Phil Kniss: Treating our evangelical allergy

Formed in Christ: What is the good news?

2 Corinthians 2:14-17; 1 Peter 3:15-16

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This summer at our denominational assembly in Pittsburgh,

André Gingerich Stoner,

head of interchurch relations for Mennonite Church USA,

gave us a memorable line,

He said, “Mennonites love service, flirt with peace,

and are allergic to evangelism.”

This morning I’d like us to think about why we’re allergic,

and whether that’s even a problem,

and if it is a problem, what we might do about it.

I assume that some of you here would say

having an allergic reaction to being evangelistic is not a problem.

You might even wear your anti-evangelicalism

as an Anabaptist badge of honor.

It’s not uncommon to describe ourselves as Mennonites

as being entirely distinct from evangelicals,

as well as Catholics and mainline Protestants.

We’re not like them. We’re different.

There are some logical, and actually very well-grounded reasons,

why we distinguish ourselves from evangelicals as a group.

I myself make that distinction at times.

Evangelical Christians . . . as a category or a group . . .

tend to emphasize certain doctrines in ways we don’t,

or at least, we express them differently, we nuance them.

We could put it this way (although it’s grossly oversimplifying things):

Evangelicals say the Bible is inerrant and speaks plainly.

Anabaptists say scripture is authoritative

as the community interprets it together.

Evangelicals say salvation is primarily

an intentional and rational “decision for Christ.”

Anabaptists don’t deny the need to decide,

but speak of salvation primarily as

a wholistic and lifelong journey toward shalom.

Evangelicals hope to transform society into a Christian nation.

Anabaptists want to influence society by an alternative community,

demonstrating, from the margins, what kingdom life looks like.

There’s also personal and emotional reasons for distancing ourselves

from evangelicals.

We hear way too many evangelical celebrities—

in politics, in sports, in entertainment—

speaking as if for all Christians,

with speech that’s political, divisive, sometimes even hateful.

We see evangelical TV preachers with loud suits and big hair,

getting pushy and pompous about the Gospel,

and begging for money.

There are valid reasons why we break out in hives, so to speak,

if someone suggests we are evangelical.

You can probably tell where this is heading.

I’m about to give the other side,

why we need to get over this allergy.

So if you’re right now starting to break out,

I want to offer some antihistamine.

I want to make a case that the allergy we suffer from

is not a matter of pride,

but a symptom of a larger pathology,

and is actually quite treatable.

In fact, with proper treatment,

we could leave this place enthusiastically committed

to be evangelists for Jesus Christ and the kingdom of God.

There are two theological assumptions I’m working from.

And these are both deeply Christian, deeply Anabaptist.

First, God is on a mission to save and redeem and heal this world.

Second, God has called out a people to participate in that mission.

I don’t see how anyone can read the scriptures,

and not find those two affirmations at the heart of it all.

God wants to save, heal, redeem, and reconcile,

and God calls us, the church, to proclaim and demonstrate

that ministry of salvation, healing, redemption, and reconciliation.

The church is expected, is commissioned,

to proclaim God’s salvation,

and demonstrate the saved life.

We heard one version of that commission in the Gospel reading today.

All peoples of the world are invited into a new, saved life.

Saved from a self-serving, destructive, violent,

and fragmented existence that often passes for life.

Saved from sin that cuts us off from our Creator who loves us.

Saved back to God’s loving embrace.

It’s a salvation offered freely . . . without coercion.

And the church is the bearer of that good news.

We don’t have to live a half-life or non-life.

We can live fully and joyfully and freely as

the whole human beings God lovingly created us to be.

That’s the good message we have for the world,

a message to be shared in word, in deed, in life.

That’s what evangelism is, literally.

The word evangel has two parts.

The first two letters, E-V, come from the Greek for “good”

The rest of the letters spells what—“angel.”

Also from the Greek, for “messenger.”

An evangelist is literally someone with a good message.

Evangelism is the practice of sharing that good message.

An evangelical is one who thinks it’s a good idea

to share a good message, if we have one.

The question of whether Christians ought to be evangelical, or not,

is not even a question . . .

if we accept the most basic theological affirmations of our Bible:

God is on a mission to save and redeem the world.

God’s saving mission was revealed in Jesus.

And we are called to carry on the ministry and message of Jesus.

It’s a complete non-sequitur to suggest

that we accept the most basic story of scripture

and still think that Christians ought not to be evangelical.

Maybe Christians who dismiss evangelism

are only dismissing evangelism, defined narrowly.

I least, I hope so.

Maybe they’re objecting to the politics of some evangelicals,

or to some attention-seeking evangelical celebrities,

or to certain pushy, judgmental evangelists.

At least I hope not too many of us actually have trouble believing

we have a good message to share.

Assuming we do believe we’ve been entrusted with the good message

that God loves the world and wants to save it,

the real question is not whether, but how we share the good message.

Isn’t that the main question?

How or how not to evangelize.

The message is good, but the way it is shared might be ineffective,

or might even turn the good message into a bad one.

_____________________

So how might we be good sharers of a good message?

How might we be cured of our allergy to evangelism,

and embrace the opportunity we all have

to be authentic and winsome bearers of the Gospel.

I suggest we start by putting the whole topic of evangelism

under the rubric of Christian formation.

Evangelism is not an optional focus for the missionary-minded,

or for those with a special spiritual gift.

It is central to our being “formed in Christ.”

It is just as essential to the journey of becoming a follower of Jesus,

as is, say, practicing the spiritual disciplines

of worship, prayer, fellowship, discernment,

service, justice-seeking, and peace-building.

Ben Campbell Johnson wrote a book a few years ago entitled,

Speaking of God: Evangelism as Initial Spiritual Guidance.

I didn’t read the book myself, but Roland Kuhl,

a friend and fellow Mennonite pastor from Chicago,

wrote some extensive reflections on the book this fall,

so I’m drawing on his reflections.

Campbell Johnson based his idea of evangelism as spiritual guidance

(or you might say Christian formation),

on the whole notion that God is already active in the world,

and most importantly, already active in every person’s life.

We don’t ever walk into a conversation, or interaction,

or relationship with any other person, no matter who it is,

thinking that we are somehow introducing God into that situation.

That we are bringing God to that person or people.

A fundamentally important understanding,

if we want to have integrity or authenticity

in sharing the good message of God,

is . . . that God got there before we did.

As we are walking toward that person,

we are walking toward God.

Wow. What a concept.

That ought to strike awe and reverence

into every human interchange we have.

As my friend Roland reflects on that, he paints a picture

of what evangelism as spiritual guidance could look like.

Here I quote him,

“[When I] engage people in conversation—

as to what they are reading, what is going on in their lives,

even chit-chat about how they are,

with an awareness of God being active in their lives,

[it] enables me to converse with them prayerfully.

It attunes me to listen more closely to what they are expressing,

what experiences they are sharing,

rather than finding a place to break into the conversation

with my story, with my agenda.

In listening,

I am developing an awareness to notice

how God is active in their lives.

[Then] I have the freedom to name God’s presence in them

‘it seems like you had a God-moment there’ or

‘it seems that God was guiding you in that.’”

He said, in comments like that,

“[I’m] noticing that

God is doing something significant in their lives—

yet I really don’t expect a response from them.

However, invariably a response comes—‘what do you mean?’ . . .

Then I am able to respond with how I notice

God at work in them in a particular situation,

helping them to see or discover God at work in them.”

Evangelism is really a way to accompany people, to walk alongside.

It’s listening carefully and reverently.

It’s observing tentatively and hopefully.

It’s looking for God, and finding God, and pointing out God.

Whether the evangelist is one person, or the whole church,

we listen first, and listen well.

We notice the work of God in the world,

and walk toward it,

hoping to participate in it.

We go through life asking the God question,

engaging in God-speech.

Noticing, asking, suggesting how we might see God at work,

even in the brokenness around us.

We don’t just storm in with answers . . .

to questions that aren’t being asked.

We accompany people.

We listen, we observe.

We suggest where we see hope in the world.

And inevitably, we’ll be asked to explain.

That’s precisely what the apostle said in 1 Peter 3,

which we read this morning:

“Always be ready to make your defense

to anyone who demands from you an accounting

for the hope that is in you;

yet do it with gentleness and reverence.”

Trust me, in this broken and sinful and cynical world,

that’s grasping for any shred of hope . . .

a community of people who live in joyful hope will stick out.

Communities that embody hope will attract attention.

They will elicit conversation.

They will be asked.

They will be challenged.

They will, as scripture suggested,

be demanded for an account of the hope that is in them.

And they will need to explain.

And as Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 2,

another one of this morning’s texts,

As Christ leads us together in procession through the world

a fragrance will be spread.

“We are the aroma of Christ . . .

among those who are being saved

and among those who are perishing.”

When we carry that fragrance, Paul says,

“We are not peddlers of God’s word like so many;

but in Christ we speak as persons of sincerity,

as persons sent from God and standing in his presence.”

A fragrant community of Christ

need not engage in salesmanship or hype or clever marketing.

Hope is embodied.

Hope is incarnated.

Good news is demonstrated . . . and proclaimed with authenticity,

when people stand in the presence of God.

_____________________

As I’ve said many times, and will say again,

my dream for the PVMC community,

is that every member of this community

will be deeply involved in the life of smaller communities of faith

within the larger whole—

“a community of communities engaged in God’s mission.”

And in each small community we will

actively and mutually shape each other

for an evangelical life as an authentic disciple of Jesus in this world.

My dream is that each one of these communities

will so vibrate with life and joy and hope,

and will be so open to the world around them,

so hospitable, so compassionate,

so filled with love for each other and for their neighbor,

that anyone in their vicinity cannot help but notice.

Our neighbors will be blown away by the beauty

of such a missional and communal and hopeful life.

The aroma of the living Christ will be

so compelling and so attractive,

that the seeking public will engage us,

and we will be ready

with an explanation for the hope that is within us.

These incarnational, evangelical communities

will take all kinds of shapes.

One size does not fit all.

A missional community living in downtown Harrisonburg

will look quite different than one located in north Park View,

which will look different than one in Belmont or Hidden Meadow.

This has to do with the question of neighborhood,

that we were discussing at our congregation meeting last week.

I dream of a congregation filled with these evangelical communities

living out the good message in their own particular neighborhood.

Communities that renew that time-honored practice of hospitality,

inviting even strangers into our homes for dinner.

Communities that practice

grass-roots justice and peace-building.

We don’t need to outsource that to social service agencies.

We can be evangelistic

by practicing love and mercy and justice as small communities,

bathing our actions in a life of prayer and spiritual discernment.

We have neighbors right here in Harrisonburg

who suffer from injustice,

who are victims of violence,

who are exposed to the elements,

who are hungry,

who need the touch of a healing God

embodied in a loving community of Jesus’ disciples.

I dream of communities that make it a priority to meet together

to discern, mutually, where and how God is moving around them,

and how they might embody in their ordinary lives,

the good message of the Gospel.

I dream of a congregation made up entirely of

evangelical, incarnational expressions of Christ’s body.

Communities committed to being the fragrance of life

to the world around us—first of all to ourselves,

but also to our near neighbors,

and to our larger community,

and to the systems of power at work, locally and nationally,

and to the hurting world beyond our borders.

If we grasp, even in part, the beauty of the good message

God has entrusted to us,

how can we possibly keep that to ourselves?

In the words of hymn writer Michael Mahler,

“How can we be silent?”

How can we be silent when we know our God is near,

bringing light to those in darkness, to the worthless endless worth?

How can we be silent when we are the voice of Christ,

speaking justice to the nations, breathing love to all the earth?

How can we be silent when our souls are filled with awe

at the beauty of creation and the mercy of our Lord?

How can we be silent when we yearn to sing new songs?

In our hearts a fire is burning and it will not be ignored!

None can stop the Spirit burning now inside us.

We will shape the future. We will not be silent!

—Phil Kniss, October 30, 2011

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Phil Kniss and others: Stories of Discipleship

October 23, 2011 - "Formed in Christ: What is your story?"

Matthew 4:18-22; Ephesians 4:11-16

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This Sunday, instead of a traditional sermon, Pastor Phil set the stage for listening to six different stories of discipleship from members and regular attenders at Park View. These stories reflected on the practices, experiences, or relationships that have had an impact on each person, in terms of how it shaped their understanding of what it means to follow Jesus. Be inspired by these six brief stories of Christian formation.

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Phil Kniss: Provocative Christianity

Romans 12:1-2, 9-21; Hebrews 10:23-25; John 15:12-17

“Formed in Christ: Who is our community?”

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Last Sunday we launched this series on Christian formation

by asking the question, “What has shaped us?”

Barbara shared in her sermon a number of personal reflections

on the traditions, the rituals, the communal events,

and the unexpected interruptions of life,

that formed her as a follower of Christ.

Among the things she cited,

were some Mennonite communal traditions

that many of us—

if we grew up in a traditional Mennonite community—

could readily identify with.

Farm life, two-week long Vacation Bible Schools in the summer,

summer camps, youth gatherings,

and I could add such things as

attending a Mennonite school,

going to Sunday and Wednesday evening church services,

where everyone (including us young people),

took turns presenting a devotional, or a topical talk,

or having missionaries come through with their slide shows.

and on and on.

But I’d be willing to wager

that many or most of those things I just named,

and the things you would name, if you’re over 40,

have either gone by the wayside completely,

or are in serious decline.

How many churches do you know of today,

that have services on Sunday and Wednesday evenings?

or 2-week-long half-day Vacation Bible Schools?

or where most of children in the church

work hard on their family farm?

Mennonite farm children,

even in this agricultural community, are a rare breed.

With the exception of the Old Orders.

And Vacation Bible School programs,

while they still happen in many churches,

have been radically redesigned, or reinvented,

and still struggle with getting out the numbers.

And every summer camp program I know of,

is dealing with major declines in enrollment,

and are trying to survive by reinventing themselves.

It is simply the case,

that the family-based and church-based formational practices

and programs of the past generation . . .

are exactly that—of the past generation.

They no longer hold any power to deeply shape our faith

and shape our community today.

Which raises the question of the morning,

“Who is our community?”

All of us have connections.

And all of are being formed by those connections.

But who is our formational community?

Are we choosing that community carefully and deliberately?

Are we being clear about the communal values we embrace?

Are we allowing that community to shape our lives,

to order our desires,

to help us determine—in the words of Ecclesiastes 3—

when to embrace, and when to refrain from embracing,

when to throw away stones,

and when to gather stones together

when to love, when to hate,

when to plant, and when to pluck up what was planted.

Who is our community that we consciously choose

to be our primary formational community

as persons seeking to be formed in Christ?

There’s never been a more important time to ask that question, than now.

In light of the continuing decline

of traditional church-based programs and practices

it behooves us to ask, “If not that, then what?”

I believe we must think consciously about this.

We must consider carefully who our formational community is.

Because, in the absence of these traditional programs and practices,

we are now being shaped and formed by other practices

that have filled the vacuum,

without any conscious choice on our part.

I talked some months ago, inspired by the writings of James K. A. Smith,

about the many cultural liturgies that are out there already,

practices that we are exposed to or directly engage in daily,

secular, cultural liturgies, intended specifically to shape our desires,

liturgies that form us for greed, for power-grabbing,

for physical pleasure, for material consumption.

Smith argued that we need to be intentional

about creating alternate liturgies and practices

that shape our desires instead toward the Kingdom of God

and its values.

Local pastor Harvey Yoder writes a regular blog,

and a few days ago he posted some thoughts from Dr. Sut Jhally,

of the University of Massachusetts,

who said that the question to ask

about how any given advertisement affects us

is not how much it influences to buy a particular product,

but how advertising as a whole affects

our buying into a set of values

counter to the ones we profess to believe.

Advertising, Jhally says, promotes a magical way of thinking,

makes fantastic promises about what certain products

will do for us—

whether cars, or hair products, or medication.

You don’t even have to know what’s being sold,

to have the ads impact the way we think about material things.

These things will give us incredible happiness,

gain the admiration of all kinds of desirable people,

and transform us into an instant, spectacular success.

Consumerism becomes a kind of religion

that replaces the faith we actually claim to live by.

In other words, these are competing liturgies.

These are the liturgies

that promote self-oriented satisfaction of desire,

that sexually objectify women and girls,

that openly glorify violence and manipulation of others,

even in the pursuit of the good.

We have choices to make about which liturgies to participate in.

And which liturgies to resist.

And a big part of that is choosing wisely

the communities where those liturgies reside.

As Harvey wrote, and I quote,

“We need to teach ourselves and our children

to talk back to the blatantly false messages

we’re all hearing on television and other media every day.

Or better yet, just unplug ourselves

from the barrage of untruths we’re being bombarded with

and read or tell them some good messages of our own.”

_____________________

So, again . . . who is our community

that is actively supporting us in this difficult, upstream journey?

Who will help us tell the true stories that unmask the false?

What does that kind of community look like, exactly?

Is it this? Is it Park View Mennonite Church,

and our particular package of well-thought-out and well-executed

programs of worship, and education, and fellowship, and mission?

Are these programs we operate

robust enough to form us for life in Christ,

when we are swimming upstream every day?

I doubt it.

I seriously doubt that regular church attendance itself—

here, or at any church you know of—

or add to that going to Sunday School regularly,

and a small group meeting once a month—

as important and meaningful as those activities might be—

I seriously doubt that’s enough.

I wonder, rather, whether the answer lies

in something that exists among us now,

but that we cannot ever program or legislate

or implement from on high.

It happens when people choose to join with a few others

in a shared life of intentionality,

of deliberate mutual care, mutual discernment,

mutual accountability, mutual responsibility.

That’s what happened when people in the book of Acts

first heard the Gospel of Jesus preached with power.

Individuals were being drawn into

small, living, formational communities.

As a result, the powers of the world were shaken,

God’s salvation swept through families, towns, and cities.

The emphasis was not on programs.

It was on people being in deep, mutually responsible relationships.

As the book of Acts reports,

these formational communities

were small enough to meet in each other’s homes,

and break bread together daily,

and share their resources with each other generously.

They could deal with conflict

by speaking with each other face-to-face,

because they knew each other’s stories deeply.

They could wrestle with huge moral and theological questions

without coming apart at the seams.

They could build a genuine family with Jews and Gentiles,

who were long-time enemies.

They were nimble enough, as an organic body,

to change patterns of leadership whenever needed.

They could open their doors,

and strangers would feel fully welcomed and at home,

without being confused by foreign rituals

and strange symbols and language.

They were doing exactly what Jesus commissioned them to do.

They not only proclaimed, but demonstrated,

what life under God’s reign looked like day in and day out.

Who is our community that can function in that way for us today?

Who is our community that can help us live out Romans 12,

which was read this morning?

“Do not be conformed to this world,

but be transformed by the renewing of your minds,

so that you may discern what is the will of God—

what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

According to Paul, Christians are to position themselves in the world

as non-conformists.

Maybe the social context of the early church

isn’t a whole lot different than ours,

what with the declining influence of the institutional church,

with the church as we know it,

being on the margin of society, instead of the center?

Maybe we can take some lessons from Acts,

that would have been hard for our parents’ generation to relate to.

In the seeming “glory days” of the American church 50 years ago,

when it seemed everyone around us were Christians,

and the church stood tall at the center of the life of every town,

maybe this wasn’t so much an issue.

Our formational community was built into the very fabric of society.

I don’t think that’s true today.

So I think Paul’s advice in Romans 12 is relevant now more than ever.

In the body of Christ,

in this local, formational, body of Jesus-followers,

we are different members with different functions,

who need each other desperately.

“We are one body in Christ,

and individually we are members one of another.”

Members one of another!

That is a profound reality, if we stop to think about it.

It’s not the same thing as saying

we have something in common—

that we all belong to the same organization,

that we all signed the dotted line as members

of Park View Mennonite Church.

That kind of connection has its place.

It’s certainly not meaningless.

But Paul has in mind something much deeper and more profound.

Paul claims that, individually, we are members one of another.

We are part of each other,

like a hand is part of wrist is part of an arm.

The same blood courses through our veins.

And it is only because of this organic, living connection

that we can even think of successfully resisting the powers.

Only in this kind of deeply connected body

will we be able to live faithfully in the center of the Empire.

Only in deeply formational community,

will we be able to engage in alternate liturgies

that form us for a different way of living,

in Christ, and in the world.

I think that’s what Jesus had in mind for the church.

Jesus modeled a small-scale communal and missional life

with his own disciples.

And he expected them to replicate it,

when they went out on their own.

His bottom-line commandment to them,

as we heard this morning in John 15, was

“love one another as I have loved you . . .”

even to the point of laying down your life for each other.

That’s commitment.

Setting aside my life, my agenda, for the life of my sister or brother.

In the body of Christ, we are—

contrary to the self-defined, autonomous, and free individual

that our culture believes in so deeply—

we are, in fact, responsible for each other.

We have a commitment to be involved in each others’ lives,

even to the extent that we provoke each other.

Yes, that is our calling as Christians.

To provoke each other.

In a good way of course.

Hebrews 10:24-25 says,

“Let us consider how to provoke one another

to love and good deeds,

not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some,

but encouraging one another,

and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”

That is our biblical call—to provoke each other to love and good deeds.

That’s doesn’t mean getting on each other’s nerves,

or being abrasive or obnoxious.

As a Christian, provoking, or being provocative is a very good thing.

The word “provoke” comes from two Latin words,

pro and vocare.

Vocare means to “call”, as in being vocal, or being called to a vocation.

Pro is simply a prefix, meaning “forth.”

So provocare is to “call forth.”

That’s what it means.

It is our Christian vocation, to bring out, or call forth,

love and good deeds in each other.

The Christianity we see being lived out in the New Testament,

is a provocative Christianity,

it is people in deep relationship with one another,

calling forth the best in each other,

not letting each other be Christian in name only.

But helping each other live lives worthy of our calling.

Every one of us who claim to want to be formed in Christ,

had better ask ourselves,

to whom are we going to get provoked?

Who is our provocative, formational community

that is “calling forth” from us

the life that God intended us to live.

Participating in the programs of the church is well and good.

But in the absence of being able to immerse ourselves socially,

in church programs or traditions that are fast fading away,

who is our provocative Christian community?

Who are the ones we know well enough,

and are committed to strongly enough,

that we dare to provoke each other to love and good deeds?

[prayer]

God who called us, and continues to call us,

into the living body of Christ in this world,

give us the courage and the will

to seek and find the community

that will help us live the life you intended us to live,

that will help us resist that which forms us

in ways contrary to your kingdom,

and that will provoke us to love and good deeds. Amen.

—Phil Kniss, October 16, 2011

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Barbara Moyer Lehman: Nourishment for maturity

October 9, 2011 - "Formed in Christ: What has shaped us?"

1 Peter 1:13-16; 2:4-5

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On our Christian journey, our changing perspective can change how we engage God, the Bible, and our understanding of what it means to be committed to Jesus. In 1 Peter 1:13-16; 2:4-5, Peter is encouraging the church to be strong in their faith and to continue to be built up into a spiritual house. Pastor Barbara Moyer Lehman invited the congregation to reflect on what has been key in shaping our Christian faith. How do we grow? She shared some of the events and people who shaped and formed her as a Christian and gave the congregation the assignment of writing down what formed each of us.

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Phil Kniss: Laughing at the table

October 2, 2011 - World Communion Sunday

Matthew 26:26-29; 1 Corinthians 12:12-27

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This morning we celebrate.

In a few moments we sit down at a banquet.

It will rival the fanciest banquet you’ve been to all year.

It’s not going to look like much.

No actual table, no fresh linens, no polished silver.

It’s not going to taste like much.

A pinch of bread, a sip of juice.

That’s all.

Oh, but there will be live music.

And this will be a banquet of the highest order.

I assure you.

There will be high, holy feasting.

It will be . . . or at least should be . . . entered into

with a heart full of joy,

with an attitude of sheer delight.

And there should be laughing at the table.

If not out loud, at least with a laughing spirit.

(The table will be figurative. I suppose the laughing can be too.)

There was an era, before my day, at least in some families,

when laughing at the dinner table was frowned upon.

Not here.

Let me tell you why.

_____________________

When Jesus took a loaf of bread, with his disciples all around the table,

and broke it, and blessed it,

he said to them, “Take, eat, this is my body.”

Obviously, this was a poignant moment.

No laughter there.

The air was thick with tension,

with anxiety about the future,

with, perhaps, the terrible anticipation of grief.

Clearly, there was dead silence when Jesus spoke those words.

But, for those disciples at that moment,

even though they did not know everything it meant,

even though it would be years before they grasped

that there was any joy at that table,

eating that bread was, in fact, an act of embracing life—

full and meaningful and joyful life.

That bread nourished them completely.

In body and in spirit.

They were eating life.

They were eating joy.

Eating that bread deepened their relationship with Jesus.

They had spent the last two or three years following Jesus around,

mostly as observers,

sometimes as clumsy and confused participants.

They had eaten at table with Jesus many times,

but tonight was different.

When Jesus handed them the broken bread,

he invited them into a new intimacy with him,

deeper than anything they knew to that point.

Through these powerful symbols of bread and cup,

Jesus was saying to them, “Eat me. Drink me.

Take me into your own body.

Let me become fully a part of you.

Let my life become your life.

Stand no more at a distance.

Come close, take me into yourself.

Let my work become your work.

My passion your passion.

My joy your joy.

My suffering your suffering.

My broken body . . . your body.”

Yes, that moment was full of pathos,

and there was a sense of foreboding that hung heavy in the air.

But underneath all that,

this was a moment rich in joyful meaning.

Looking back, the disciples would never know a deeper joy,

than they experienced that night,

because Jesus was welcoming them

to a new and deeper level of intimacy.

They had never been loved more,

than they were that night breaking bread.

It’s curious to me, that in the church today

when we partake of communion,

we remember mostly the pathos and foreboding,

and less frequently enter fully into

the deep joy and pleasure of partaking of this bread.

It’s curious.

But at least occasionally we try to recover

some of the sheer pleasure of celebrating salvation at the table.

As we will today.

The bread we will eat here today is nothing to write home about.

Just ordinary bread.

Oh, it will be good. Soft. Homemade.

But not enough to satisfy a hungry stomach.

The juice today will only tease our tastebuds.

It will be sweet. Flavorful.

But it will barely wash down the pinch of bread.

We won’t expect much from the food and drink itself.

But if we allow ourselves to enter this experience,

to be alert and aware of its fullest meaning,

it will be as great a pleasure

as sitting down with a whole loaf, a whole wineglass,

and platters full of every delicacy.

Because we will be eating and drinking at Jesus’ own invitation.

He says to us, still, today,

Stand no more at a distance.

Come close, take me into yourself.

I love you, and you are mine.

_____________________

There is another reason to eat heartily and joyfully

at the communion table.

The bread not only represents the sacrifice of Jesus,

and his invitation to a kind of spiritual intimacy.

It also represents the body of Christ today—

the fellowship of believers,

and the invitation we extend to each other,

to be part of each other.

The apostle Paul saw this meaning in the bread.

He wrote in 1 Corinthians 10:

The bread that we break, is it not a sharing in the body of Christ?

Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body,

for we all partake of the one bread.

And Menno Simons, for whom we Mennonites are named,

wrote these words over 450 years ago:

“For as a loaf being composed of many grains

is but one bread;

so we also being composed of many members

are but one body in Christ.”

That’s what our epistle reading was about this morning, in 1 Cor. 12.

Paul wrote again about the body, saying,

God has arranged this body, with its many and various parts,

in such a way that “there may be no dissension within the body,

but the members may have the same care for one another.

If one member suffers, all suffer together with it;

if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.”

There is beauty and joy in the partaking of communion.

Because by so doing

we celebrate the nourishment

we receive in the life and death and resurrection of Jesus,

and . . .

we celebrate the nourishment of the gathered body of Christ,

made up of its many and various grains,

all coming together into one loaf of bread.

What a rich symbol of the body!

These grains get mixed together, worked over,

left to rest, worked over some more,

shaped by loving hands,

and baked into that one beautiful, nourishing, loaf.

It’s the staff of life.

We need the life of the body of Christ,

as much as we need the life of Christ.

We can’t live without them, either one.

Yet, obviously, it nourishes us only as much as we are receptive to it.

Bread sitting in a basket won’t do anything for us.

We must take and eat.

We must let it become part of us in every way.

It relates to what I was saying a couple weeks ago,

when I spoke about the essential Christian virtue of hospitality,

living life with wide open arms.

There are priceless gifts to be received,

valuable treasures to enjoy,

as we open ourselves to the body,

to the church of Jesus Christ,

to this spiritual and social reality symbolized in the bread.

If we assume a self-protective stance,

the gifts will never be opened and enjoyed.

It must be received, ingested, infused,

in order for it to nourish us.

Freshly baked bread set out on the cutting board,

might be a feast for the eyes,

and its smell might lift us heavenward.

But it won’t nourish us until we take and eat.

That is true for the kind of bread we know well,

like this body of Christ here at Park View,

this familiar variety of American Mennonite bread,

with an aroma we recognize,

a taste and texture we know very well.

We need to receive it, to be fed by this bread.

It’s also true for strange breads,

the bread of our far away brothers and sisters,

injera, ugali, chapati, naan, tortilla, arepa, baguette, or crumpet.

There are parts of the body of Christ

far removed from us in this world.

We also need nourishment from them.

In the most profound sense, we are one body, one bread.

And we must open ourselves to be nourished

by the whole body of Christ, in all its wonderful variations.

And on this one Sunday of the year, World Communion Sunday,

we celebrate that in a particular way,

because on this day,

believers all over the world are taking communion.

This day is recognized by Christians in every time zone of the world.

So already, many of our brothers and sisters in Asia, Australia,

Europe, and Africa,

have taken communion as they gathered to worship this morning,

under trees, under thatched roofs or wooden shingles

or cathedral ceilings.

World Communion Sunday celebrates this spiritual union.

It’s a union that happens as we receive, as we take into ourselves,

the living Christ,

and the living body of Christ in all its many expressions.

And we become one.

Part of each other.

I think it’s safe to say we are where God wants us to be when

it’s not clear where I end, and where Christ begins,

or where I end, and the body of Christ begins.

In a world that now, as we speak,

is being torn apart by war, terrorism, tribal violence,

religious hatred, acts of vengeance,

we need this Sunday like never before.

We need these ties,

between us in Christian communions around the world,

ties that are stronger than national boundaries.

And we need to make them even stronger.

It’s for our spiritual health.

It’s for our nourishment.

So this morning, let us take and eat.

—Phil Kniss, October 2, 2011

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