World Communion
World Communion Sunday is one of the most idealistic liturgical celebrations we observe. At tables all around, we invoke the image of followers of Jesus gathering wherever they are at the table, taking bread and wine, and in that moment, bound together as a single community despite all differences in language, culture, time, and place.
It is a wondrous thought.
But with the constant news cycle, we wonder if there is any truth to it at all. At the evangelism conference this past week, I sat next to an African American woman who assured me that in her sixty years of life, no progress had been made in race relations, citing the deaths of black men at the hands of police as congruent to the lynchings of 100 years ago. Another African American pastor spoke of arranging a reconciliation council similar to that of South Africa to allow people to gather to voice their collective pain brought by racism. But when they gathered at a local North Carolina restaurant for their assembly, armed men with trucks emblazoned with Confederate flags confronted them to stop the meeting before it began. Children in Aleppo die in grotesque numbers as bombs fall daily, slaughtered innocents, murdered by power gone mad, just as they died 2000 years ago in a close neighboring place, victims of power gone mad (Mt. 2). Yemen quietly destroys itself in a civil war no one much talks about. An American presidential candidate seriously speaks of walls, deportations, and refusals to allow anyone of Muslim faith to enter the country, blaming marginalized ethnic groups for a supposed decline in American power and prestige.
World Communion? Really?
Yes, really.
The revelation of Jesus is the power of resurrection to transcend the world as it is. It is the hope and the assurance that what we see is not what is ultimate. It is the proclamation that God intends for the world to be God's garden, a place so infused with peace that it falls into rest before God and with God, if Sabbath means anything at all.
The challenge for us is to live into hope.
The North Carolina pastor met his armed opponents in the parking lot, telling them who he was and what was really going on. Then he invited them to join the group! He placed them at tables with the other people gathered, fully aware of the danger--Charleston loomed large in his mind. A miracle occurred. While he fretted and sweated, he suddenly became aware of laughter. People at the tables were sharing their stories, freely. Yes, there was pain, but there was also laughter. The armed men and the folks at the table weren't at odds with each other, the guns got put away, and actual, authentic sharing was happening, confessions about why they were scared of each other, and confessions of mutual absurdities because of fear. It was a tense night, but it was hopeful.
That is resurrection lived.
That is the hope of World Communion.
It says that, yes, we are broken, but we can be redeemed. In Christ, there is a way to lasting peace and hope.
So, break bread together, realizing the promise contained at this table, in this place, at this time. Share the story of faith as we share the story of our lives. In that, the world can change.
Hear and believe the good news.
It is a wondrous thought.
But with the constant news cycle, we wonder if there is any truth to it at all. At the evangelism conference this past week, I sat next to an African American woman who assured me that in her sixty years of life, no progress had been made in race relations, citing the deaths of black men at the hands of police as congruent to the lynchings of 100 years ago. Another African American pastor spoke of arranging a reconciliation council similar to that of South Africa to allow people to gather to voice their collective pain brought by racism. But when they gathered at a local North Carolina restaurant for their assembly, armed men with trucks emblazoned with Confederate flags confronted them to stop the meeting before it began. Children in Aleppo die in grotesque numbers as bombs fall daily, slaughtered innocents, murdered by power gone mad, just as they died 2000 years ago in a close neighboring place, victims of power gone mad (Mt. 2). Yemen quietly destroys itself in a civil war no one much talks about. An American presidential candidate seriously speaks of walls, deportations, and refusals to allow anyone of Muslim faith to enter the country, blaming marginalized ethnic groups for a supposed decline in American power and prestige.
World Communion? Really?
Yes, really.
The revelation of Jesus is the power of resurrection to transcend the world as it is. It is the hope and the assurance that what we see is not what is ultimate. It is the proclamation that God intends for the world to be God's garden, a place so infused with peace that it falls into rest before God and with God, if Sabbath means anything at all.
The challenge for us is to live into hope.
The North Carolina pastor met his armed opponents in the parking lot, telling them who he was and what was really going on. Then he invited them to join the group! He placed them at tables with the other people gathered, fully aware of the danger--Charleston loomed large in his mind. A miracle occurred. While he fretted and sweated, he suddenly became aware of laughter. People at the tables were sharing their stories, freely. Yes, there was pain, but there was also laughter. The armed men and the folks at the table weren't at odds with each other, the guns got put away, and actual, authentic sharing was happening, confessions about why they were scared of each other, and confessions of mutual absurdities because of fear. It was a tense night, but it was hopeful.
That is resurrection lived.
That is the hope of World Communion.
It says that, yes, we are broken, but we can be redeemed. In Christ, there is a way to lasting peace and hope.
So, break bread together, realizing the promise contained at this table, in this place, at this time. Share the story of faith as we share the story of our lives. In that, the world can change.
Hear and believe the good news.
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