Bread of Life
John 6:24-35
“Take this moment, sign and space
Take my friends around;
Here among us make the place
Where your love is found”
Do you recall the first time you received communion? The first time you shared in this sacramental mean of broken bread and cup poured out?
I wish I did, but that moment, sign and space are lost to me. I do, however, have deep connections and specific memories that circle round this sacrament in which we receive the bread of life.
One of my mentors when I was in seminary, a wonderful elder at the church we were members of in Lexington, told me once why it was that I wanted to be ordained. I thought I knew. I thought it was to lead God’s people, to interpret God’s word, to help the people name God accurately in their own lives and experiences. She knew better. She told me, quite simply, “David, you want to share the sacraments.”
She was right. I understand the life of the church through this table, this moment, this sign and space as we gather together around a table that none of us created, to share gifts that none of us bought or paid for, to dwell together – if only for a moment – in the depths of the spirit of God.
“Take the time to call my name,
Take the time to mend
Who I am and what I’ve been,
All I’ve failed to tend.”
The first time anyone else mentioned to me that they thought I ought to consider ministry happened around the word communion. It was at camp, where I’ll be for the next couple of weeks. We were walking with a group of kids to a vespers service, and I wanted them to take the walk in silence. When I was a camper there many years earlier, our counselors, no doubt wanting a rest for their ears, bribed us into a silent trust walk by promising a candy bar to the one who stayed quiet the longest. I did not have a candy bar to bribe my kids with, so I gave them something else to chew on. I challenged them to think about the word communion, to come up with as many different meanings and connections to the word as they possibly could but not to speak any of them until we got to the vesper dell. Remarkably enough, they walked in deep quiet for about 10 minutes, and when we worshiped together they had some amazing thoughts to share. As we were breaking up after worship, another counselor came up to me and said, “David, you should think about ministry.” I said, “well, I have, but I’ve got too many God issues.”
“Take the tiredness of my days,
Take my past regret,
Letting your forgiveness touch
All I can’t forget.”
We all have God issues, I suppose. In more secular settings we call them authority issues. None of us wants to imagine that we are not in control. We all want to believe in our own independence. We treasure the illusion that we have made our own way in the world.
But when we gather at table, those illusions shatter. We did not get here on our own. We did not do anything to deserve a space at this table. Truth is, as Paul put, we’ve all fallen short of the glory of God. Heck, I’ve fallen short of a lot lesser measurements than that – just in the past week!
But here, at the Lord’s table, the burden of our tiredness is lifted for a moment. Grace is extended yet again. Our hungry hearts receive the gift of bread, broken for us.
“Take the little child in me
Scared of growing old;
Help me here to find my worth
Made in Christ’s own mold.”
The most amazing thing that I have discovered at table is that I do have gifts for ministry. Each and every one of us does. Some of you have been given the gift of setting the table – literally, the gift of great and generous hospitality that enables them to make the stranger welcome at their own table. I was reminded of that in, of all places, a hospital room last week when I was visiting with Ditty. She is such a generous soul, who always makes you feel welcome in her space, and that was true even when that space was a hospital room.
Others of you have been given gifts of great patience. Well, perhaps all of you have because you’ve been putting up with me for six years! Those gifts enable you to teach our children or, as I’ve witnessed first hand for the past year, lead our choir. Many thanks, Amy, for putting up with our joyous, silly little band, which seems infinitely capable of finding our inner child – and, sometimes, capable also of discovering wonderful gifts of song as well.
You have been given the gift of compassion. I know this because I’ve fed the hungry with you. I know this because I’ve seen you reach out to one another in times of sickness or mourning.
You have been given the gift of bread – to share with a hungry world.
“Take my talents, take my skills,
Take what’s yet to be;
Let my life be yours, and yet
Let it still be me.”
So, this morning, as we gather again at this table, come to the table remembering. Remember the gifts you have been given. Remember the times that others have recognized these gifts in you. Remember the source of the gifts. Remember when you have been fed on the bread of life. Remember your own call to ministry – to service to the least of these our sisters and brothers. Take, eat, and remember.
Amen.
“Take this moment, sign and space
Take my friends around;
Here among us make the place
Where your love is found”
Do you recall the first time you received communion? The first time you shared in this sacramental mean of broken bread and cup poured out?
I wish I did, but that moment, sign and space are lost to me. I do, however, have deep connections and specific memories that circle round this sacrament in which we receive the bread of life.
One of my mentors when I was in seminary, a wonderful elder at the church we were members of in Lexington, told me once why it was that I wanted to be ordained. I thought I knew. I thought it was to lead God’s people, to interpret God’s word, to help the people name God accurately in their own lives and experiences. She knew better. She told me, quite simply, “David, you want to share the sacraments.”
She was right. I understand the life of the church through this table, this moment, this sign and space as we gather together around a table that none of us created, to share gifts that none of us bought or paid for, to dwell together – if only for a moment – in the depths of the spirit of God.
“Take the time to call my name,
Take the time to mend
Who I am and what I’ve been,
All I’ve failed to tend.”
The first time anyone else mentioned to me that they thought I ought to consider ministry happened around the word communion. It was at camp, where I’ll be for the next couple of weeks. We were walking with a group of kids to a vespers service, and I wanted them to take the walk in silence. When I was a camper there many years earlier, our counselors, no doubt wanting a rest for their ears, bribed us into a silent trust walk by promising a candy bar to the one who stayed quiet the longest. I did not have a candy bar to bribe my kids with, so I gave them something else to chew on. I challenged them to think about the word communion, to come up with as many different meanings and connections to the word as they possibly could but not to speak any of them until we got to the vesper dell. Remarkably enough, they walked in deep quiet for about 10 minutes, and when we worshiped together they had some amazing thoughts to share. As we were breaking up after worship, another counselor came up to me and said, “David, you should think about ministry.” I said, “well, I have, but I’ve got too many God issues.”
“Take the tiredness of my days,
Take my past regret,
Letting your forgiveness touch
All I can’t forget.”
We all have God issues, I suppose. In more secular settings we call them authority issues. None of us wants to imagine that we are not in control. We all want to believe in our own independence. We treasure the illusion that we have made our own way in the world.
But when we gather at table, those illusions shatter. We did not get here on our own. We did not do anything to deserve a space at this table. Truth is, as Paul put, we’ve all fallen short of the glory of God. Heck, I’ve fallen short of a lot lesser measurements than that – just in the past week!
But here, at the Lord’s table, the burden of our tiredness is lifted for a moment. Grace is extended yet again. Our hungry hearts receive the gift of bread, broken for us.
“Take the little child in me
Scared of growing old;
Help me here to find my worth
Made in Christ’s own mold.”
The most amazing thing that I have discovered at table is that I do have gifts for ministry. Each and every one of us does. Some of you have been given the gift of setting the table – literally, the gift of great and generous hospitality that enables them to make the stranger welcome at their own table. I was reminded of that in, of all places, a hospital room last week when I was visiting with Ditty. She is such a generous soul, who always makes you feel welcome in her space, and that was true even when that space was a hospital room.
Others of you have been given gifts of great patience. Well, perhaps all of you have because you’ve been putting up with me for six years! Those gifts enable you to teach our children or, as I’ve witnessed first hand for the past year, lead our choir. Many thanks, Amy, for putting up with our joyous, silly little band, which seems infinitely capable of finding our inner child – and, sometimes, capable also of discovering wonderful gifts of song as well.
You have been given the gift of compassion. I know this because I’ve fed the hungry with you. I know this because I’ve seen you reach out to one another in times of sickness or mourning.
You have been given the gift of bread – to share with a hungry world.
“Take my talents, take my skills,
Take what’s yet to be;
Let my life be yours, and yet
Let it still be me.”
So, this morning, as we gather again at this table, come to the table remembering. Remember the gifts you have been given. Remember the times that others have recognized these gifts in you. Remember the source of the gifts. Remember when you have been fed on the bread of life. Remember your own call to ministry – to service to the least of these our sisters and brothers. Take, eat, and remember.
Amen.
posted by David Ensign at
6:53 AM
<< Home