This is the sermon I preached at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., on Holy Thursday, April 1, 2010. It served as the seventh in the midweek sermon series, “Living as Christians,” which began on Ash Wednesday.
+ + +
Readings
Exodus 12:1–14
Psalm 116:1–2, 12–19
1 Corinthians 11:23–26
John 13:1–17, 31b–35
+ + +
Prayer
Pour out upon us your Holy Spirit, gracious Father, so that we may contemplate in faith your great mercy in giving up your only Son to conquer death and to grant us the promise of eternal life through his resurrection. Amen.
+ + +
Message
Such ordinary tasks: Sharing a meal. Washing of feet.
Such simple things: A loaf. A cup. A basin. Some water. A towel.
Such basic actions: Eat. Drink. Pour. Wash. Wipe.
Such profound gifts: Forgiveness. Healing. Salvation. Community.
Reconciliation. Strength. Life. Service. Humility.
Simple enough for even a child to grasp.
Yet so deeply profound a lifetime is too short,
the greatest mind is inadequate,
and the most tender heart is too hard
to plumb the depths of God’s grace
in his gifts of the Lord’s Supper
and the commandment to love and serve others.
Simple, yet profound.
Ordinary, yet sublime.
The wonder is that our Lord Jesus Christ
promises to give himself to us in this Meal,
so that we may eat bread become his body,
and drink wine become his blood.
The wonder is that our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Son of God himself,
stoops to wash the dusty feet of his disciples,
kneeling humbly before his creatures.
But then these wonders are no less wonderful—
no less amazing, no less astounding—
than the basic wonder
that God the Father would send his only Son,
who “… by the power of the Holy Spirit
[] became incarnate from the Virgin Mary,
and was made man.” (Nicene Creed)
If we believe and confess that Jesus is both God and man,
that he is our Immanuel, God with us,
that he and the Father and the Spirit are one,
that he is the Word by whom all things are made,
then we can with confidence
trust that he comes to us in his holy supper.
We can be sure that he is incarnate,
enfleshed, embodied, present in this meal,
just as surely as he walked the dusty paths of Palestine.
We can be sure that he strengthens us
by his grace in the gifts of this Eucharistic feast.
We can be sure that by that same grace he grants us the freedom
to bend our knees in love and to stretch out our hands in service to others,
despite our desires for recognition,
our tendencies to seek praise,
our habits of self-aggrandizement.
Our Lord does not require that we be perfect, pure, and spotless
before we come to the Sacrament of the Altar.
He is the one—the spotless, pure, and perfect lamb—
who gives himself as a sacrifice in our place.
But because he offers this sacrifice on our behalf,
God does not, will not, will never rest
so long as we as broken, in bondage to sin, and bent against him.
That is why our Father gave his Son up to death,
because only by this ultimate sacrifice,
this offering of his own beloved Son,
could they, by the power of their Spirit,
conquer the forces of sin, death, and the devil.
Out of the love they have for us,
the same love they command us to share with others,
they have paid the price,
they have taken death into themselves,
they have drunk the cruel and bitter cup,
so that we may live now in hope,
die one day in faith,
and rise on the last day by the grace of God.
This is the great mystery of our faith.
This is the truth we believe.
This is what we trust God does for us,
gives to us, and expects from us as his children.
This meal and its gifts are both simple and profound.
We can chew and swallow with ease,
but we cannot expect to eat the body and drink the blood,
and yet remain unchanged, set in our old ways.
That’s why St. Paul reminds us,
Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord
in an unworthy manner will be answerable
for the body and blood of the Lord.
Examine yourselves,
and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup. (1 Corinthians 11:27–28, NRSV)
And so, let us examine ourselves,
confess our sins,
and prepare to receive the gifts of God. Amen.