Sunday, May 12, 2019

May 12, 2019 - Easter 4C



Grant us, Lord, always to sit at your table and dwell in your house for ever. Amen.
            Think for a moment about the best meal that you’ve ever had. Maybe it was a home-cooked specialty made by your grandmother or perhaps it was at a high-end steak house. Think back to what made that meal so special. The food was probably good, the atmosphere was likely nice, but I bet that with more certainty than telling me what food you ordered or what music was playing in the background, you can tell me who you were with. What makes a meal sacred is the people gathered around the table with you. I’ve had some really lousy food, but the meal ended up being a good experience because I was surrounded by loved ones. This truth is what makes the Holy Eucharist such a special meal, because in it we are gathered with the dearest of people.

            Another aspect of what makes the Eucharist is that it isn’t just another meal; it’s not like the lunch that you’ll have after today’s liturgy. Throughout Scripture, when the Kingdom of God is envisioned, it is described so in terms of food. But it’s never a simple meal. Isaiah calls it a feast, Jesus calls it a wedding banquet, the Psalmist this morning sees it as a table where we are anointed and have our cup running over, Revelation portrays it as the feast of victory of the Lamb of God. As we think about the Eucharist, it’s helpful to think of it not in terms of a quick bite to eat, but as a once-in-eternity sort of banquet.
            Just as Psalm 23 envisions a meal in which a table is spread before us, where fear of our enemies does not stop us from enjoying a good meal, where we are covered with the blessings of God’s mercy, where our cup is always full, where were are overrun by God’s goodness and mercy, the Eucharist is that sort of meal. It’s a vision of what heavenly peace is like – no enemies, abundant grace, and overflowing blessings. It is the grace of God that allows us to participate in this very banquet every time that we gather in the name of Jesus, recalling his Death and Resurrection, as we break the bread and share the cup.
            In the vision of the heavenly banquet from Revelation, we see a similar idea – the people of God robed in white, carry palm branches as a sign of victory. God is worshiped and we are told that those gathered around the throne of God will “hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to the springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” It’s a beautiful vision, isn’t it? No hunger, to thirst, no suffering, no tears, but instead the waters of eternal life will surround us. And if this vision of heaven was all we had, it would remain a compelling and hope-filled vision – that one day, we would feast with God and be free from all that causes us pain and suffering. But the hope of God is not locked up in the future, it is made present to us in the Eucharist.
            The Holy Eucharist has been called a “thin place,” one of those moments when the veil between heaven and earth is translucent. We see the eternal and gracious light of God shining through the bread and wine. The songs that we sing, like the “Holy, holy, holy” of the Sanctus, is our joining in the very song that is being sung around the Lamb on the throne. The unity that we experience as we participate in the Eucharist as children of God is but a foretaste of the peace of the heavenly banquet. This is what makes the Eucharist such a special meal – because the Eucharist happens at the end of the world.
            If you’ve been to the National Cathedral in Washington, you’ve probably noticed the stained glass called “the Space Window.” What makes this particular window so special is that at the center of the window is 2-inch moon rock. Now, one way to view that window is that it’s nothing special; after all, it’s just a rock. But we realize the absurdity of such a statement – it isn’t just a rock like one that you can pick up outside. It’s a moon rock. It comes from another world, and even though it looks like a rock and feels like a rock, it is so much more than a rock. What makes this window special isn’t that it has a piece of rock in it, it’s where that rock comes from that makes the window so majestic and powerful.
            It’s the same for the Eucharist that we partake of. As far as food goes, the Eucharist is actually pretty lousy – it’s okay to admit that. Viewed one way, it’s a bite-sized piece of stale bread and a sip of below-average port wine. But the Eucharist is more than this because of where it comes from. The Eucharist is not our ritual, instead the Eucharist is one of God’s many gifts to the Church. What we are given in the Eucharist is a foretaste of the heavenly banquet, a taste of God’s ultimate peace, a taste of the end and purpose of all things.
            One of the holiest moments that I’ve ever experienced happened when I was in college, doing an astronomy lab. I was on the roof of a building looking up at the night sky. And certainly, there is a beauty in looking up at the stars. But then I peered through the lens of a telescope, and with my very own eye, gazed upon the planet Saturn and it’s stunning rings. It was a transcendent experience. This is what the Eucharist does – it brings into focus and proximity those grand promises of God’s peace. Through the Eucharist, no longer is God’s love an abstraction, but it becomes tangible.
            By knowing that the Eucharist is a window into the eternal banquet of heaven, we are able to read this passage from Revelation in a fuller way. Because the Eucharist reveals the destiny of all things, it’s not that the Eucharist shows us what to hope for in the future, rather the Eucharist is the means by which the future infiltrates and permeates the present.
            And so when we read in Revelation that “there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and people and languages,” we realize that this feast is universal and all of the boundaries that we have become accustomed to are erased, as they all join in one voice to praise God. It’s one of the things that I cherish about the altar rail – rich and poor, powerful and weak, liberal and conservative, devout and skeptical, young and old, black and white – all people come to this rail empty handed and all receive the Body of Christ. And this unity is a reflection of that ultimate unity of God’s kingdom.
            I also love how the Eucharist makes me rethink my relationship to time. Because the Eucharist happens both at the end of time and throughout time, it unites us not only to our brothers and sisters in Christ who are in this church, and not only does it unite us to Christians around the world who are breaking bread this day, but it also unites us to all those who have ever and will ever partake of the Eucharist. The Eucharist comes from eternity into this moment and it brings with it the fullness of eternity. So as you partake of this meal, know that on the other side of the veil is not only Jesus, but also St. Luke and St. Mary, St. Augustine and St. Julian. Joining us at God’s banquet are the names and faces lost to history, as well as our own dearly departed. At this holy table, we share a meal with grandparents, parents, children, and spouses who have died. We might even go as far to trust that joining us in this feast are generations yet to be born. Yes, what makes this such a special is meal is where it comes from: it comes from God’s eternal love that encompasses all of Creation.
            What makes this all work is that, as Revelation reveals to us, the host of this meal is the Lamb of God – Jesus Christ, the Passover lamb who was slain and rose again. At the heart of the Eucharist is this sacrifice of God’s reconciling love. There’s a wonderful image of this loving sacrifice of God as a fallen tree. The truth of God’s loving and redeeming sacrifice on the Cross is eternal, and in the moment of the Crucifixion, we see those rings of the tree revealed because that is where eternity cut into history. But if we were to cut that tree at any other point, those same rings of mercy and salvation would be just as evident. In the Eucharist, we see this truth as the bread is broken and the wine is poured.
            Given that the host of this banquet is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world and grants us peace, we are shown the grain of the universe. Though the Lamb was killed, this is the feast of the Lamb’s victory over Sin and Death. Because the host of the heavenly banquet is the Lamb of God, we know that all things are heading towards the peace, mercy, grace, and love of God that we saw in Jesus. And by the power of the Holy Spirit, we are made to participate in this sacred meal even now. Just as the Eucharist shows us what will be at the end, it also shows what is possible now by that same grace and love of God.
            Our Christian hope is that one day, the whole earth will be filled with the glory of God. Because the Eucharist has its roots in that fulfillment of all things, worlds collide when the bread is broken. Though we are not been trained to think in this way, it really is quite possible for heaven to come on earth – we pray for it daily in the Lord’s Prayer. And that happens, heaven and earth are united in his sacred meal. By grace, God opens our eyes to see this mystery of faith as our hearts burn within us as we meet Jesus in the breaking of the bread. And as we meet God face to face, we are given a foretaste of the reconciliation of all things, a glimpse of our union with God and all of Creation, a sign of holiness that surrounds us.
            When I was serving a parish in DC that had a weekly Eucharist in Spanish, something that I really enjoyed was the Fraction Anthem in Spanish. Whereas, after the priest says “Alleluia. Christ our Passover has been sacrificed for us,” our response is “Therefore let us keep the feast. Alleluia,” in Spanish the response is “Celebremos la fiesta. Alleluia.” That’s some solid Eucharistic theology – celebremos la fiesta!
For one, “let us keep” isn’t nearly as good as “celebremos.” This isn’t some ritual to keep, it’s something to celebrate. And though “feast” is a decent description of the Eucharist, “fiesta” is a lot better. Because the Eucharist is a grand party. It’s the fiesta that comes from the end of all things, a fiesta where all of God’s beloved children are present, where the Lamb of God is the gracious host. And though the fiesta is located in God’s future, we are invited to have a foretaste of this eternal life and we participate in this through the Eucharist. So come, let’s celebrate the fiesta of God.