Perhaps you recall that before
I went to the Episcopal Seminary in Alexandria, VA, I spent a year at a
conservative, evangelical seminary on Boston’s North Shore. Fridays there were my favorite days
because we always had a fresh, sea-food salad sandwich for lunch (still the
best I have ever had) and dinner was always some kind of fish straight off the
dock that would have cost us poor seminarians $50 at a Boston restaurant. Outside the entrance to the large
dining hall there was a bulletin board that served as the place for the student
body to carry out running discussions or debates. Back in the mid-80’s, at that school, abortion and the role
of women in the church were hot topics.
I leave it to your imagination to conjure what I saw posted there as I
waited in line for my Friday fish lunch and dinner.
In hindsight, I see now how
that bulletin board set the table (so to speak) for every conversation that
took place in the dining hall. I
remember countless discussions, some with near strangers, where the object was
to mine down through our commonly held beliefs to find a point of
disagreement. This then became the
place where we met – some inconsequential nuance of the amillennial
understanding of the end times or a trivial aspect of John Calvin’s thinking on
total depravity. On more than one
occasion, friends parted a meal no longer friends, and strangers who broke
bread departed as combatants.
Hold that image in your mind
as I give you my condensed version of the 23rd Psalm, boiling down
this beautiful poem to its contextual heart:
The Lord is
my Host
who sets a table for me
in the presence of those who trouble me.
This, I believe, is the core
of the 23rd Psalm. The
author has been invited to a meal at which his enemies will also be at
table. In the midst of this
‘threat’ the poet meditates on the image of a shepherd leading his flock and
takes comfort in the knowledge that God is present with him at that table.
Two words have been with me
since the beginning of Lent; they are words central to the 23rd
Psalm: companion
and conversation. The word companion literally means “with bread”. A companion is someone with whom you
will break bread. We in the
Episcopal Church break a lot of bread.
Here at St. Paul’s it happens twice on Sunday and at various points
throughout the year during the week.
Last year the Eucharist was celebrated in some form or fashion 139 times
in and through our parish. In
addition to its frequency, our bread breaking is a sign of welcome. Communion is open to every person
baptized into the Christian faith and life regardless of age or denomination.
Through the Eucharist we
become companions with one another; people who are gathered together in joy at
a Table set by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Our children are the ones who exhibit this joy most clearly. They are the ones who run up to the
altar rail with bright smiles and outstretched hands. Believe me, they don’t get excited because the wafer is the
best thing they will taste all day.
They are excited because they are doing something with their parents and
with all of us. They are excited
to be a companion.
As happened in that seminary
dining hall, being companions often leads to conversation. The word conversation means the “art or act of
living with another.” This
definition suggests at least two things:
First, we have to
talk with another in order to maintain relationship. Amy, our parish administrator, and I have conversation every
day of the work week. It may be
extensive in the office about things that need to be done or it may be a brief
text she sends to me saying a child is sick and she will not be able to come in
or it may be me saying I will be on the road in the morning heading to a
meeting and will call to check in.
Imagine how difficult it would be for Amy and me to live together
without this basic conversation.
The second thing suggested by the definition “the art or act of
living together” is the more we talk with another person the more we know about
that person. And the more we know
about another person – her views on life and politics, his innermost thoughts
and worries – the more we either will open ourselves to deeper companionship or
withdraw from it. It is through
conversation that we determine who we want in close relationship and who we do
not.
This has a tremendous
implication for the church, doesn’t it.
Ironically, it hints the less we know about another person the more we
may be willing to enter into the deepest act signifying our unity – communion (with
unity) – and
conversely, the more we know another person the more difficult it may be to be
to break bread together.
Here
is a question we might want to ask of the 23rd Psalm: why would the
Shepherd/Host host invite us to a meal with those who trouble us? Wouldn’t it be a much more pleasant
table if it was just the Shepherd/Host, me, and the people I like? What kind of shepherd invites the wolf
to graze with the flock?
Believe
me, I have sat in silence many times in my life for long periods of time
pondering this question in one form or another and I have concluded there is no
sugar-coated answer easy to swallow.
Over and over again all I come up with is this: the Shepherd/Host of the
psalmist is also the Shepherd/Host of the enemies. We are all God’s children. The Shepherd/Host extends the sign of comfort and welcome –
the anointing of the head with oil after a long, hot, dry journey – to all. The Table is made ready for all. The over-flowing cup symbolizes God’s
abundant love and grace and mercy extended to all people.
The
Genesis story of the Tower of Babel suggests that language is God’s gift to us
so that, through conversation, we might learn the art and action of living
together. The story also reminds
us of language’s limitations. It
is confusing at times. We speak
different dialects and even within our own tongue it is challenging to say what
we mean and to hear the words of another as he or she intends them to be
heard. But the struggle and
challenge of conversion is necessary because, as Jesus tells his disciples:
“I have other sheep
that do not belong to this fold. I
must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one
shepherd.”
Conversation
– the art and act of living together – is the way the entire flock learns how
to be companions – and the bread we break at Table is the very body of the
Shepherd/Host who brings us together.
All
of this tells me that relationships will always contain both blessing and
challenge, be they in the family, among friends, at work, in the community, or
here at church. The challenge
comes from knowing we are not the same.
We have different ideas, different tastes, different values, different
views. These differences can and
do stretch the bonds of common affection.
The blessing of these relationships is found as we move through our
differences to gather at the Table of the One who calls us together. This Table fellowship must be important
to Jesus because he gave his life for it and continues to give us his life
through it today.
I
want to close by sharing with you this blessing by John O’Donohue. It is intended for a new home, but I
think speaks equally well of our hope for many places in our life, including our
church home:
May
this house shelter your life.
When
you come in home here,
may
all the weight of the world
fall from your
shoulders.
May
your heart be tranquil here,
blessed by
peace the world cannot give.
May
this home be a lucky place,
where
the graces your life desires
always find the
pathway to your door.
May
nothing destructive
ever cross your
threshold.
May
this be a safe place
full
of understanding and acceptance,
where
you can be as you are,
without
the need of any mask
of pretense or
image.
May
this home be a place of discovery,
where
possibilities that sleep
in
the clay of your soul can emerge
to
deepen and refine your vision
for all that is
yet to come to birth.
May
it be a house of courage,
where
healing and growth are loved,
where
dignity and forgiveness prevail;
a
home where patience of spirit is prized,
and
the sight of destination is never lost
though
the journey be difficult and slow.
May
there be great delight around this hearth.
May
it be a house of welcome
for the broken
and diminished.
May
you have the eyes to see
that
no visitor arrives without a gift
and no guest
leaves without a blessing.
And
I might add,
May
this home be a place
where
a Table is always set for you
and
for those who trouble you most
so
that we may be one flock with one Shepherd.
