Tell, Hear, Remember Maundy Thursday 2013

This sermon was first  given at St Paul’s Cathedral on April 9, 2009

+20 years ago as my father lay dying my extended family and I gathered round his hospital bed telling stories of the past-- funny stories about George: our dad, grandfather, husband and friend. Although his dying was breaking our hearts, the memories, the stories were very funny and we spent his final moments on this earth, laughing.
His final journey had been arduous and for the last three weeks of his life he was in the hospital, slowly descending into the grips of death. It was during those weeks and most especially those final days and hours that we had the opportunity to bear witness to Dad’s journey.  During those final days we waited and watched with him. Many times there were no words, it was simply our presence that gave him the strength he needed to die.   The memory of that waiting and watching with Dad will always be with me and sharing those memories as a family strengthens us, those memories make us who we are. Remembering that time is important because  remembering the past helps us navigate the present. Walking with Dad and remembering that walk, is a big part of who I am today. Remembering forms us into who we are now.
Jesus took these two points—the “walking with” now and the “remembering” later and made them the focus of that Thursday evening supper during the first Holy Week. “wait with me. Be with me as I move toward the inevitable. And then, when it is over, remember it all, remember me.” Jesus needed his friends to wait with him, to watch with him, to walk this final walk toward death with him.
The week had such a promising start--the triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, but then over the next few days the triumph changed to despair as one by one the supporters fell away, denying him, deserting him, turning on him.
Tonight [today] we meet Jesus halfway through this week, when all the questioning, the fear, the denial and the betrayal has been put in motion. ..the disciples are arguing, debating and gossiping…no one seems to be paying attention. It’s a Seder, the ancient Jewish meal remembering Jewish people’s liberation from slavery, a story each of the disciples knew, a story integral to their Jewish identity. It’s possible this telling of the Passover story had become rote for them, they were just going through the ritual motions. But Jesus needed them to pay attention because on this night, as he had done so many times in the past, Jesus would take something utterly familiar, and make it altogether different.
Jesus knew that remembering was a key component of community building and he knew that the community of the burgeoning primitive church was going to need strength, a strength built on the telling of stories, built on the remembering of what came before.
Every one of us has stories that have been handed down to us by parents and grandparents. Whatever the specifics we tell and re-tell these tales because they contribute to our identity, they make us who we are.
Jesus, on this night so long ago, didn’t want his friends to forget his story. Not because he was some kind of egomaniac but because he knew the value of telling a story. Just as the story telling at my father’s bedside forged our family and friends into a stronger bond, Jesus wanted his friends to wait with him, to watch with him and then when he was gone, to tell the story, to remember and to be strengthened by the story enough to keep it going. He wants the same for us--for the work Jesus started is not yet finished and we as inheritors of the faith must carry it on. We must ingest these stories of Jesus. And to carry on the work we must claim the stories as our own, not only by telling them but by living them.
That’s why we have the Eucharist every week, because not only do we need to say it and hear it, we need to be it. So we take, we eat and we remember.
In a few minutes after sharing in the Eucharist one last time, we’ll strip the altar, while lamenting the betrayal, loss and despair of these three days. We’ll strip ourselves bare to feel the pain and loss of Jesus’ death. We do this not because we need to be punished, not because we need to hurt. We do this so we can remember. So we’ll remember not just with words, not just with thoughts, but with actions. For when we strip our sacred space of all that is familiar, when we enter into the darkness of this long night, waiting watching and weeping with Christ, we remember. And through our remembering we are strengthened. Each time we take and eat we are remembering the story and with each remembrance we gain strength. The strength needed to continue to do the work God has given us to do.        Amen.