Communion Reflection (1 Corinthians 11:23-26)

“On the night he was betrayed”
    The words of institution
        passed on through the Apostle Paul
    begin with a reminder,
        a reminder of betrayal.

But the betrayer is not named.
    The conspiracy is not placed
        on the neck of Judas,
    nor is it necessarily confined
        to the inner circle of twelve,
            who each fell away
                in their own right.
More specific traditions
    about the last supper,
        likely exist as Paul writes,
    but Paul has his own concerns.

The Corinthian assembly
    is missing the mark
        when it comes to living in the spirit
            of the rituals they practice.   
Where there should be unity
        and mutual sharing
            there is division
                based on socioeconomic status.
By not naming the betrayer,
    Paul implicates the Corinthians
        as they fail to consider
            the deeper meanings
                of their actions.

The implication is potentially universal.
    In a way, all of humanity
        has a share in the betrayal.
    All miss the mark
        and fall short of God's glory,
            to paraphrase Paul's thinking
                in another letter.

Faced with utter betrayal,
    the surety of human failure,
        and a potentially disastrous end
            to his earthly mission,
    Jesus responded with a simple,
        yet radical act of hospitality.
He took a humble loaf of bread,
    and as he broke it said,
        “this is my body, broken for you
            do this in remembrance of me.”
    Jesus offers himself, his very body,
        symbolically in the loaf of bread.
    Jesus gives his followers
        a way to physically know him
            and experience his real
                and abundant presence.

But bread alone is not enough.
    A body without the Spirit
        will be incomplete.
    A mission without motivation
        will not get off the ground.
    A community without covenant
        will not truly be community.

So Jesus took the cup and said:
    “This cup is the new covenant
        of my blood,
    Whenever you drink it,
        do it in remembrance of me.”

This new covenant
    has a complicated relationship
        with older covenants.
    The new does not replace the old
        making them null and void,
    nor does the new
        merely supplement the old,
            as if they were inferior.
   
Rather, the cup offers
        renewed understanding
            of God's desire for covenant
                every time it is shared.

Paul's record of the words of institution
    ends like it begins...
        with a reminder.
    “You proclaim Jesus' death
        until Christ comes.”
    Again, there is purpose
        in the way that Paul
            presents the tradition.

He invites the Corinthians
    to consider what is at stake
        in the rituals that they practice
    and the possible implications
        of superficial participation.
But this need not be reason
    to restrict access to communion.

There is much at stake;
    the potential cost of discipleship
        is found within
            the powerful symbols
                of the bread and the cup,
    but ability to partake
        is not about courage or conviction.
            It is not about
                worth or understanding.
These concepts are not addressed
    in the simple refrain,
        “do this in remembrance of me.”

Jesus served the first communion
    without asking questions.
        He served those who would fail him
            and those who would betray him.
    In doing so,
        he entrusted them with his mission
            of radical hospitality
                and transformative justice
            in the face of failure, betrayal,
                and even death.

As we examine ourselves today,
    centered in God's presence,
        it is likely that we will find
            courage and conviction
                in limited supply.
    It is also likely
        that worth and understanding
            lie just beyond our reach.

But our invitation to the table
    is still open
and we still have a share
    in the mission of Christ,
        in this world and for this world.

The bread and the cup,
    come with the promise
        of Christ's real
            and abundant presence
        in our work, in our suffering,
            and in the outpouring
                of our lives,
        for the sake of God's
            dwelling among us.

May this communion
    help draw us closer to God
        and closer to one another
    in this time of deep centering.
        May it inspire us
            to acts of love
                and hospitality
            even in times of difficulty
                and times of trial.
        May it remind us
            that every time we share,
                and every time we serve,
            we do it in remembrance
                of Jesus Christ,
            whose love knows no bounds.

Experiential God Knowledge

How can anything be known about God? I have been sitting with this question for quite a while now. Indeed, how can anything be known about anything? At the most basic level, the knower explores, experiences, and discovers. Information is gathered through the senses and interpreted through various processes, both internal and external to the knower. By this definition, knowledge in general, and knowledge of God in specific, is entirely experiential. To modern materialistic understanding, knowledge depends on observable and measurable facts.

Theology presents some interesting challenges to these basic assumptions. Faced with a lack of observable and measurable facts, the very existence of God is rightly questioned and challenged. Some will find within their experience enough evidence to convince them that there truly is a God, but not all will have such experience. There will even be those whose negative experiences will tell them that there is no God and there will be those who are quite sure that God does not care. All of these outcomes are inevitable if theology is a purely experiential pursuit.

The best that can be done under this assumption is to invite people to give this God thing a try in order to see if it works for them. Enter into the experience, come and worship! Taste and see! This is all well and good and there are many faithful communities that do this well enough. Yet, what is the message that is given for those who for whatever reason fail to share the God experience at a particular occasion? Try again next week? Find another community that works for you?

Maybe there needs to be an acceptance of inevitability, that not everyone will be able to experience God. If this is the case though, I think those of us who find God knowledge through experience are not using our imaginations enough. It is not that we need to abandon experience and find some other way to know God. Experience is always a part of the equation. What I hope to get across is that God is greater than our experience. How can this be embodied in a way that honors experience, but also honors those who have not experienced?

Contemplating the Holy

Currently, I find myself gravitating toward the concept of holiness. Part of this is that my recent Bible reading has included the book of Deuteronomy. It is a foundational book for the rest of the Hebrew Scriptures and it is one that I have not spent very much time with. But I am discovering that holiness is very much a part of the theological subtext within this book of laws. It is treated very basically that to see God, to know God fully, means death. To participate in theophony, to hear the voice of God, is frightening enough. Somehow, the nation of Israel survived hearing from God on the mountain. Just living through a Divine encounter is treated with awe.

While holiness may seem pretty basic, it is far from settled. It would be quite orthodox to say that God alone is truly holy and everything else just is not. At least other things cannot be holy in the same way that God is holy. Yet, many would contend that there is that which is holy in all things. Some may find panentheism compelling, that God's very self is present in all things. Also, certain spaces, objects, actions, and people are held as holy. Some traditions even find these things essential to faithful living. Perhaps God makes them holy, or holiness is something that human beings can assign. Maybe the effort to make life holy, even if it is theoretically impossible, counts for something. Attempting to create holiness could even be a basic human need.

There is good and bad in every approach to the Holy, but my own contemplative sense of things draws me into encounters with the Holy as completely other. Only in the immanent presence of a transcendent other can there be transformation. Not surprisingly, I find myself in a place of paradoxical tension. To speak of the transcendent having presence is contradictory. The very nature of God as transcendent being cannot really be understood. Hence the belief that to know God fully means death. Yet, the possibility of knowing God, the possibility of encountering the Holy and surviving, is what changed the course of history for the ancient Israelites and promises to change the course of our own history today.