The table will be wide


The Table Will Be Wide

a sermon by Peggy Haymes
Isaiah 40:25-31
I John 4:7-12

It’s a strange sort of day.
All around us trees are beginning to look like collection of paintbrushes,
their tips dipped in yellow and burgundy.
The thermometer
has dropped to temperatures
more appropriate for Pumpkin Spice Latte season.

For the folks who dread winter
it feels like a harbinger of doom.
but I suspect that the most seasonally challenged of us
still cannot help to delight
in a day like we had yesterday.

Bright. Shiny. Crisp.

It’s a strange sort of time
because when you read a newspaper that you hold in your hands
or watch the news
or catch up online,
the world looks considerably less shiny.

Ebola once sounded exotic,
the stuff of an adventure novel.
Now it feels scary
and Africa feels a bit too close.
I saw a slide show online this week
of pictures from Liberia.
I tried to fathom what it was like for the people in those pictures
to be stretched out on the hard earth,
so terribly sick,
perhaps sick unto death,
with friends and family afraid to come near.
What is a like to try to work there,
knowing that even with best precautions,
you may be next.
What is it like to live there,
watching your family and your village and your town
decimated before your eyes?
What is it like
to watch your country being destroyed
not by war but by illness?

The world looks less shiny
and verily, seems filled
with bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.
In Hong Kong umbrellas are weapons of choice
as protestors try to protect themselves
while saving their futures.

In Syria,
captive are beheaded.
Does anyone really know what’s going on in
Israel and Gaza,
in Egypt,
in Afghanistan?

Lord, have mercy.

It’s not just out there, you know.
Parents search for children
who cannot be found,
and parents sit vigil by the besides of children
praying for cures to be found.
Terrible things are done to the vulnerable..
a child, a wife, a girlfriend,
even an animal.
Terrible things are done
to this creation that is our home
and our stewardship.

Lord, have mercy.

Today is World Communion Sunday.

World Communion Sunday was begun as a way
for the multicultural and multi-hued
body of Christ to remember that we are indeed one.
Whether our label is Baptist or Episcopal or Methodist or Presbyterian or Catholic
or some other brand,
whether we are in a first world country
or a third
or somewhere in-between,
we are one as the body of Christ.

But as I thought about this service
and as I thought about the news
and as I thought about the stories I hear every day,
it seemed to me that the whole world
felt a bit broken.
Maybe we gather at this table not as a sign of our unity
but as a sign of our brokenness.
Because, this table,
it knows something about broken things.

We have two texts for today.
The first comes from the book of Isaiah (40:25-31)

The audience of the prophet
knew something about broken worlds.
They lived in one.

Despite the reassurances of the TV preachers with good hair
that everything was going to be just fine,
their country was defeated by the Babylonians.
Overrun, really.
The Temple, God’s house, was destroyed
and many of them were taken away from their own homes
into exile.
Many of them would never get home again.
They feel like God has abandoned them.

To a dispirited and dejected people,
Isaiah thunders out words of challenges and hope.
God is not defeated
and God hasn’t given up.

Even when the most aerobically conditioned among us
fall by the wayside,
God’s people keep going.
Not just shuffling along.
But flying.

God gives power to the faint.
To the weak God gives strength.
To those who wait upon God,
to those who don’t give up,
to those who keep showing up,
God won’t abandon them.
God will renew them.
God will lift them up.

Now our second text may not seem like
it has much in common with the first.
The writer, whom we call John,
is writing to this new Christian community.
Jesus hasn’t yet returned
so they have to figure out
how to live with each other
in the meantime.

My beloved friends, this is how you know
You’re one of God’s people:
you love.

The apple cannot fall far from the tree.
God is love,
and so should we love.

God showed us how far love can go.
Out of the love the infinite,
all powerful God
became a helpless baby
who had to be fed
and carried from one place to the next
and I daresay, have his diapers changed.

Out of love,
this baby grew up to be a man
who taught and healed and loved.
A man who chose to share in the experiences that we share,
to love his friends,
to be hurt by them and even betrayed by them,
to be tired and to be hungry,
to be hurt and humiliated,
to be shamed and to be bruised,
to be beaten up.
Finally, to die.

God showed us
that love knows no boundaries
and God’s love knows no limits.

Do you know of Nadia Bolz-Weber?
She’s the minister
who is known for her use of what many feel is not not quite appropriate for the sanctuary languageand collection of tattoos,     including a large Mary Magdalene on her forearm.

But she is also known for reminding us that grace isn’t just for those of us
who clean up real good
or who never got that dirty to begin with.

She writes,
“God was never about making me spiffy; God was about making me new… It happens to all of us. God simply keeps reaching down into the dirt of humanity and resurrecting us from the graves we dig for ourselves through our violence, our lies, our selfishness, our arrogance, and our addictions. and God keeps loving us back to life over and over.” ( Nadi Bolz-Weber, Pastrix, p. 174)

We gather at this table
because it’s a table that knows about brokenness.
Jesus says it right out loud:
this is my body, broken for you.

But the broken isn’t the end of the story.
This table is set with love.

We gather at this table
because our host Jesus meets us here,
reminding us that God loves this whole
shiny, hurting, confused, brilliant world.

We gather at this table
because this is food for the weary.
This is strength for the struggling.
This is balm for the sad.
This is celebration for the joyful.
This is blessing and commission for the strong…
and the weak,
for the successful
and the failures.
In other words,
we gather at this table
because there is room here for all of us.
there is love enough here
for you
and for me
and for this whole world.

We gather at this table
knowing that broken isn’t the last word.

It is strange sort of days but God knows,
God knows,
they are days held in the heart of God.
As are we.
As I was preparing for this service I came across this poem.
It is a blessing for World Communion Sunday,
and it is our blessing.

And the Table Will Be Wide

A Blessing for World Communion Sunday

And the table


will be wide.


And the welcome


will be wide.

And the arms

will open wide


to gather us in.

And our hearts


will open wide


to receive.

And we will come
 as children who trust


there is enough.

And we will come


unhindered and free


And our aching


will be met

with bread.

And our sorrow


will be met

with wine.

And we will open our hands


to the feast

without shame.

And we will turn


toward each other

without fear.


And we will give up

our appetite


for despair.

And we will taste


and know

of delight.

And we will become bread

for a hungering world.


And we will become drink


for those who thirst.


And the blessed

will become the blessing.


And everywhere

will be the feast.
– Jan Richardson

© Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com.

Amen.

Lindley Park Church, Greensboro, NC 210/5/2014

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