Now we gather for a sacred meal.
Food is a theme for Christmas, we know.
Those who are able will bake for days; while others are lining up and hoping the baskets don’t run out before their turn.
Sweet potatoes, green beans, a roast perhaps, and pie…
… a bag of rice, several cans of something, a box of mac and cheese, a jar of peanut butter …
Food.
Too much, not enough, and common is our worry…
will it be as good as grandma’s? will it be done on time?
will it last until payday?
…..
Light is also a theme.
it started in the fields, when some shepherds were startled by a light. It continues over these weeks, when magi are invited by a light.
We hear it in John’s gospel, in Isaiah’s poetry:
The people walking in darkness
are seeing a brilliant light—
a Light that shines in the darkness,
a Light that the darkness has never overtaken
We hear it in all those titles once assigned to Caesar now assigned to Jesus,
titles that mean something:
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Titles not intended to celebrate the maleness of this birth, the boy-ness of this baby as if that mattered most…
…but titles intended to announce the birth of resistance, the beginning of something else. Something besides a world of Caesar.
This meal, this feast, this birth…
this is the birth of resistance.
A meal among friends,
A light in the darkness.
It is a story designed to throw us out of equilibrium,
a meal designed to comfort and mess with us at the same time.
A meal not about cannibalism (as the critics might scoff),
but about divine movement
about our call and desire to be part of the blowing of
the spirit of creation and re-creation.
A birth, a light, that will carry us through the weeks,
through the seasons,
right to the precipice of death,
the night the grown-up Jesus would gather with his closest friends one last time:
they shared a meal in a borrowed room, the stories tell us, reflected on the progress they’d made, and wondered what might be next.
Jesus,
about to be arrested and executed,
Jesus knew,
and he said this meal would sustain them.
He broke bread and poured wine,
he blessed it and gave it to them and said eat, drink,
another bite, another sip,
and don’t ever forget you are now the ones
to carry the work, to carry the spirit.
i am with you, he told them.
Do this and remember.
And now we are the ones who must remember,
who are fed for the work:
of making sure there is enough,
of challenging the titles that Caesar wants to claim,
of shining a light in the dark places,
a light that cannot be put out.
We are the resistance, in the footsteps of Jesus.
With angel choirs and shepherds hovering over a burn barrel,
with poor parents sleeping outdoors
and travelers seeking refuge,
we are the ones who eat
and remember
and shine a light.
Let us pray.
You, O God, know what we need, and you have determined that it begins with bread and wine, a sacred meal shared by sacred community. Make us attentive to food, to light, to one another, that by this meal we may be your people. Amen. Alleluia.
Welcome to this table of grace. Let’s share this meal of peace and power.
…….
Let us pray:
God of light and spirit, we give thanks that you have poured your presence on this community, thanks that you have invited us to see something beyond ourselves, thanks that you have fed us for the work of creating anew something that bears your imagination, your dream. Bless us by this food that we may be a blessing to all we encounter.
We pray in your name: you whose voice of creativity cannot be hushed, whose light of promise cannot be quenched. We offer thanks and praise. Amen.