Monday, April 29, 2013

Missing from the Table (Fifth Sunday of Easter, Year C, 2013, Richard Smith)

The gospel passage takes place at the last supper. Judas has just left the meal, has gone out into the night to hand Jesus over, leaving behind him an empty place at table.
In that moment, as Judas sets off to betray him, Jesus gives us these unforgettable words, "I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."
Theologian Frederick Niedner wonders: Having heard those words from the lips of Jesus, did any of the disciples then go out looking for Judas?  Did anyone begin to fear for Judas, miss him, or try to bring him back, to talk him out of his shame, his anger, his life spinning out of control?
Did they recognize that they could not be whole as long as he was missing from their table? As long as Judas remained out there in the night, wandering alone or swinging lifeless from a tree, there would be tears and aching in his community where his place would still be set at the table, but where his absence would still be felt.
This same kind of brokenness is all around us.
The other day in the neighborhood a mother stopped me and asked me to pray with her for her son who is serving a life sentence in prison. With him gone, there is a brokenness in her family, an empty place at the table, and an empty place in their hearts.
There is a brokenness among people of faith, and it's all too apparent in the Islamophobic reactions to the bombings in Boston. We are all children of Abraham, but some Christians cannot imagine sitting at table with a real, live Muslim.
Our own parish has had its own brokenness. There are people who used to join us at this table but, for various reasons, our relationships with them became broken and they are no longer here.
Perhaps in your own families and in your own circles of friends, you, too, know the pain and shame of having places at the table where no one sits any more.
Friendships that were put to death with hasty, angry, bitter words.
We don't know if the disciples did try to find Judas that night. Even if they had would he have returned? Only God knows.
But we have reason to hope because of the promise in today's reading from the Book of Revelations. One day, when the New Jerusalem comes down out of heaven decked out like a bride, God will set out a great marriage feast, and there God will wipe away every tear. No more tears, no more pain.
Will Judas be present? We can hope that he will, that he will sit among all the rest of us who have our own stories of brokenness and betrayal.
This is the great vision of the Book of Revelations, the future we are invited to embrace this morning.
And if we choose to embrace this future, then it will shape and govern how we act and think in the present.
If in the world to come, God will wipe away the tears from our eyes, then we wipe the tears from each others eyes now.
If in the world to come, swords will be beaten into plowshares and there will be no more war, then the weapons fall from our hands now.
If in the world to come, everyone will have a place at the table, including those from whom we are now estranged, even those we regard as most repugnant and despicable, then we reach out our hands in friendship and reconciliation now.
The amazing future described in Revelations shapes and governs how we live our lives in this moment.
The banquet is set before us. We look back to remember the night when Jesus gave us a new commandment, but also we look ahead to the day of its fulfillment.
Let us celebrate the joy we have in sitting together as family, reconciled to each other, and living in hope of that day when every tear will be wiped away and every place at the table will be filled.

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