May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O LORD, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.
Now I don’t know if it happened this way or not, but I know this story is true.
Yalim loved the celebration of Passover. Family and friends gathered together around the table, there was lots of good food, and her papa always led them in speaking lots of sacred words, although she didn’t understand all of that.
“What do they all mean, Papa?” Yalim asked the morning before the Passover celebration.
“They remind us that God brought our ancestors out of slavery,” said her Papa, checking the joint on a table he was repairing.
“But why were they slaves?” Yalim wanted to know.
“So many questions, Yalim! We’ll talk about it later,” said Papa, turning to get more nails. “Now you must go and help your mother prepare.”
Yalim wandered into the house, where her Mama was stirring a pot of the apple mixture called haroseth. “Ah, Yalim,” said Mama, “go into the pantry, get a bowl of dates, and take them to the upstairs room.”
“But why upstairs, Mama? Aren’t we eating down here?”
“Some men are coming to the house to celebrate Passover,” Mama replied.
“Why aren’t they eating with us?” asked Yalim.
“Hush, child, you ask so many questions – go!” said her Mama, shaking her head and Yalim went, wondering all the while.
Just as the family was about to sit down to the feast, the men showed up. They looked tired and dusty from the road, and the one who seemed to be their leader, the one they called Rabbi Jesus, had sad eyes. Her mama showed them upstairs, and then came back down to the Passover feast. A little while later, she leaned over and whispered to Yalim to take another pitcher of wine upstairs in case the men had run out.
Yalim crept in quietly, not wanting to disturb them, and began refilling the empty cups on the table. The sad-eyed Rabbi was speaking. He held up a piece of the matzoh bread and said, “This is my body.”
“That’s not right,” thought Yalim. She had just heard her Papa saying the ritual words at their own feast, so she knew this wasn’t the right thing to say.
A few moments later the sad-eyed man picked the cup she had just filled for him and said, “This is my blood.”
“That’s not right, why do you say that?” asked Yalim. And then her hand flew to her mouth in horror – a little girl like her wasn’t supposed to be talking to these men, and she was never supposed to interrupt the ritual. Oh, her papa would be so angry! And some of the men did look angry.
But the sad-eyed Rabbi merely said, “I am teaching something new,” and looked kindly at her, waiting to see how she would respond.
Hesitantly, Yalim said, “But the Passover isn’t new – it’s an old story.”
“Yes,” said the Rabbi, “the Passover and the Exodus tell the story of how God loved his people so much that he brought them out of slavery. But now God is using me to teach people how to love each other enough to be transformed for them, to sacrifice for them.”
“Oh,” said Yalim, “but that sounds very hard to do.”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” the Rabbi said, his eyes growing gentle, “It’s not really a sacrifice if you love people so much that you want to do it.”
The men all around Rabbi Jesus looked confused, like they weren’t sure about what he was saying. But Yalim just smiled. Her questions had been answered. She understood. [1]
Today’s reading from Proverb’s offers us the wonderful story of Wisdom’s banquet. Wisdom, has, up to this point, partnered with God in Creation. And even now, she is very busy. For in giving this banquet, she does not merely sit by and offer instruction to her servants. No, she builds the very place where the banquet is to be held. She crafts seven pillars. She butchers meat, makes her own wine, and finally sets the table. And when all is ready she and her servants extend a radical welcome to everyone. They call out with wild inclusivity….everyone, including the ones we presume are not normally invited to such lavish feasts, gets an invitation.
I am so drawn to this text. To this story of sweeping hospitality. I am stunned by the generosity of the hostess of this feast. I marvel at her preparation. Wisdom has set her table.
This story reminds me of the way our Simple Summer Sunday breakfasts are evolving. What began as a way for us as a congregation to catch up and enjoy breakfast with one another has expanded into an example of generous hospitality. We have opened our doors and said, as they say where I was raised: “Y’all come”. Oh, sure, we are still sometimes a little bit uncertain. Who should sit where? What if we say the wrong thing? And we will and it will be ok, because we are coming together with the kind of radical inclusivity that is Gospel focused, and in this case, Wisdom drenched.
I am humbled and privileged to receive the stories of folks who come into this place, to worship, to meet with community groups, to garden, to sing, to receive a lunch, to eat breakfast. Time and time again, what I hear from people is that they feel drenched in welcome here. Lavished in acceptance.
Can we understand what a gift that is? I don’t think I can fully understand it. After all, I am white in a country where that is often deemed preferable to other races, somehow. No one questions my sexual preference or my gender identity. I think the closest I can come to understanding what a gift it is to be welcomed with such extreme grace is when I put this stole around my shoulders and think of the women who are kept from serving because of their gender. I am profoundly grateful for the radical inclusivity of the ELCA.
This is the gift….this radical inclusivity….that Wisdom models for us in today’s reading. Calling out to even the fringes of society with the invitation to come to the table. And it is the gift that Jesus modeled at that last supper in that upper room, perhaps with a girl like Yalim pouring the wine. That we are called to act in a new way…not based on law, but based on the radically inclusive Gospel of Jesus Christ. Based on love and acceptance that goes beyond race, class, gender, sexual orientation, political party, nationality, or any other division we create.
In today’s Gospel Jesus offers himself as the greatest gift….as living bread from heaven. And immediately the religious leaders begin to argue about what he has told them. How can this be?
Too often, this is our response as well. When we are presented with the greatest gift we can imagine….the body and blood of Jesus poured out for us….with radical inclusivity….the Church argues. Who can come to the table? Who can we keep away? Who can marry? Who can vote? Who can own slaves? All of these issues have been supported in shameful ways in our history by the Church. Because we forgot to model our actions on those of Jesus, who said this cup is poured out for ALL people. We forgot to model our actions on the outrageous hospitality of Wisdom as she stood at the high places, so that her invitation of radical inclusivity could be heard even at the farthest margins.
Beloved community, we have been loved with a radical inclusivity. That the table is set for sinners such as us can only mean that we welcome others in just such a manner.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
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