Mark 14:22-25
I remember crab feasts at Grandma and Granddaddy’s house. A couple times a year, Granddaddy would drive down the street to a place that sold steamed spiced crabs, straight from the Chesapeake Bay. He’d bring them back in big brown paper bags.
Meanwhile, we would help Grandma put newspaper all over their old-fashioned dining room table. She would bring out salad and garlic bread, along with steak and crinkle-cut french fries for my little brother, who didn’t like seafood. We would gather around the table and spend hours digging tiny little bits of crab meat out of the shells.
One time, I cracked open a claw and a speck of spice flew into my eye. I cried out, more in surprise than pain. Granddaddy leapt up, found an eye cup, took me into the kitchen and washed out my eye. I think the speck might have worked its way out of my eye on its own, but Granddaddy wanted to be certain I would be okay.
I don’t eat Maryland crabs very often, but when I do, I think of Grandma and Granddaddy. The flavor reminds me of my grandparents’ qualities, which I hope I have absorbed into my life. The taste of crab invites me to offer hospitality the way Grandma did–with attention to the needs of each person, even and especially the little brother who’s a picky eater. The smell of the spices evokes Granddaddy’s passion for the well-being of each of his beloved grandchildren–and challenges me to bring that same passion to my friendships and our congregation.
A meal of Maryland crabs reminds me of Grandma and Granddaddy; it challenges me to carry on the gifts they gave to me. The memories we lift up on All Saints Day aren’t only about the past; they are about the ways we are called to live into the future, inspired by the saints who have gone before us.
Today we share a meal of remembrance. Knowing it would be his last supper with his friends, Jesus broke a loaf of unleavened bread, lifted up a cup of wine and asked his friends to remember him. Whenever you break bread with a friend, he said, remember me. Whenever you share a drink with a stranger, remember me. Remember this meal as an expression of my love for you. Remember the breaking of the bread and the pouring of the cup as a reflection of my willingness to suffer and die in order to proclaim the power of God’s love.
I imagine that when the disciples saw Jesus lift up that loaf of bread, they found themselves thinking back on all the meals they had shared with him, all the stories he had told them about food. They would have remembered the time he turned water into wine. They would have remembered the yeast and the lilies of the field, the fatted calf and the great banquet. They would have thought back to the unexpected feast they had at Zacchaeus’ house, how awkward it felt to accept hospitality from a tax collector and how gracious a host Zacchaeus turned out to be.
Jesus broke bread with his disciples in an upper room more than 2000 years ago. Jesus breaks bread with us in this sanctuary today. Remember me, he says. Remember what I did and said. Remember the yeast that is the Realm of God. Remember that God’s invitation is wider and broader and deeper than you can ever imagine. Remember the party for the prodigal son. Remember that I ate with outcasts. Remember my love for you, stronger than death.
Just as the stories we remember on All Saints Day are not ultimately about the past, Holy Communion is more than a remembrance of what Jesus said and did in biblical times. It is about how our remembering shapes our lives today and tomorrow.
As you come forward for communion, take a look at our table runner and think about the “Jesus as Foodie” stories we told this fall. Smile at the extravagant miracle of water turned into wine; allow yourself to rejoice in the sweetness of life and love. Picture the rhizomes we saw in an uprooted lily plant, and commit yourself to deepening the roots of community. Stand with the older son looking in at the fatted calf, and open yourself to receive and offer grace. As you hum a silly song about Zacchaeus, dare to trust that everyone is capable of giving, that everyone can change. Sing the chorus of the Wedding Banquet song, examine your own excuses, and dare to come to the banquet of hope. Taste the bread of life; it will give you strength to be the saints of today, instruments of peace, conduits of healing, bearers of light for our world. Amen.