The Hospitality of the Table
(John 6:51-58) –
Jesus said, "I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the
bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying,
"How can this man give us his flesh to eat?" So Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat
the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal
life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Those who eat my flesh
and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever
eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and
they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever."
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Imagine we are typical residents of Galilee during the time of Jesus.
What do you think would have most caught our attention about Jesus? Maybe that he was a remarkable healer? But
there were lots of healers. Maybe his teaching? There were other remarkable teachers and rabbis.
I think the thing that would have most stood out about him – the most unique, odd, and counter-cultural thing about
Jesus – was his table fellowship. He provoked great scandal because he sat openly at meals with good people and
bad people, with pious Pharisees and with unobservant tax collectors and sinners.
In that culture, to eat with
someone was a public, not a private event. Villages were small. Windows and doors were open. Everyone knew
your business. And it was understood, that for a Jewish man to eat with someone, it was a public declaration of friendship
and acceptance. That is why people were very careful about with whom they ate. Your standing in the community,
your family's honor, was dependent upon the care with which you created friendships and alliances. To eat with someone
disreputable would bring disrepute upon your self and upon your whole family.
If we had been living in Galilee
at that time, we would have heard the scandalous reports. "Have you heard? He sits at table with sinners
and tax collectors. He invited Mary of Bethany to sit with him like any male student. When he was away in Tyre,
he allowed a pagan woman, a Canaanite dog, to come and interrupt his dinner, and he healed her child. And him, a rabbi.
Shocking!" Today scholars call it the "hospitality of his table." Originally, it was the scandal
of his table.
You get the feeling that those meals were remarkable. They were so important to Jesus and to
his companions. A meal is a powerful thing. We eat and visit together. We talk and commune. We truly
connect with people when we dine with them. And as our conversation flows, the food we are sharing creates a profound
union. When we eat together, we are literally being constituted by the same thing. The food we share gives us
life. The energy and nutrition of our common food flows into every cell of our bodies. How different can we be
if we are being sustained and created by the same substance?
Words and food. Powerful instruments of union
and communion. At Jesus' table, words and food brought people together across social and religious boundaries, and you
sense that in that holy space they found themselves transformed. They were changed by his presence; by his words and
being; by his energy and love; by the power of his table. It made a profound impact on those who were near him.
The only miracle that all four gospels include in their remembered stories of Jesus is the miracle of his feeding multitudes.
All four gospels tell how he taught great crowds and then fed them. All four gospels say that everyone was satisfied,
and that there was an abundance remaining.
On his last night with them, as pressures increased toward some
ominous climax, Jesus again brought his friends together to a table. As his last act with them, his final opportunity
to give them something for the unknown future ahead, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it, and gave it to them and said, "This
is my body which is given for you. Whenever you do this, do it in remembrance of me." As supper was ending,
he took the wine, blessed it, and gave it to them and said, "This is my blood poured out for you. Whenever you
do this, do it in remembrance of me." He told them to love one another. Within hours he was arrested, tortured,
tried, convicted, and executed.
They were devastated. Afraid. "Will we be next?" They
fled and hid. Yet on the following Sunday, something happened. Some of the disciples were sitting around a table,
just like they used to do with Jesus. And a stranger took the bread, gave thanks, broke it, and gave it to them –
and their eyes were opened. They knew Jesus was still with them. They knew him in the breaking of the bread.
From that moment forward, Christians have experienced themselves in communion with Jesus and with one another
in the hospitality of his table. We have let his life feed us, nurture us, heal us, and make us one. Just as divine
life entered into the person of Jesus of Nazareth, we experience his divine life present in the bread and wine as the sacrament
of his same life, his body and blood. And we have become what we eat. We have become the body and blood of Christ,
given for the world. We are constituted by the life of Jesus, mediated to us through the sacrament of bread and wine.
It is the miracle of the feeding of the multitudes, our communion with Jesus and with one another in the hospitality of his
table.
Go back with me in time once again. The year is 304. It is a time of persecution for Christians.
A Roman proconsul is putting Christians on a torture rack, tearing their bodies apart with barbed hooks. Place yourself
there, and ask yourself – What would be worth dying for? For what would I willingly accept torture and death?
There is a young Christian named Felix. He has just seen his father and a friend killed, their bodies torn
apart on the rack in front of him. The proconsul now turns to him and asks the fateful questions.
"Were
you one of the assembly; and do you possess any copies of the Scriptures?
How would you answer if you were Felix?
Listen to the response that Felix makes as he tells the world what one early Christian was willing to die for:
As if a Christian could exist without the Eucharist, or the Eucharist be celebrated
without a Christian! Don't you know that a Christian is constituted by the Eucharist, and the Eucharist by a Christian?
Neither avails without the other. We celebrated our assembly right gloriously. We always convene at the Eucharist for
the reading of the Lord's Scriptures.
Enraged by that response, the proconsul had Felix beaten to death
with clubs. 1
Our ancestors were willing to die for the privilege of doing what we are doing right now
– convening for the Eucharist and for the reading of the Lord's Scriptures. We are participating in the table
fellowship of Jesus. It is a place of profound welcome and hospitality, for the pious and righteous, and especially
for the sinner and outcast. At this holy meal we hear words of life and stories of God. We listen and we talk.
We bring our selves, and offer our lives to this fellowship with Jesus. We hear his words of acceptance and grace.
We let ourselves be healed, renewed, enlightened, empowered.
We see and hear the ancient event again.
We participate in the night when Jesus took bread, gave thanks, broke it and gave it to them; when he took wine, blessed and
gave it to them, saying "This is my body; this is my blood." We eat. We drink. We are constituted
by the Eucharist. We are nourished by divine life. We are made one with Christ and one another. We abide
in him, and he abides in us. The gift of eternal life. Here and now. Our ancestors believed this is worth
dying for.
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(1)
Quoted by Massey H. Shepherd, Jr. in The Worship of the Church, p. 4
