Eat Up!
DATE: August 2, 2009
SCRIPTURE:
John 6:24‐35
I don't know about you, but I find it hard to believe that forty years have passed since the flight of Apollo 11 and the first walk on the moon! Recently I was engaged in an online discussion with some friends about that day in July of '69 when we first heard those now famous words "The Eagle has landed!" How thrilled we all were as we watched the scratchy television images of Neil Armstrong's "giant step for mankind."
One friend remembered being awoken by his parents to come downstairs and watch it. As he sat in the living room with his grandparents who were visiting at the time, he realized they were both born in the late nineteenth century and had lived to witness everything from the Wright brothers first flight all the way to the moon landing.
Another friend was vacationing in Utah with his family. After they all watched it unfold on television, his Aunt took all the children outside, and pointed to the moon. "There are men walking there!" she said. "You'll remember this for the rest of your life!" "She was right," said my friend.
I was a junior counselor at Camp Lincoln that summer—a sleep away YMCA camp in New Hampshire. The night of the moon walk over a hundred of us, staff and campers alike, crowded into the mess hall. We watched spellbound as Walter Cronkite narrated the whole thing for us on the tiny 12″ black and white TV at the front of the room. It was probably the only time all summer that those kids were actually quiet!
Having lived through that time I thought I knew most of the details of the flight, but just this past month I learned something new about it. It happened shortly after the Eagle touched down on Sunday July 20, Buzz Aldrin, who piloted the lunar module, radioed a message to flight control.
"Houston," he said, "this is Eagle. . . . I would like to request a few moments of silence. I would like to invite each person listening in, whether or where he may be, to contemplate for a moment the events of the last few hours, and to give thanks in his own individual way." (Guideposts, 1970) Then, during that time of silence, Aldrin opened up tiny little plastic packages containing a bit of bread, a vial of wine the size of his finger tip, and a miniature silver chalice. The communion elements had been given to him by his Presbyterian church, and consecrated by his pastor. As he poured the wine into the chalice, it rose up the side of the cup due to the low gravity. He read a bit of scripture, and then took the communion meal.
"Eagle's metal body creaked," he remembers. "I ate the tiny host and swallowed the wine. I gave thanks for the intelligence and spirit that had brought two young pilots to the Sea of Tranquility. [Imagine] . . . the very first liquid ever poured on the moon, and the very first food eaten there, were the communion elements." (Ibid)
Come from the north and the south, the east and the west, to gather about Christ's table. So goes the traditional invitation to communion. Who would have imagined that one day this wondrous meal would be eaten on the moon? But so it was! This ancient feast, dating back two millennia is built on the even more ancient feast of Passover. Yet it has survived all the changes of history. It gives strength and comfort to millions of souls every year, every week, every day. It is shared in the most remote corners of the earth at simple tribal tables and in the most cosmopolitan cities of the world at altars of marble and gold. It is called by many names: holy communion, the Lord's Supper, the Eucharist, and the mass. It is understood in a wide variety of ways all labeled with theological terms that cause the mind to whirl in confusion: transubstantiation, consubstantiation, memorial meal and more. But it was not doctrine that caused Buzz Aldrin to take communion on the moon; it is not theology that brings believers to tables and altars around the world. As C. S. Lewis once wrote: "The command after all, was Take eat: not ‘Take, understand.'" (Letters to Malcolm, 104)
It is a simple fact: in and through this basic meal of bread and wine, Christians around the world are reminded of the basic truth that Jesus is indeed, as he says in our passage from John, the Bread of Life. This meal, this feast, reminds us that in and through him, we can find the sustenance we need to make our way through this life with its challenges and concerns.
Martin Copenhaver is a pastor in our denomination who started his career some thirty years ago or so right here in Westport. Recently he reflected on the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand with five loaves and two fishes—the story in John that precedes today's lesson. Martin attended school up the road at Yale, and one day he went to a faculty gathering where a New Testament professor read a paper about the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. Following the reading of the paper there was a spirited discussion. Martin writes: "They debated about the veracity of the account, its various literary and historical influences, and presented different theories about [it] . . . . Then someone turned to Paul Holmer, a curmudgeonly professor of theology, for his opinion because he had been uncharacteristically quiet . . . . He paused for a moment and then . . . said, ‘Well, I don't know about all of that stuff. I was just thinking that if Jesus could feed all those people, perhaps he can feed me.'" (Still Speaking Daily Devotional, 7‐30‐09)
I am the Bread of Life, Jesus said to his followers. Take, eat, we say at the table. Partake of all that Christ has to offer us. Be fed. Be nourished. Be sustained.
Many of you know that my father is dying of stomach cancer. It is a cruel disease that causes all sorts of problems when it comes to eating. I visited my folks a bit over a week ago, and was reminded again of what a trial a simple meal can be for him. He is restricted to very soft foods. Even liquids need to be slightly thickened so that he can swallow them. And every spoonful that my mother lovingly puts in his mouth requires a great deal of effort on his part, often accompanied by choking sounds and coughs.
Mom and Dad's pastor Mike is a very attentive guy. I am grateful he is there. Periodically he stops at the house to visit. And on the first Sunday of the month he brings communion. They are part of a Disciples of Christ congregation, where communion is served every week. It is an extremely important part of their tradition.
The stomach cancer is just the latest in a long line of ailments and problems over the last two decades. Because Dad, who is himself an ordained pastor, suffered brain damage and partial paralysis years ago when he was struck down by a drunk driver. Now he often doesn't remember what he had for lunch, much less what happened yesterday. And at this point, he doesn't even remember the names of his own children. I am quite sure when Pastor Mike gives him a drop of juice and a tidbit of bread, Dad has no idea what its theological significance is. Once upon a time, he could have very clearly articulated a theological understanding of communion that would make your head spin. But not anymore. Now it's a sip of wine, and a hard to swallow bit of bread. But still, it connects him once again to the tradition and the person that has been so vital in his life. And though he may not fully understand it anymore (do any of us?) he is fed. He is nourished by the Bread of Life.
Sisters and brothers, I could offer up a doctrinal treatise here. I could speak of how the sacrament is visible sign of an invisible grace. I could wow you with a whole slew of theological terms. I could impress you with my erudition. But I won't. Instead, I will remind you that for some two thousand years, men and women, girls and boys, have found in this meal, a tangible reminder of the love of God. In this meal, eaten on the moon, and around the world Christians have been strengthened and fed. It's not rocket science. It's mystery.
I am the Bread of Life, said Jesus. Take, eat, we say at the table. For me, and for many, many others who hunger and thirst after the things of the Spirit, it is enough.
Amen.
John H. Danner