October 23, 2011

One of the most memorable experiences in my life was the first time I distributed bread during the Eucharist. It is one of those roles that in the Episcopal Church is reserved to the ordained. To that point, I had participated in almost every way in the Eucharistic celebration. I had prepared the table, shared the cup with the congregation. What I remember most about that first time, and what continues to dominate my experience of sharing the bread, is seeing all of those hands reaching out to receive the bread—big hands, small hands, hands of every shape, size, and color, hands wrinkled by age, and the hands of a toddler—all of them reaching out in desire, and hope, and hunger.

We come to church for all kinds of reasons; we come to the altar to receive the bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ. We come to receive God’s grace, for spiritual sustenance and renewal, for strength and to have our faith renewed. We come with open hands and open arms, and at the altar, we receive the bread and wine, and we are embraced by the love of Christ, we are embraced and become Christ’s body in the world.

We experience God’s love here at the altar, and at the altar we receive sustenance for the journey that lies ahead of us, a journey that includes our sharing of God’s love with the world.

That two-fold action, receiving and giving, accepting God’s love and offering God’s love are at the heart of today’s gospel reading. They are at the heart of the gospel, and as Jesus reminded the Pharisees, they are at the heart of the law, the Torah, as well.

I’ve been talking about the context for the gospel readings these past few weeks, and again, it’s important to remember that what we heard today also takes place in the temple, in the last days of Jesus’ life, during a lengthy portion of Matthew in which Jesus is confronted by various Jewish groups and his authority and teaching are called into question. In fact, this story is the final episode in that series of confrontations and serves as something of a conclusion (It’s helpful to note that Mark and Luke put this particular saying elsewhere, and in different contexts).

By placing this saying here, at the end of the lengthy confrontation, Matthew probably wants to emphasize that Jesus has finally silenced his opponents. But that may be somewhat misleading for us. We tend to think of arguments made in this way to be the final word, both proof and evidence of how far apart the two sides are. Jesus is not coming up with new teaching here; he is quoting scripture, from Leviticus, and he is also giving voice to a common understanding in Judaism of his day—love of God and neighbor were understood to be the heart of the law for the Jewish community.

Where Jesus differed from the Pharisees was on how to interpret the law, how to make the law meaningful for daily law. The Pharisees developed a body of interpretation that offered specific guidelines for making sure that individual laws would be kept and applied. For example, they produced examples of just what it meant to “keep the sabbath day holy” by specifying how far one could walk, or what constituted work. By contrast, Jesus sought to help his followers understand what the heart, the deeper meaning of a law and thereby keep its intent.

We must remember when reading Matthew’s gospel, that however strident the controversies between Jesus and his opponents, however sharp the contrast between Jesus and the Pharisees, the conflict was not over whether the law was valid. All parties involved agreed with that. Matthew has Jesus say, “I have not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it” (or even, perfect it).

We have developed over the centuries, in Christianity, a somewhat schizophrenic approach to biblical law. On the one hand, most of us tend to interpret Jesus’ approach to the law to free us from keeping the commandments too closely. We don’t worry too much if we transgress them, after all, there is the confession of sin and absolution. At the same time, many of us view scripture as something of a rulebook, offering guidance and direction for how to live our daily lives.

We have turned the commandment of love into another rule, well, it’s more like a suggestion, something we do when it’s convenient or useful, when it doesn’t cost us too much in time, energy, or money. We know God loves us, we experience God’s love, we receive God’s love in the Eucharistic bread and wine. My sermons these last weeks have repeated again and again the notion of God’s generosity and love—which we experience and know in God’s creation, but also in the love God shows in Jesus Christ. I have been emphasizing God’s love and generosity not only because this is stewardship season. It is that, of course. To know and experience God’s loving generosity, God’s grace, should inspire us to show forth our own gratitude and generosity.

But there is more to it. Even that simple act we perform each week, coming forward to receive the bread and wine of the Eucharist can symbolize two very different things. Our hands stretched out, open, to receive God’s love could also be seen as hands outstretched, grasping to grab our share, what’s ours. In our culture, it’s the latter that we see and experience too often—the eager rush to grab what we deserve or want, or think we need, with no thought of those around us, or behind us, or who might not have anything. Even at the altar, we open our hands to receive the body and blood of Christ, then turn away, with our hands clasped closely, focused on ourselves and not on others.

The reason distributing communion was so powerful for me the first time I experienced it, is the same reason it remains so powerful. It has shaped my understanding of the priesthood and shaped my experience of God’s love. To give the bread to someone, whether a stranger or to someone I’ve given it a hundred or two hundred times, is to share God’s love, it is a symbol, an icon of God’s love. That’s my job of course, my role but it is also who God has called me to be. And the hard thing is that God calls me to be that person, not only when I’m up here behind the altar rail, but all of the time.

My friends, it’s not just me that God is calling. God calls all of us. Receiving and giving—being loved and loving. Our love of God, with heart, and soul and mind, is first and foremost a response to God’s love of us. The love which we experience from God in Christ kindles in us the response of love. It remakes us into people who reach out our hands, not only to receive the grace and love of God. We become, through God’s love, people who reach out our hands in love, to our neighbor, sharing God’s love, sharing bread, our gifts, our selves.