Easter Sunday Sermon 2013

Easter Sunday Sermon: March 31, 2013

John 20:1-18

Preacher: Pastor Carrie Smith

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

As preparations were being made for this amazing Easter celebration, coordinating the details of all the volunteers and the music and the dancers that would make it a day worthy of the Good News of the resurrection, our organist Allison and I had a pretty unusual email exchange. 

Now the message I received said something like this:

“Pastor, Kristin and I want to do “Dinosaur Glory” for Easter Sunday. Is that ok?”

Dinosaur glory. Dinosaur glory… It took me several minutes, and then it came to me:

“Din-o-saur Glo-ry, risen and conquering Son…”

Yes, thank you, iPhone autocorrect for that laugh! And you’re welcome, my friends, because some of you will now be humming that tune throughout the rest of my sermon.

Now with that story in mind, you might be able to understand why I suspected some kind of conspiracy to confuse the pastor when, a few days later, I had the opportunity to teach the Bethany Preschool children about the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.

We sat right here on the step and I read from a story Bible about how Jesus, the Son of God, died on a cross out of love for us, and on the third day he rose again, which is what we celebrate on Easter. Things started out just fine, but very soon the conversation drifted to Easter bunnies. And then to chocolate. And then to chocolate eggs. And then to eggs in general, and finally…to dinosaur eggs. And suddenly, we were in the midst of a full-on discussion of dinosaurs and all their glory.

Now why do you suppose a conversation with preschoolers could move so quickly from the death and resurrection of Jesus to dinosaurs? Maybe it’s because they’re a bit mysterious. After all, we can’t see them, but we believe in them! Maybe because they’re larger than life, kind of like Jesus. Maybe…well maybe just because dinosaurs are AWESOME and so is Jesus! Amen?

There is perhaps no better way to experience anew the strangeness of the Easter story than to try and explain it to preschoolers. And on this beautiful morning, a morning when the flowers and bells, choirs and brass, the organ and dancers are all assembled to proclaim the joy of the resurrection, it’s easy to forget just how radical the message of Easter really is. After all, we are here to celebrate a story that most would say is unbelievable: that Jesus died, in front of his friends, in a public execution; that his body was laid in a tomb, and a large stone was rolled in front of the entrance; and that the third day, the first day of the week, he walked out of the tomb, very much alive!

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

The resurrection is unbelievably Good News. But if preschoolers so easily put the resurrection of Jesus into the same category as dinosaurs, then maybe we have a clue as to how unbelievable it really was for Mary, Peter, and the disciple Jesus loved, on that very first Easter.

The way the Gospel of John tells it, it was Mary Magdalene who was at the tomb that morning. It was still dark, but she could see enough to know the stone blocking the entrance to Jesus’ tomb had been moved. She was also smart enough to know not to hang around to see if the people who moved it were still lurking nearby! Instead, she ran to get Simon Peter and the beloved disciple, and she told them what she believed to be true: That someone had stolen Jesus’ body.

One by one, they each encountered the empty tomb—first Mary, then the disciple Jesus loved, and then Peter. And one by one, they each came to the same conclusion: Jesus had been taken from the tomb. All three of them believed, based on the evidence available, that the powers and principalities that had put Jesus in the tomb had now taken him away. It was a perfectly reasonable conclusion, based on what life had taught them so far: that fear, judgment, prejudice, and death always have the last word.  

It’s a conclusion we might come to, as well. After all, isn’t that what we’ve experienced? Isn’t that what the world has offered us so far? All around us, from Aurora to Newtown, from Syria to Chicago’s south side, from the halls of Congress to the children’s cancer ward, we have these facts to contend with: Violence no longer shocks us. Fear is our primary motivation. The gap between rich and poor, between healthy and uninsured, between those with a future and those without, gets larger by the day. And people we love dearly have died and are dying. Based on this information, an empty tomb is just that: an empty tomb. End of story.

And yet, here we are, on this Easter morning, celebrating with Christians around the globe the unbelievably Good News that the empty tomb was just the beginning!  We sing and pray and proclaim to all who will listen, that God has done something new! “In fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died. And since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being…the last enemy to be destroyed is death.”

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, alleluia!

But just how do we come to believe the unbelievable? How do millions of people like you and me come to base their lives on this radical tale of resurrection and new life?

For Mary Magdalene, it happened when Jesus called her name.

She didn’t believe when she saw the stone rolled away. She didn’t believe when two angels all in white spoke to her from inside the tomb. And she didn’t even believe when a gardener—who looked strikingly like Jesus—popped up behind her and started asking her questions.

No…she believed the moment she heard that one word: “Mary.” Jesus spoke her name in love, and with that one word called her out of despair and into the resurrection life. This is, in fact, how each of us is called from death to life, from despair to joy, from unbelief to faithful proclamation. God calls us by name, and brings us to new life.

If it sounds too simple, I will tell you a story: I heard Jesus call my name once.

Yes, I said it: Jesus spoke to me. I know, I know, this isn’t the sort of thing a Lutheran generally shares in polite company, but it’s true. It was a terrible day; a day when I was on the way to the doctor’s office to receive what I was certain was bad news. In fact, I was so certain of this bad news that I had worked myself into an absolute mess: Not eating. Not sleeping. Google-diagnosing myself (never a good idea) and, by the time we got into the car, very nearly hyperventilating.

And then, it happened. Jesus called my name, plain as day, while I sat in the front seat of the car. And what he said was, “Carrie! It’s going to be ok.”

We might hope that if we were to receive a message from the divine it would be something a bit more eloquent or poetic. But at that moment, it was exactly what I needed to hear. I needed to know it would be ok—no matter what the news from the doctor turned out to be. I needed to hear Jesus calling me by name. And I needed to remember that my life—my resurrection life—was in his hands.

Sisters and brothers in Christ, we know that God calls each of us by name in baptism. Last night, we were blessed to witness that moment for five brand-new saints: Olivia, Brock, Brody, Corrine, and Nikolas. We rejoice that through water and the Word, these children of God have been called by name and have been made alive in Christ! Amen!

And on this Easter morning, it is my joy to proclaim to you that God does not stop speaking on the day of your baptism! Because he has been raised, Jesus continues to call you by name: through the Holy Scriptures, through prayer, through music and art and dance, through the liturgy, and especially in these few, powerful words: This is my body, given FOR YOU. This is my blood, shed FOR YOU. These words call us daily from death to life, from fear to joy, and from unbelief to faithful proclamation.

And now…back to dinosaurs.

No, really!

There are those who would call the church a dinosaur. It has been called, more than once, a relic of the past, unsustainable and irrelevant to the life of people today.

But, my dear people, as long as there are people who need to hear their names spoken in love; as long as there are those whose names even the church refuses to say out loud; as long as there are those who live in fear of death and have not heard the resurrection news; and until the Lord has destroyed every ruler and every authority and every power and has put all his enemies under his feet—the Church, my friends, is no dinosaur.

The Church of Jesus Christ is now, and ever will be, the living, breathing, always renewing, ever-reforming, resurrected body of Christ, sent into the world for the sake of others.

Join me, sisters and brothers, with Mary Magdalene and Peter and all the witnesses of the resurrection, and with the whole church across the world, in proclaiming to all who have ears to hear: I have seen the Lord!

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

Easter Vigil Reflection on Matthew 28

EASTER VIGIL REFLECTION on Matthew 28:1-10

Preacher: Pastor Carrie Smith

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

^“So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples.”

Fear and joy, which at first seem quite unrelated, can sometimes become mingled into one stomach-churning emotion.

I think of the day when, at age 20, I boarded an airplane by myself and flew across the ocean to study in Germany for a year. I had never flown by myself, much less to another country. But there I was, fearfully and joyfully flying toward this new life, with all my belongings packed into one suitcase, and my hair teased and sprayed into an impressive 90’s “poof” that I was sure would be a hit in Europe. (It wasn’t!)

Fear and great joy also propelled me down the aisle of the church on my wedding day, and accompanied me in those first terrifying and exciting days of motherhood.

Maybe you can recall some of those fearful/joyful moments, too. Do you remember how it felt when you, the new kid, walked into school that first day? How about your first day without a drink; the first time you said “I love you” and really meant it; or your first day on the job? I’ll never forget walking through the door that said “Pastor’s office” at my first call, and how the fear and joy together nearly brought me to my knees.

Fear mixes with joy in these moments because new life is both exciting and scary. The old life is more manageable. We know it better! We feel comfortable there—even when the old life promises only dead-ends, disappointment, and death.

And this is why, after learning of the resurrection, the women at the tomb didn’t stand around joyfully singing “alleluia”, but instead ran away with both fear and great joy. This Good News, this new life, was a radical departure from anything they had ever known, and it sent Mary Magdalene and the other Mary running with mixed emotions from the empty tomb.

An angel had sent them on their way, of course, charging them with the responsibility to go quickly and share the Good News with the disciples. One could assume that’s what they intended to do. But perhaps Jesus knew how quickly fear can overtake even great joy, because partway down the path he suddenly appeared to the women.

As if they weren’t scared before, can you imagine what it was like to see Jesus suddenly popping up in the roadway? Pop goes the Savior! “Greetings!” he said. Subtlety really isn’t God’s strong suit…

But after the women had recovered, the very first words from the risen Christ are: “Do not be afraid.” 

Do not be afraid, he said. It really is me! Now go, and tell the others that you’ve seen me!

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

Romans chapter 6 proclaims: “We know that Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him. …So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.” You, sisters and brothers, are alive in Christ Jesus. The resurrection life is your new life! And the first thing the risen Christ wants us to know about our new life in him is this: Do not be afraid.

Easy enough for him to say, right?

There will always be moments in life when fear is part of the equation. But what would it mean to live a life motivated not by fear, but by joy?

Too often, the Easter message comes across as “Christ is risen! Alleluia! Now go, quickly, and follow the rules! And try not to get into trouble!”

But what if living in the light of the resurrection isn’t about staying on the path, following the rules, or living in fear of each mistake?

What if the resurrection life liberates us to speak the truth, love generously, accept difference, embrace change, and remain open to possibilities? What if this new life releases us from living dangerously and frees us to take risks?

After all….What are you afraid of?

Embarrassment? Losing face or losing friends? Being seen as foolish? Being wrong? Or is it the fear of death that holds you back?

Sisters and brothers, the Good News of Easter liberates us from all these fears, especially the fear of death. Now that Jesus has broken the bonds of death and has been raised, we have nothing left to fear. “For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” From now on, no matter where life leads us—even through the valley of the shadow of death—we go with these words of Jesus ringing in our ears:  Be not afraid!

That’s what this night and this Easter Vigil liturgy is all about, after all.

From the creation to the flood, from the parting of the sea to the fiery furnace, the message is the same: Be not afraid! God is with you!

This is what we want our children to know deep in their hearts, isn’t it? This is why we teach them these stories! This is why we raise them in the church! This is why we sing these songs, pray these prayers, and gather at this table—so that our children and our children’s children will know they need not be afraid.

Tonight, as we celebrate with five brand–new saints who have come to be baptized into Christ, my hope is that they hear these words, loud and clear. 

And if they aren’t old enough to remember, then you, my sisters and brothers, will be promising in a few moments to share these words until they are written on their hearts:

Do not be afraid, Brock, because God created the whole world, and called it good—and that includes you!

Do not be afraid, Brody, because goodness is stronger than evil.

Do not be afraid, Nikolas, because with God all things are possible.

Do not be afraid, Corrine, because you are never alone. God is with you!

Do not be afraid, Olivia, because no matter what anyone else says, you will always be Olivia, Child of God.

Friends in Christ, children of God, Easter people, do not be afraid, for Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

4th Sunday in Lent: March 10, 2013

4^th Sunday in Lent: March 10, 2013

Luke 15: The Prodigal Son

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

“I don’t think our Lord would do something like that…”

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen. 

About three days into my very first week as pastor of a church, I was invited to the Annual Women’s Luncheon. I was so nervous to be sitting with all those lifelong members. These were powerful women who, I knew, would be taking reports back to the others about just who this new “lady pastor” was.

Everything was going fine as we ate lunch and had some friendly small talk. Then one of the ladies asked me what I had been reading recently. I love to talk about books, so I launched into an explanation of the latest novel I was reading. It was a book called “Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal.” It’s a great book—if a bit off-color at times—about what it must have been like to grow up as the best friend of the Son of God. If Jesus was a real human kid, then he had to have real friends, right? I told them about one scene, in which a teenage Jesus is hanging out with his younger brother. The little brother takes a lizard and smashes his head with a rock. Jesus picks up the dead lizard and puts it in his mouth, and then pulls it out again, resurrected. This makes the little brother squeal with glee, so he smashes the lizard again, and Jesus resurrects it, again. And again. And again…

So I’m telling the ladies this story, and then I notice that they all have looks of horror on their faces. The woman who had asked what I was reading leaned toward me with much seriousness and said, “Well, I don’t think our Lord would do anything like that.”

That went well, don’t you think?

Apparently, we expect our saviors to be dignified and respectable. We certainly don’t expect the Savior of the world to be resurrecting lizards for the amusement of his little brother.

The Pharisees and scribes also had expectations of the one who would be savior. In fact, our Gospel lesson for today begins by reporting how the Pharisees and scribes were all grumbling about Jesus, saying “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”  How scandalous. How undignified! You can almost hear them grumbling, “I just don’t think our Lord would do anything like that.” 

It is in answer to these criticisms of his ministry that Jesus tells the story of the Prodigal Son. Now, we know this parable inside and out. Even folks who have never read the Bible, or who have rarely darkened the door of a church, know at least the bones of the story: There is a man who has two sons. The younger son asks for his inheritance early, and then squanders it while partying it up in the city. When he’s made a complete mess of his life, he comes crawling back home. But instead of being angry, or throwing him into the barn, the father runs to his wayward son, lavishing him with food and gifts. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see.” Amen?

We love that hymn, and we love this parable, chiefly because nearly all of us can identify with the wayward younger brother. All of us, at one time or another, have strayed far from home, far from God, far from our commitments, or from our own values, only to wake up in a pig barn, muttering to ourselves, “This place stinks!” It is Good News to hear Jesus tell of God’s amazing grace and radical welcome for those of us who, like sheep, have gone astray. The story of the Prodigal Son is, in so many ways, our own story of being welcomed into the arms of God through the cross of Jesus Christ.

But there’s one character in this parable we often forget—the elder brother. Where was the elder brother while everyone else was partying? He was outside the door, grumbling. He was standing there with arms crossed, complaining to anyone who would listen that he had been faithful. He was a rule-follower. In fact, he was doing double the fieldwork since the little brother took off and was presumed dead. And now, just because he came crawling back, his father is throwing a party? You can almost hear the older brother, leaning forward and saying with much seriousness: “I just don’t think Dad would do anything like that.”

It’s true that each of us is the younger brother, being welcomed home with open arms. But it’s also true that we often more closely resemble the elder brother, grumbling when we see God throwing a party for someone we deem unworthy. How many times have we judged someone as beyond saving or beyond forgiveness? How often do we find ourselves feeling righteous because we were here first, because we follow the rules, or because we think we’ve put in the hard work all these years? When have you found yourself saying, “I just don’t think our Lord would do something like that”?

When Robert was serving his first congregation in Texas, I remember a lengthy discussion among the ladies about whether the acolytes should be allowed to wear flip-flops under their robes. Undignified. The Lord certainly wouldn’t approve.

And not long ago, having a female preacher leading a Lutheran church fell into that category as well! I still remember the hushed tones my grandmother used when she called to tell me her church had hired “A lady pastor.”

What is considered undignified, unacceptable, or beyond the scope of what or who God will welcome into God’s house has certainly changed over the years. Consider the controversies over divorced and remarried pastors, or pastors who were also masons. And what about tattooed pastors? What about gay pastors?

What about children at communion? Or infant communion? How do we feel about the un-baptized receiving communion?

What if we extended an invitation to the PADS clients to show up early and worship with us on Sunday mornings?

What if we held services in Spanish once a month and invited our Head Start families?

Since I hear a lot about the parking problem at Bethany, what if we celebrate communion in the parking lot and just invite the whole neighborhood? We could even have a drive-through communion stations under the canopy!

Are you uncomfortable yet?

The truth is, our church sign might say “All are welcome,” but all of us have “elder brother” moments of grumbling about who shows up at the party.

Surely people should be required to dress up for church, like we used to.

Surely that guy won’t get into heaven.

Surely God wouldn’t forgive that sin.

It seems to me the most important thing Jesus teaches us through the parable of the Prodigal Son is how God’s love defies all our notions of formality, respectability, and dignity. When the younger son is crawling back home, what we expect is for the father to stay put and watch him come down the lane. We might imagine that any normal father—even a very loving father—would at least drag out those last few moments. Stand with his arms crossed. Grimace a little bit! We might expect him to convey in some small way that this behavior was simply unacceptable.

But that’s not what happens at all! Instead, the way Jesus tells it, as soon as the father sees his son in the distance, hikes up his robes and runs. He runs, kicking up dust, through the fields, past the servants and the animals. He runs, in a manner unsuited to a man of his status as a landowner and elder. The neighbors are talking, his robes are flapping in the wind, and still the father—our Heavenly Father—keeps on running, until finally he meets that beloved lost child on the road, and enfolds him in his arms.

Friends, this is God’s extravagant, undignified, over-the-top love for you and for all people. God’s embrace is freely given and ever-expanding.

We see the scandal of God’s love for us most clearly when we see Jesus on the cross.

And we experience God’s radical welcome for us here, each time we gather as a community in worship.

Here is where we celebrate that God’s love is beyond human love.

Here is where we sing of a Jesus whose grace is truly amazing.

And here is where we gather to banish the elder brother thoughts that creep in about who is coming to dinner.

Hear again the Good News: God is throwing a party, and it is for you--and you—and you—and especially for those who are not yet here. Amen.

3rd Sunday in Lent: March 3, 2013

3^rd Sunday in Lent: March 3, 2013

Isaiah 55:1-9

“Satisfied”

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

“Ho, everyone who thirsts,

come to the waters;

and you that have no money,

come, buy and eat!

Come, buy wine and milk

without money and without price.

Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,

and your labor for that which does not satisfy?

Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,

and delight yourselves in rich food.”

Earlier this week, when I was stuck in that freak blizzard in west Texas, my dear spouse sent me a news story he thought I shouldn’t miss. It seems Czech authorities have discovered that my beloved IKEA Swedish meatballs…are made of horsemeat.

Now, to be fair, the meatballs at our nearest store (the one we affectionately call “The Chicago Swedish Embassy”) are reported to be unaffected. But still, my main reaction to this story is just “EWWW!” Can I get an Amen? Or how about an “ewwww”? 

My secondary reaction to this story has been to reflect on how the things we eat, or buy, or spend time acquiring, often end up being mostly....horsemeat.

We could start with our food, which resembles less and less anything our ancestors would have recognized as dinner. But there’s also the other stuff that fills our homes, our garages, and the hours in our days. We labor to buy a piece of the American dream, and then we hunger for a bigger and better one. We complain about how technology drives us crazy, but salivate over the newest iPhone, the Playstation 4, and the promise of an affordable 3-D printer. 

If we’re not spending our time laboring for the next best thing, we’re certainly working toward the weekend. “Thank God it’s Friday!” we used to say. Now, it’s more like “Thank God it’s Saturday between the hours of 6 am and 8 am”, because all the other weekend hours are filled with playing catch-up. You know it’s bad when you start wishing for a sick day. Not the flu, of course, or anything serious, but just a good cough, or a sniffle—something that would justify staying home and finally getting some Sabbath rest. Since most of you are probably too tired for an “amen”, just nod if you know what I’m talking about…

And what if we do actually get a real weekend or a vacation, or finally reach retirement age? If we’ve worked so hard—and placed so many hopes and expectations on that precious time off—then when it arrives, it just doesn’t satisfy. Often, we discover that what we thought would be a banquet of relaxation, fun, and family togetherness, turns out to be—mostly horsemeat. 

“Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,

and your labor for that which does not satisfy?

Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,

and delight yourselves in rich food.”

These words were written to Israel when it was a community in exile. The people were lost, in more ways than one. After so many years in a foreign land, they had begun to hunger for the things Babylon had to offer. After all, Jerusalem was a distant memory and God’s promises seemed to be just so many words. But then the prophet Isaiah arrived, urging them to give up, once and for all, their fascination with Babylonian-style power and gods. Like a street vendor in a city market, the one true God Yahweh, called to them, saying, 

“Hey there! All who are thirsty, come to the water! Are you penniless? Come anyway—buy and eat! Come, buy your drinks, buy wine and milk. Buy without money—everything’s free! Why do you spend your money on junk food, your hard-earned cash on cotton candy (…or horsemeat?)
Listen to me, listen well: Eat only the best, fill yourself with only the finest. Pay attention, come close now, listen carefully to my life-giving, life-nourishing words.” (The Message version—with my addition)

Today, these words are on God’s lips again, and they are directed toward us. We, who are fascinated with the “little g gods” of progress, power, prestige, and popularity; we who have adopted the priorities of this foreign culture; are being called back home. Especially during this season of Lent, God calls us to turn back, to repent, and to listen carefully, that we may live. 

Listen carefully, for God’s Good News is we have been given free gifts of grace, forgiveness, acceptance, and love through the cross of Jesus Christ. He walked among us, making all ground holy ground. He suffered with us, that we would never suffer alone. He lived and died for his friends, saving the whole world with the power of love. And because he lives, life is worth living!

Amen! 

This is indeed God’s Good News for our bad situation. But in a world where Swedish meatballs turn out to be horsemeat, where foot-long sandwiches turn out to be 11 inches long, and where the words spoken by elected leaders rarely show regard for fact or truth, it can be difficult to trust that the Word of God will stand up to the test. Just how rich is this food? How good is the wine? How do we know these free gifts will really satisfy? 

Friends, if you are asking these questions this morning, you have come to the right place. For nowhere do we experience the richness of God’s love more perfectly, more tangibly, and more radically than in Holy Communion. It may seem like just one more thing to get done, one more line to stand in, or one more item to check off the list, but what happens here at the table each and every week is in fact a banquet of grace, forgiveness, and healing. Our taste buds may have become accustomed to the richness of this heavenly food—but for those who receive it for the first time, who are returning after a long absence, or who simply approach the table with great hunger, the miracle and mystery of this meal are transformative.

A number of years ago, a journalist named Sara Miles, raised an atheist, wandered into a church and found herself transformed. In her book, “Take This Bread”, she tells the story of her first communion:  

“Early one winter morning, when Katie was sleeping at her father’s house, I walked into St. Gregory’s Episcopal Church in San Francisco.  I had no earthly reason to be there. I’d never heard a Gospel reading, never said the Lord’s Prayer. I was certainly not interested in becoming a Christian—or, as I thought of it rather less politely, a religious nut. But on other long walks, I’d passed the beautiful wooden building, with its shingled steeples and plain windows, and this time I went in, on an impulse, with no more than a reporter’s habitual curiosity. 

The rotunda was flooded with slanted morning light. A table in the center of the open, empty space was ringed high above by a huge neo-Byzantine mural of unlikely saint figures with gold halos, dancing; outside, in the back, water trickled from a huge slab of rock set against the hillside. Past the rotunda, and a forest of standing silver crosses, there was a spare, spacious area with chairs instead of pews, where about twenty people were sitting.

I walked in, took a chair, and tried not to catch anyone’s attention. There were windows looking out on a hillside covered in geraniums, and I could hear birds squabbling outside. Then a man and a woman in long tie-dyed robes stood and began chanting in harmony. There was no organ, no choir, no pulpit: just the unadorned voices of the people, and long silences framed by the ringing of deep Tibetan bowls. I sang, too. It crossed my mind that this was ridiculous.

We sat down and stood up, sang and sat down, waited and listened and stood and sang, and it was all pretty peaceful and sort of interesting. “Jesus invites everyone to his table,” the woman announced, and we started moving up in a stately dance to the table in the rotunda. It had some dishes on it, and a pottery goblet.

And then we gathered around that table. And there was more singing and standing, and someone was putting a piece of fresh crumbly bread in my hands, saying “the body of Christ,” and handing me the goblet of sweet wine, saying “the blood of Christ,” and then something  outrageous and terrifying happened. Jesus happened to me.”  (“Take This Bread” by Sara Miles, pp. 57-58)

Sisters and brothers, what we receive at the Lord’s Table is so much more than bread and wine. What we hold in our hands, and taste on our lips, is the very life of Jesus Christ, freely given for us. Jesus happens to us when we come to the table, hungry for forgiveness. Jesus happens to us when we come to the water, thirsty for salvation. Jesus happens to us when we listen to the Word of God, aching for acceptance.  

And this love, this bread, this grace we have received through the cross of Christ? It fills the belly and nourishes the soul. It satisfies.

When I lived in Germany as a college student, I learned the hard way that you should not translate every phrase literally from one language to another.

Sitting at the table after a particularly good meal, I sat back, patted my belly, and said to my hosts, “Ich bin voll!” thinking I was saying, “I’m full.”

Apparently, what I actually announced to the table was, “I am pregnant!”

The hosts were gracious enough to teach me that in German, when you’ve had enough to eat, you should say “Ich bin satt” or “I am satisfied.” 

Satisfaction. Isn’t that what we all yearn for? Don’t we all come here hoping for release from the endless hunger for things, for power, for acceptance, and for love? 

My friends in Christ, return to the Lord your God. Incline your ear and listen, that you may live.  And come to the table, knowing that what you receive here, through the cross of Christ, is so much better than the horsemeat the world offers. Come…and be satisfied.

Amen.