Homily for Holy Thursday, 2007
Real Media (sound and pictures)
I would like to open this homily
with a poem from The Woman Who Fell From The Sky
by Native American poet Joy Harjo.
The world begins at a kitchen table.
No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared,
set on the table.
So it has been since creation,
and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it.
Babies teeth at the corners.
They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions
on what it means to be human.
We make men at it,
we make women.
At this table we gossip,
recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us
as they put their arms around our children.
They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves
and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain,
an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table.
It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror.
A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table,
and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow.
We pray of suffering and remorse.
We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end here at the kitchen table,
while we are laughing and crying,
eating of the last sweet bite.
Eucharist is our kitchen table as the Body of Christ,
where we come to eat spiritual food and drink
that nourishes and sustains us each day.
It is our daily bread.
There is a famous icon of the Trinity by Rublev,
a kitchen table, three mysterious figures gathered.
There is room at this table for you and me,
they are inviting us to be there.
In my mind, it is this self-emptying, inclusive love of the Triune God
that gives birth to the universe
and that welcomes us to this kitchen table.
Eucharist is where all of us,
adult or children,
learns something about what it means to be human:
how to make sure that everybody receives some food,
how to make room for the extra person,
how to ask for things rather than just reaching and taking,
how to bring ourselves and our story to the table.
Here we learn the stories about Jesus, what he did for us,
what he taught in word and deed.
Truly wars have begun over the Eucharist,
sometimes over who can be around this table,
sometimes over the right words or the right ritual or their meaning.
I can never forget scripture scholar Ray Brown's wry observation
that if the Christian community had adopted footwashing
as the fundamental symbol of service, self-giving love, and union with Christ,
would we fight so much? Probably....
No matter what else we do here,
we remember the terrible price that Jesus paid for this victory,
the victory of life over death.
There is a tradition of iconography
that shows the blood and water flowing from Jesus' side into the cup.
If Good Friday and Easter don't happen, we wouldn't be doing this.
But always Eucharist is
where we bring our sorrows and our joys,
our suffering and remorse,
our disappointments and our deepest hopes.
Always, because we can do no other,
we give thanks and praise to God.
We share in this spiritual food and drink,
confident that it gives us the strength and resilience
to do God's work of following Jesus,
to be transformed by the Holy Spirit,
through receiving these holy gifts.
Abbot John Klassen, OSB
April 5, 2007
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