The Politics of Purity
Blessed are the pure in
heart . Matthew 5:8
Whoever, therefore,
eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be
answerable for the body and blood of the Lord. Examine yourselves, and only
then eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For all who eat and drink without
discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves. 1 Corinthians
11:27-29, NRSV
I
can imagine there are some people in our church for whom taking communion was
shrouded in fear. If you took communion, and your soul was not in a state of
grace, look out! For while, I went to a church where the minister put a lot of
emphasis on being worthy to take the Lord’s Supper. “Had I thoroughly repented
of my sins? Was I even worthy to take communion?” I received the message loud
and clear from my church: unrepentant sinners were not welcome at the table of
the Lord. Only those who were “right with Jesus” were invited. The text I just
read from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians was quoted as proof. It was never
clear, however, how I could know for certain that I was “right with Jesus” or
what makes a person worthy. Moral purity, which I believed was the requirement
for being worthy, was an ever-receding horizon that I never felt I could reach.
Paul
writes to a Christian community torn apart by various factions. Some members of
the church in Corinth consider themselves superior to others. They are wiser,
more spiritually gifted, more socially acceptable, and they have more
money. They look down on others whom
they see as less. They take all the good pews at church. At the church potluck
suppers, they go first in line and take all the best food. They grab all the
homemade fried chicken for themselves (which was probably lovingly prepared by
one of the people thought of as less wise, less spiritual and less acceptable).
Those who are poorer get stuck at the end of the line and eat whatever is
always left over at potluck dinners – probably the ancient equivalent of greasy
green bean casserole cooked in that gray sludge.
At
their potlucks, the Corinthian church also serves communion. But their meal
reinforces social hierarchies that divide the community against itself. While
some to revel in excess, others get nothing. The rich confuse their economic
power with moral superiority. The rich exercise their privilege and humiliate
the poor in the process. Paul says that the vulnerability of the poor church
members -- their weakness, illness, and death -- serves as a judgment against
the rich for their failure to “discern the body of Christ.”
It’s
an odd phrase to me, “discerning the Body of Christ.” Let’s think about it for
a minute.
There
are all types of people who have been excluded from communion -- those who have
been historically branded as sinners. In our church, we believe something
different. All are welcome. All are invited. Period. Discerning the body is
about becoming vulnerable enough to unite with those who’ve been excluded from
communion by other traditions. As far as I’m concerned, we are worthy to
receive communion when we refuse to participate in faith-based exclusion – we
don’t make one person’s participation dependent upon another person’s
condemnation. Our union with God is not based on the moral superiority of a
powerful few, but with how we receive God’s gifts and experience Jesus in the
most improbable people.
How
do we know if we are doing it right? Paul has another interesting phrase. He
tells the Corinthian Church to examine themselves. The word “examine” comes from a Greek word
“dokimos,” related to our English word “decent”. To understand what Paul is
saying, we must understand how money worked in Paul’s day. In the ancient world
there was no banking system as we know it today, and no paper money. All money
was made from melted precious metal, which was poured into molds and allowed to
cool. When the coins cooled, money makers shaved off the uneven edges to make
them smooth. Some money makers went too far and practiced something called
clipping -- shaving off an extra portion of the precious metal coin for profit.
Over time, the precious metal shavings could be saved up and melted into
bullion or used to make new coins. Some money changers had integrity. They
refused to accept underweight money. They put only genuine, full weighted money
into circulation. Such men were called dokimos
or "approved".
Paul
uses a form of that same word when he talks about eating at the communion
table. Be dokimos, and only then eat
of the bread and drink of the cup. We must be dokimos, decent, checking and double-checking our integrity,
asking, “Is our celebration trustworthy, excellent, and pleasing?” If we are
not dokimos, if we are not
circulating with integrity, then we eat and drink judgment on ourselves.
Our
criteria for judgment can be so superficial and trivial – we accept people
similar to ourselves and we find it easy to write-off people who are different.
God is not like that. God doesn’t want us to be like that. Our communion table
symbolizes our belief in a God who accepts all people. We are not about ritual
observance or adhering to some religious authority’s definition of purity. Sharing
a meal together is about paying attention to the least of those among us. It is
a reminder that I don’t get credit for being a pious if I leave someone else
behind.
We
eat and drink judgment on ourselves if anyone is ever excluded by the so-called
morally superior members among us.
We
eat and drink judgment on ourselves when we reserve the best for ourselves and
don’t share with others.
We
eat and drink judgment on ourselves when the pursuit of false purity suckers us
into thinking that we get to tell God who is in and who is out, or who is first
and who is last.
When
it comes right down to it, our open communion table is about freedom and
action. The same is true of our political process. What might it mean for us to
“discern the body” when it comes to political action? What if civic engagement
had to do more with how we share and receive the gifts of others and less of
being managed by the superiority of a powerful few? Imagine if our politics
were more like our open communion table – a civic life that highlights freedom
and action. It’s hard to conceive, because it seems as if our politics are about
exclusion and alienation. We experience people in power negating the “other”.
We witness political elites barring access to public space, preventing equal
voting rights, and limiting open interaction between the public through
divisive discourse. Political party machineries have replaced equality with
hierarchy, hoping to mute the public voice and deny broad public action.
Think
about our communion table again. Years ago, CCC used to serve communion to
people sitting in the pews. Deacons would come with trays of bread and juice
and serve worshipers at their seats. I’m not sure when it changed, but we now
ask people to come forward to receive communion. Our open table means you need
to make a choice to participate – to act. We ask you to put feet on your faith,
as much as you are able. We will never deny your agency. We respect your
capacity to act. And if you cannot come forward, we will then come to you so
that if you can’t come to the Table, the Table will come to you. The same
should be true in our politics. In order to have freedom and action in our
public spaces, a person needs to be acknowledged as an equal. The diversity of
appearances, viewpoints, cultures, and needs must be honored. There must be
free and open access for all. And when people are unable to participate, it’s
on our institutions to make a way for them, not to block or exclude their
action.
Imagine
our communion table and our politics like a concert. Individuals join to make
music. In both cases, your every action, your every note, counts. All strings
and horns, all voices and tones work together towards a total final work, but
all separate instruments are needed in order to create a final composition. In
other words, it takes the many, not the few, to work in concert. Something else
happens in a great concert. Have you ever played in an ensemble where you feel
like something has taken over the group? Or as a spectator, a concert has left
you in awe, like you were part of something larger than yourself? Individuals
make music, and the music joins the
participants. Think of it like a Jazz concert where the single player can start
new theme, play a new song, or create a new idea. The other players are pliable
enough to accept the change. They don’t demand that the player with the new theme
stop playing and sit in the corner. No, they anticipating changes in tone and
direction. They riff on the new idea. It means there might not always be
consensus, but there is always cohesion.
We
value the reality that everyone belongs. All are welcome. No matter who you are
or where you come from, you are welcome here. That’s what gives our Communion Table
legitimacy, and it should be what gives our public table legitimacy. Inclusion
gives our Table integrity, and it should be what gives our public table
integrity.
Our
public table is honest when people of all races, cultures, ages, abilities,
sexual orientations, gender identities; and people of all spiritual, emotional
wellbeing find welcome here.
Our
public table is trustworthy when those who have been excluded by other know
that divisions can be overcome, and all have a home here.
Our
public table is pleasing when the last come first, and the first serve the
last.
Our
welcome is extravagant when we our public space is marked by justice, peace,
and mutual, self-giving love, especially when we don’t always agree.
Sources:
https://www.rci.rutgers.
edu/~lcrew/dojustice/j337.html
http://www.firstcongoappleton
.org/blogs/notes/2014/01/30/open-communionopen-church/
http://www.ucc.
org/beliefs
http://www.ucc. org/worship_communion
https://medium.
com/quote-of-the-week/plurality-c2e99e268c9f
http://www.
iwm.at/publications/5-junior-visiting-fellows-conferences/vol-xxix/andrea-thuma-2/
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