“Why is this night different from every other night?” The youngest guest at the Passover meal asks, reciting then the symbolic changes found in the meal
—flat bread because they had to get out of Egypt quickly,
bitter herbs because slavery was bitter,
greenery and Charioset to symbolize the gratitude and sweetness of escape,
a meal seated—because a free people get to sit at meal…
These questions, and symbols consumed, exist so that the story of God breaking the Jews out of slavery and bringing them into freedom
might be passed on generation to generation.
And tonight, on Maundy Thursday, our closest analogy to Passover
—it is worth ruminating on a similar question: “Why do we tell these stories?”
Prayer
“Why do we tell these stories?”
We could tell the story of Pharaoh,
the story told by magnificent monuments made with slave labor that still overshadow us to this very day.
We could tell the many stories of slave revolts put down,
Spartacus, Vesey, and everyone in between.
Those are stories that are fairly common,
of might making right,
the status quo, even when stifling and oppressive, staying put…
But we tell the story of a people’s hurried hustle out of Egypt.
God siding with slaves,
the transformation of tears into sweet gratitude,
backs straight and heads held high,
on the other side of the Red Sea, a people forming,
formed by the story of God’s goodness to them.
A story’s retelling generation to generation as significant as any monument.
God’s judgement and release retold among families forever.
“Why do we tell these stories?”
We could tell the story of King Herod or Governor Pilate at table in one palace or another.
We could recite stories of leaders exalting themselves to vainglorious heights
—that’s not uncommon, is it?
Or stories about the banishment of betrayers
and how ruptures in relationship so often result in escalating, tit for tat, hatred!
But we tell the story of the Teacher learning from Mary and Martha
—service & foot washing the example of love that endures,
sitting at table with Lazarus who was dead but now is alive.
A last meal that includes too,
Peter who will deny him
and Judas who will betray him.
Even in such company, the great command
experienced in washing and in meal
is “Love One Another!”
“Why do we tell these stories?”
We could tell the story of the closed table of Corinth.
How their religious practice degenerated into hypocrisy,
how that Christian community in Corinth was so wed to their culture
that they were using their new religion to reinforce hierarchies of wealth and education,
an upstairs/downstairs type of faith where the majority were left humiliated and hungry.
This too is a common story, is it not?
A pattern that even good intentioned religious communities can fall into,
chaplains of the surrounding culture
and exclusive cliques.
But we tell the corrective story Paul tells to the Corinthians;
Jesus’ last supper is one different than cultural expectations
—in fact it overturns them, even as it gets him killed.
Every time we recite and receive this meal, his life-giving service becomes the organizing principle of our life together.
“Why do we tell these stories?”
We could tell all kinds of awful stories,
read our world wrong,
reinforce and justify every bad impulse in us…
But instead, we tell those stories that sit well with our souls.
Stories of freedom and dignity
Humility, love, service, and friendship
The best of religion overcoming the worst of culture,
communities where everyone matters.
We tell these stories so that we can store up hope,
pass on a future that reaches for something more
more than hatred, hypocrisy and holding other people down.
We tell stories that are out of the ordinary,
miraculous even;
stories that could only be taken seriously because a loving God exists,
a loving God who is glorified in:
liberation of the oppressed,
loving service,
and proclamation of Gospel.
Amen.
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