couldn't agree about any of this. The organizers of the World Council of Churches, the leaders of the worldwide ecumenical movement, couldn't join in one Communion celebration. And then someone had an idea: Why don't we each have Communion in our own way, in our own churches, with our own clergy presiding, and we all do it at the same time on the same day, and we all remember each other and pray for each other as we do it? We can be apart and together at the same time!

     And that was the birth of World Communion Sunday. It was and is both a celebration of victory and a confession of failure. Which, now that I think of it, is true of every gathering for worship in the whole history of Biblical religion. So maybe it's OK.

     But what happened to the righteousness based on faith, that comes from God? Why are we still, or again, all hung up on our observances instead of on God's grace? Paul rejoices that Christ Jesus has made us his own, and theoretically we share in his rejoicing; but we behave, and apparently believe, each of us, that we have made Christ our own.

     Of course, we're not stuck in 1948. Why, just last year the Lutheran and the Reformed churches reached a milestone of recognizing and validating each other's understanding and practice of Communion. Well, most of the Lutherans, and most of the Reformed churches, including ours. And of course, the churches have made huge advances in doing God's work together in the world, even if they don't worship God together. On the other hand, I do seem to remember saying a couple of weeks ago at the Retreat that for a Christian, work and worship are supposed to be the same thing. So it's a mixed kind of progress.

     And we have to allow that there are some new obstacles to Communion that have appeared since 1948. The chief of these is spirituality. Yes, spirituality. It seems that religion and spirituality have become opposites, or enemies or something. Religion, also known as "organized religion," is narrow, bureaucratic, conformist, external, authoritarian, obedient, self-righteous, hypocritical, and obsessed with doctrine and orthodoxy. Spirituality is personal, interior, experiential, free, subjective, direct, authentic, mystical, and concerned with the personal quest for truth and meaning. Religion is a stumbling block to true spirituality, and the faith journey no longer needs a community of faith.

     OK, I admit it: I'm ranting here. It's just that I like that old-time religion. And I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Of course you like it! It pays your salary. It pays you to stand up there and mouth off and act like you've got a corner on wisdom."

     Well, all right. I'll shut up. I'll step from the pulpit to the table. (It is a table in our church, by the way. Not an altar. Remember that.) From pulpit to table is no distance at all. The pulpit's not the preacher's personal soapbox, it's where the Gospel of Christ is proclaimed. And the table is Christ's too; it doesn't belong to the clergy or the congregation; we are all guests at it. So neither pulpit nor table nor church is ours. We act as if they were, but we're only tenants, tenant farmers, tenants tending the vineyard, beneficiaries of and responsible to the real owner. If we don't serve that purpose, then as you heard we can be replaced. We might go on doing our thing here with no idea that we've lost our franchise and the fruits of the kingdom are being produced elsewhere. We might be perfectly happy with that.

     Or, if we're lucky enough, we might meet Christ at this table, in our fellow communicants, perhaps in the weirdos down the street who commune in stranger ways than we do, and perhaps even in folks who aren't interested in communion of any kind. We might actually receive Communion. I hope so.

Amen.