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.
