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.