This Maundy Thursday sermon was preached at Glenwood Lutheran Church, Decorah, Iowa, on March 29, 2018. It’s based on Exodus 12:1-4, 11-14 and 1 Corinthians 11:23-26. If you’d prefer to listen to it, find it at https://soundcloud.com/stacey-nalean-carlson.
Maybe it was because the day had begun with a strange breakfast conversation. Instead of the weather forecast, our typical morning topic, Logan was sharing what really scares him when it comes to movies.
“It scares me when they say things like, It’s so quiet. Maybe too quiet.”
Later that day, I went for a walk in the woods of the Yellow River State Forest, looking for encouragement and inspiration. Instead, I found myself feeling alone and afraid, for the first time, in the deep silence of that space.
As the trail grew muddy and steep, and the silence became even more profound, I forgot that I was on a clearly marked trail, complete with a map in my pocket. When I finally emerged from the depth of the woods out into a clearing with a view of the horizon, I was relieved to also see a sign pointing me toward my destination. A sign to help me remember.
Life seems to be a series of forgetting. And I’m not just talking about walking into a room and forgetting why you went there in the first place, although that certainly seems to be happening more and more too. I’m talking about forgetting that we’ve been created in the image of God, forgetting that we are precious and beautiful in God’s sight. I’m talking about forgetting that we’re forgiven and set free to live lives of purpose and service and love.
It’s so easy to forget. Sometimes things are going so well that we forget we ever needed a Savior. But more often, at least for me, things are so scary, and we can’t see our way, and we forget that we’re on a marked trail through this wilderness that is life.
Every time we come to the table it’s an invitation—a calling—to remember. Do this in remembrance of me, Jesus says. Remember me.
As Addy and Ava, along with Keaton and Logan, were making the bread for tonight, the scent of the molasses transported me back to Grandma Nalean’s kitchen. It’s amazing how scents, and sounds, and tastes can do that. I’ve most often thought of those sensory experiences as transporting me back to a place, or to a moment in time. But I think it might be more accurate to say that they take me to a person. They transport me into the open arms of a relationship.
The molasses doesn’t just take me to Grandma’s kitchen. It takes me to Grandma herself…and all the love, and security, and sense of belonging that I experienced in her presence.
When Jesus gathered with his disciples for the Passover meal, they were there to remember. Each bite would have taken them back to slavery in Egypt—a moment in time that they hadn’t even experienced, but that was a part of them through the memory of those who had gone before them. Each scent, and sound, and taste would have transported them not just to the harshness of their captivity or the exhilaration of their escape, but into the open arms of God—their liberator, the one who led them to freedom.
Jesus and his disciples are gathered to remember. And in the midst of their remembering, Jesus gives them something new to remember. Jesus offers himself as a continuation—and a fulfillment—of that journey from slavery to freedom. He is about to accomplish for them, for us, for the whole world—a new exodus, a new liberating journey from captivity to freedom. On the cross, Jesus will finish God’s work of releasing all creation from captivity to sin and death and fear.
Now, every time they eat the bread and drink the wine, they will be transported back not only to this meal, to this particular moment in time, but to Jesus himself—their freedom.
Remember me, Jesus says.
Eat this bread. And drink this wine. And it will carry you to me…and to all the love, and security, and sense of belonging that you have experienced in my presence.
Remember me, Jesus says.
I am the bread of life. Come to me and never be hungry.
I am the light of the world. Follow me and have the light of life.
I am the good shepherd. I lay down my life for you.
I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live.
I am the vine; you are the branches. Abide in me and bear much fruit.
I am the way.
You are on a marked trail through this wilderness—never alone, never forgotten—fed and forgiven and free.
So, come to the table. Taste the bread. Savor the scent of the wine. Let the sound of the words for you transport you to the open arms of your Savior. Come to the table to remember.
Amen.