|
During World War II allied armies
marched into Germany on their way to Berlin. Retreating German
soldiers switched road signs and destroyed landmarks in an effort
to confuse their enemy. And, to an extent, it worked, for many a
GI followed a false marker only to end up in the wrong place.
That just goes to show the need
for landmarks, the importance of reliable signposts by which to
steer.
Here locally, landmarks like the
courthouse, the river or college or bridge are important in
helping us find our bearings. Why, if some villain were in one
night to remove our signposts, the next day would become a
bewildering jumble of uncertainties, and we'd all be lost.
The text is about landmarks. It
refers to the Jewish custom of setting boundary stones to mark out
property. Just as we do today so our Hebrew forefathers did
then. Wells, fiords, buildings, and stone centennials were their
guides. Hence the strict law: "Remove not the ancient landmark
which your fathers have set."
We live in a day of rapid change.
And this law is being grossly ignored. Our history is being
bulldozed to clear the way for development. Some professors are
twisting the guideposts in the minds and hearts of our students.
Traditions are forgotten, manners ignored. Result is a kind of
chaos. Social confusion and rootless individualism. We live in a
society that's lost its bearings and is adrift on a sea of change.
The Lord's table is a
landmark. For nearly 2000 years Christians have been gathering to
eat this meal. And, for all, it can be means of getting one's
bearings. How do I say this? Look at our second text and see.
"The Past"
First, in the communion meal Jesus points us to the past.
"Do this in remembrance of me," He twice commands.
What good is memory?
In John Knowles’ novel, A
Separate Peace, a middle aged war veteran returned to his
New Hampshire prep school 15 years after graduation. He is drawn
to that part of the campus where a huge oak tree overspreads the
river. Its branches tower above and become lost in the morning
fog.
It was in that tree that the man
and his schoolboy rival "Finny" dared each other to climb ever
higher for a dive into the river below. And it was there that
"Finny" had fallen when our now aging vet either intentionally or
unintentionally shook the limb on which both were perched. "Finny"
had later died from his injuries. And all these years the novels
main character has remembered and wrestled with the guilt of it
all.
What about you? Are there fog
shrouded trees growing like spikes in your conscience? Is there
guilt of deeds done or left undone? Divorce? An abortion? Ugly
words? A theft? Adultery?
Remembrance can be a painful
thing. But it can also be a source of solace and joy.
In the Greek, the word remembrance
is “anamnesis”. We derive our word "amnesia" from it. Jesus is
saying, "Do this so you won't get amnesia, so you will know who I
am and who you are."
During World War II a shell
shocked soldier suffering from amnesia was paraded around boxing
rings in the hope that someone would recognize him. "Won't
someone tell me who I am!" he shouted. Jesus knows the world hits
us hard, and we can lapse into spiritual amnesia. We can forget
home, brothers, sisters, father, even our own name. So Jesus
invites us regularly to come to His house, to sit at His table, to
take the Blood of His cup, the Bread of His body, and remember our
sins, remember at what great a price we were bought at Calvary,
and to remember whose we now are.
At communion we find our bearings
by laying down all our guilty past and becoming immersed in the
pleasant memories of all Jesus has done for us. Ah, sweet
remembrance!
“The Future”
The Lord's supper also points us
to the future. In the text Paul speaks of celebrating communion
as a means of proclaiming Christ's death "until He comes." That is
a reference to the second coming of our Lord.
A few years ago my family watched
the movie, The Day After, about the horrible aftermath of a
nuclear war. One night soon after my eldest son came to me,
"Dad," he confided, "I just don't know about this school work. I
mean, why should I work so hard? With the way the world is going
it doesn't look like there's any future worth studying for."
Indeed, as W. C. Fields put it, "The future isn't what it used to
be."
Iraq is rearming itself. Our
country sinks deeper into financial debt. Academic levels
plummet. Homes split up, churches grow cold. Ah! But for the
text we, like the world, we could only anticipate a hopeless end.
Yet here in Christ, seated about His table, we know an endless
hope!
Two words, "He comes."
A young lady, desperately single,
aching with unfulfilled longings, shared with me her pain. "I eat
alone. I sleep alone, I vacation alone. I'm sick! Do you hear
me? Sick of it! Where is my lover?"
I told her of Jesus, the most
eligible bachelor in the universe. I explained how we are His
Bride. And even now Christ is preparing a place for us in
heaven. And soon, oh so very soon, the shout will go up. "The
Bridegroom Cometh!" And we'll each go to live forever in a loving
relationship like we've been longing for."
"In this hope we were saved," the
Bible says. Such hope makes the Lord's Supper an appetizer. It
is but a foretaste of the marriage supper of the Lamb mentioned in
Revelation 19.
Robert Frost's poem, "The
Death of the Hired Man," has a Vermont farmer who discovers the
town drunk sleeping in his barn. The farmer has tried to help
the old man out so many times over the years. But the drunk
proved worthless. Why, last time he was there he walked off the
farm in harvest time leaving the farmer short‑handed.
"Never again," the farmer
vowed.
So now he finds the old drunk
asleep in his hayloft. And angrily he tells his wife he's going
to run him off.
Yet his wife realized the old man
is near death and she pleads with her husband to show mercy.
"He's come home to die, Pa. He has no place to go but here. He
has no one but you. With nothing to look back on in pride and
nothing to look forward to in hope... he's come home to die."
Perhaps there's one of you here
today whose past is nothing more than a guilty spasm of pain, and
whose future seems but a hopeless end. Come! For such a one as
you this church is built, this table is spread. Here at communion
Jesus takes your face in His gentle hands and points you to your
past--all cleansed, forgiven and enabled in His grace. Then
He turns your gaze to the future as His bride in a paradise so
wonderful no tongue can describe it.
"The Present"
Yes, this wonder filled table is
spread for the past and the future. But what of the here and
now? We Christians have our theology of the past well‑founded in
the cross, all our guilty sins washed away. And our theology of
the future in secure in the second coming. But our faith is often
like an antique brass bed--rock sturdy at both ends but soft and
saggy in the middle. So, what does our theology offer for the here
and now?
In the text, Jesus said, "This is
my Body, this is my Blood." Not was. Not shall be. But is.
Now!
John Calvin used to remind the
saints that there is no miracle in the bread and wine. The
miracle is in us! When we commune with repentant and faithful
hearts the Holy Spirit moves among us and in us bringing life,
growth, bonding, reassurance, comfort, insight, love, strength and
whatever else is necessary to keep us on our feet.
Why, after the resurrection, Jesus
showed up at every mealtime. When Peter denied the Lord, it
was at breakfast the Lord met him and Peter re-devoted himself to
the Savior. It was on Emmaus Road that two discouraged
disciples were drawn into a meal and the reality of the risen
Lord. It was while behind locked doors for fear of the Jews
that Jesus materialized, eating, and rejuvenating the apostles at
the table. And it is in churches like this, at tables like
this, in servants like you and me, that the real presence of the
Holy Spirit makes Himself known.
"Conclusion"
In the play, Fiddler On The
Roof, Tevye, the Russian Jew, speaks of the landmarks of
tradition in his life....
"Because of our traditions, we've
kept our balance for many, many years. Here in Anatevka, we have
traditions for everything--how to eat, how to sleep, how to wear
clothes. For instance, we always keep our heads covered and always
wear a little prayer shawl. This shows our constant devotion to
God. You may ask, how did this tradition start? I'll tell you--I
don't know! But it's a tradition! Because of our traditions
everyone knows who he is and what God expects him to do." So it is
that the Lord's Supper is a tradition, a landmark in our lives.
Jesus wills us to remember Him, to come often, to sit and look to
our past, future, and present.
It's been my experience that persons
coming to the church have a problem in one of three areas. They've
a struggle with the past and guilt, or a struggle with the future
and fear, or a problem with the present and strength.
The Gospel touches us in all three
areas. Driving over here this morning, didn't you look into your
rearview mirror? But did you not as well glance through the forward
windshield? And I do so hope you enjoyed the view out the side
windows. A safe driver looks all three ways.
And a healthy Christian also has a
past secured from guilt--"remembrance," a future secure in hope--"He
comes," and a present enabled by the Spirit's strength for
now.
Today is fitting we celebrate
communion as a landmark in our lives. Forgetting the sins of the
past, absorbed in His wonderful grace, remembering the cross and our
glorious heritage, let us find nourishment in God's Spirit in this
bread and wine, that we might press on into future fruitful ministry
until He comes.
Suggested
Prayer
Lord, be made known to
me in the breaking of the bread. For Jesus' sake. Amen. |
