A New/Old Tradition
DATE: October 4, 2009
SCRIPTURE: I Corinthians 11:23-26
One of the most beloved musicals of all time is Harnick, Bock, and Stein's Fiddler on the Roof. Most of you here have seen it, no doubt. But in case you haven't—it is the story of a small village in Russia during a time when Jews were being systematically tormented by the government. It is a story of changing times and changing lives which focuses around a dairyman named Tevye.
The show opens with the strains of a fiddler playing a rather mournful tune as he perches on the edge of a rooftop. Tevye then enters the scene and commenting on the rather precarious position of the fiddler speaks of how tradition allows the villagers to keep their balance in the midst of a rapidly changing world.
"Here in Anatevka," he says, "we've kept our balance for many, many years. Here in Anatevka we have traditions for everything—how to eat, how to sleep, how to wear clothes. For instance, we always keep our heads covered and always wear a little prayer shawl. This shows our constant devotion to God. You may ask, how did this tradition start? I'll tell you—I don't know! But it's a tradition. Because of our traditions, everyone knows who he is and what God expects him to do" (Joseph Stein, Fiddler on the Roof, in Best Plays of the Sixties, 249)
There is little question that traditions are important. But like those of Anatevka, how they started is often lost in the recesses of time. In my family, for instance, my three siblings and I all own three or four pale blue glass tree ornaments that once belonged to my grandmother. They were given to each one of us when we moved away from home to set up housekeeping. In each of our homes, we put those ornaments right at the top of the tree, just below the star. Why? Because that's where my father put them. And why did he put them at the top? Because that's where his mother had put them. And why did she put them at the top? Who knows? That's lost to history—she never told anybody why. It may have been something as simple as personal taste! It may have been to keep them out of the reach of a long gone cat! No one knows! But that's where they always go, at the top. It's a Danner family tradition.
Don't misunderstand. Such a tradition does have value—it does indeed help us feel connected to open another. Every year, when I hang up those pale blue orbs, I am reminded of my grandmother, my Dad and my siblings. And that has real value in and of itself. But how much richer it would be if we knew the story behind it!
Holy Communion is t one of the most important traditions in the life of the church. Indeed, as John Killinger writes, it has been "so central to Christianity through the years as to make it the primary sacrament of the community." (A Sense of His Presence, 107)) Fortunately, unlike many of the traditions in fictional Anatevka, or the glass ornaments tradition in my family, the tradition we call Holy Communion comes complete with a story. In fact, two stories: the story of the Exodus and the story of the Last Supper. And as early as the writings of St. Paul, some twenty years after the Last Supper, the story is being written down and preserved for future generations. "For I received from the Lord," writes Paul to the church at Corinth, "what I also handed on to you . . . ." (11:23a) And then he goes on to recount the words and actions taken by Jesus at the Last Supper.
Of course, what we must remember is that Holy Communion—what is called the Mass, the Lord's Supper or the Eucharist in other parts of the church—is a tradition that grew out of another tradition. One might say it is a new version of an old tradition.
Jesus and his disciples gathered together on that night to celebrate the Passover meal known as the Seder. The Seder meal was (and is) full of traditions and symbols designed to help the Jewish people, known as the Hebrews in their early years, remember the events of the Exodus.
The Hebrews were slaves in Egypt, and God had intervened to help them escape. Again and again, their leader, Moses had gone to the king of Egypt and had asked him to let them go. Moses had even warned the King that all sorts of bad things would happen if he didn't let them leave. And those things happened: the country was overrun with frogs; there were hordes of locusts, and even worse. Finally, Moses warned the King that if he didn't release the slaves, the angel of death would fly over Egypt and the first born of the land would all be struck dead. The night before the Hebrews were to leave Egypt, they had a meal of lamb—and the blood from the lamb had been placed over their doorways as a sign to identify their homes so that the angel would pass over their homes and no one in their families would die. So it is that the Passover meal in Jesus' day and in our own always includes wine, symbolic of the blood, and a lamb shank bone, symbolic of the lambs that were sacrificed so that the Hebrew children would be spared.
Because they were going to be leaving in such a hurry, the Hebrews were also told to bake bread to take with them on the journey—but there wasn't enough time to let it rise, so they baked flat bread. Today, there is always flat bread, called matzo, at Passover as a reminder of the journey they took. That was also true in Jesus' time. It was and is an important tradition that helps Jews to this day keep their balance. It helps them remember, as Tevye says of traditions in general, who they are and "what God expects them to do."
As Jesus and his disciples, who were all Jewish, sat at the Passover meal, then, they were celebrating the fact that their ancestors had been saved from slavery by God. The gospel writers all suggest that Jesus knew he was going to be arrested and executed. In fact, Judas had already betrayed him to the authorities. So as they gathered at that Passover meal, he may indeed have suspected it would be the last time they were going to be together. So he takes that old, old tradition and adds additional meaning to its symbols. When he takes the bread and breaks it and shares it with them, he says that it is like his own body, which will be broken the next day. And as he takes up a cup of wine, filled with wine that symbolizes the blood of the lambs who were sacrificed so that the Hebrew children would be spared from death, he says it is like his own blood, that would be shed the next day so that all people might be spared from death. "This is my body," he says, "broken for you . . . "This cup is the new covenant in my blood." (11:24b, 25b) And then he tells them to remember him whenever they eat the bread or drink the wine. And with those words he starts a new tradition, built on the old tradition of Passover.
While theologians have argued for centuries about this meal we call Holy Communion—I for one think it is very straightforward. It is a powerful tradition. It's not magic. It is just bread and wine or grape juice. But like all traditions it does indeed remind us of those who have gone before us. And with its symbols, it reminds us that God wants to save all people from the various things that enslave us. God wants us to be free—free to love, free to serve, free to be ourselves. At it's very best this tradition, complete with its two stories, is a reminder of who we are: children of God. Followers of Jesus. Women and men, boys and girls, who seek to follow the example set for us by the man who shared that last supper with a group of folks much like ourselves.
This day, around the world, we are remembering as well, that it is a tradition that crosses all boundaries, that transcends time itself. For as we gather at this table we are sharing in a tradition that has enriched folks from all walks of life all around the globe, for years and years and years. It has given us balance and has reminded us of our purpose in life.
Indeed, without it "our lives would be as shaky as—a fiddler on the roof!" (Best Plays of the Sixties, 253)
Amen.
John H. Danner