Sermon:
July 11, 2003

The following communion meditation was shared on the fourth and final Friday of a month-long mission project in Manciones, Costa Rica. My wife (Kristine) and I were privileged to be a part of this collective effort. Our goal was to build a church for a new congregation. Which, while not fully completed at the time of our departure, was well on the way. With eight courses of cinder block constituting the walls around us and freshly-leveled clay constituting the floor beneath us, we sang, prayed and broke bread for the first time ever in this new worship setting. I count it an honor and a joy to have served as celebrant and worship leader for this occasion. Making the day truly special was the presence of several of our Costa Rican brothers and sisters in faith, many of whom were providers of skilled labor during the construction. 

What a wonderful day to celebrate the sacrament. What a wonderful way to celebrate the sacrament. I have served the elements indoors and out….in sanctuaries and campsites….in places as diverse as the Garden Tomb in Jerusalem and Bethlehem Chapel in Prague….beside the Sea of Galilee….afloat on the Sea of Galilee….even in the Upper Room. Now I shall serve them here. Wonderfully, here. Gratefully, here. Happily, here. But before we break the loaf and bless the cup, let me offer a trio of communion reflections….hopefully appropriate…. possibly related. 

• On leftovers

• On memories

• On anticipations

Let’s start with leftovers. Last Saturday I officiated at a wedding in a Roman Catholic church in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Which should win me some kind of prize as the person who traveled the furthest to get here. Standing in the sacristy prior to the ceremony, I began nosing around, looking at things customarily reserved for priests and their sacramental assistants. Since this particular parish was temporarily without priestly leadership, I happened upon some typed instructions concerning “what to do with communion leftovers.” Obviously, someone felt a need to share local procedures with visiting celebrants who might vary from week to week, if not from mass to mass.  

The instructions began with a somewhat defensive word on behalf of the sacramental assistants. Each person preparing the elements would always try to anticipate the exact amount of sacramental material required, thereby not overburdening the officiating priest with bread and wine in amounts too much or too little. Which was followed by the admission that if an error was to be made, it would always be on the high side. In other words, there would sometimes be too many wafers and too much wine for the number of communicants present.  

What then to do? The first word of advice read: “If the officiating priest finds it comfortable to do so, he should personally consume all of the leftovers.” If such proved uncomfortable, then instructions were given as to where to find baggies for the wafers and bottles for the wine. Actually, the wine was to be poured back into the bottle from which it had first been drawn. Upon further investigation, I discovered that the bottle was actually a jug with a screw top, bearing the label “Carlo Rossi.” So now you know. Assuming that leftover elements were stored rather than consumed, the priest was instructed to make note of his decision, thus insuring that all pre-consecrated communion elements would be consumed at the next available mass.  

And that was pretty much all the directive said. Not that I expected to read: “Throw any leftover bread to the birds. Pour any leftover wine down the sink.” Which is what I might have done. But then, I come at things a little differently than Roman Catholics do.  

The last time this work group broke bread together, the officiant was my esteemed friend and colleague, Rev. LaVere Webster. And while I didn’t hear any talk about LaVere’s leftovers, I did hear mention made of some rather large crumbs. Apparently, the bread had been left uncovered overnight, meaning that when it was broken during the process of intinction, pieces of it flaked to the floor. Not that it interrupted the flow of the service or took away from its meaning. But the residue under foot was sufficient so as to cause notice.  

Actually, Jesus dealt with the “leftover issue” in the sixth chapter of John’s gospel. You remember the story. Some five thousand were present. Philip said to Jesus: “The people are hungry. Do something about it.” Leading Jesus to say to Philip: “You do something about it.” Which must have sounded ludicrous to Philip, given his word that feeding that many people would take six months’ wages (assuming they had six months’ wages….which they didn’t). Then Philip added: “Even if we had that much money, we would only be able to give everybody a little.”  

You remember how the story turned out. Jesus sat them down. There was some conversation about a little boy who had brought a few things for his lunch. Given the boy’s willingness to share, his lunch was brought forward. Lo and behold, it turned out to be enough. As to how, the story doesn’t say. While the passage is often referred to as “the multiplication of loaves and fishes,” nowhere does the word “multiply” appear in the text. More common is an interpretation that talks about communal sharing. Perhaps the willingness of the boy to offer his lunch led others to reveal what they were secretly hoarding. Darned if I know. All I know is that everybody went home with their bellies full.  

What interests me this morning is the fact that there were leftovers. Some have called them “scraps.” Others, “fragments.” Choose whatever word you like best. Because the important thing is not what you call them, but how you count them. For there were twelve baskets left over. And when you get a very specific number dropped into a somewhat generic story, you want to pay attention. The number “twelve” is there for a reason. Twelve baskets. Twelve disciples. One basket per disciple. Meaning that they each had more than enough resources to do the Lord’s work. Then again, each of us has more than enough resources to do the Lord’s work. Which we may not have understood when we came to Costa Rica. But which we are presently proving in spades. Or in basketsful.  

But let’s move from leftovers to memories. Why should we break this bread in the first place? So that we can remember Jesus. That’s why we should break it. At least that’s why he said we should break it. “Do this in remembrance of me.” That’s what he said.  

People are easy to forget. This year marks the fiftieth anniversary of the death of my Grandfather Ritter. As I recall, he was the first of my relatives to die. I was thirteen at the time. Meaning that I had had any number of experiences with him. Today, however, I can’t remember his voice. And I can barely remember his face. But, truth be told, I didn’t do anything over the last fifty years to enhance my memory.  

Jesus said: “Here’s what I want you to do. Break a little bread. Sip a little wine. Remember me.” Which we do, in every place, so that we will not forget Jesus. And which we also do, in this particular place, so we will not forget Geoff Gessert. There are a lot of reasons why we have come to Costa Rica. But Geoff’s memory is very high on the list. Speaking personally, he’s why I am here. I helped bury him. But I did not know him. Part of my reason for coming was to learn more about him (by getting closer to those who dearly loved him). Which has happened. Thanks to you, his family….and thanks to you, his friends….I have accomplished my purpose. 

Reading what I read last night (in the book dedicated to his memory) convinced me….if I needed convincing….that building this church is the right thing to do. Given what I read last night, I believe that Geoff will be honored by what we are doing….happy with what we are doing….and (to whatever degree a 24-year-old should have to have the word “closure” associated with his life) fulfilled by what we are doing.  

Which brings me to the subject of anticipations. My favorite communion hymn carries the title “Here, O My Lord, I See Thee Face to Face.” Verse five (the last verse) begins as follows: 

            Feast after feast thus comes and passes by
            And passing, points to that glad feast above. 

Meaning exactly what? Meaning exactly this.  

• We shall break bread with Jesus again.

• We shall break bread with Geoff again.

• And (trusting that the grace of God is everything I have preached it to be) we shall break bread with each other again. 

In some religious traditions, whenever a holiday meal is observed, an extra place is set….or an empty place is left….for Jesus (should he choose that moment to return). I suppose that’s an acceptable theology. But there’s a theology with which I am more comfortable. Namely, that there are empty spaces at Jesus’ table, just waiting to be filled by the likes of you and me.  

Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King.  

            No more crying there….. 

            No more dying there….