FOR GOOD MEASURE: Volume 16, December, 1992

by Paul F. Bosch


Ten Radio Meditations (151-160)
originally composed by ELCIC pastor Paul F. Bosch
for CFCA-FM, Kitchener, Ontario.

These meditation appear in speech-line form. 
With a little bit of editing, 
they may be rendered in paragraph form 
for use in newsletters and guides to worship.
Be sure to credit the author for his work.


151)  Holy Communion:  a collective noun...
152)  "To you it's a traffic jam..."
153)  The game plays you...
154)  Tradition = energizing memories...
155)  Mourning = a gift from God...
156)  "Holy things for Holy People..."
157)  The fullest truth = paradox...
158)  Communion and community = "common"...
159)  Church architecture:  welcome and warning...
160)  "...invites us into the meaning of these words..."




151)  
In the church in which I serve as pastor,
     we use the term Holy Communion 
     for our chief act of worship on Sunday morning.

You could call it Eucharist, 
     or the Lord's Supper,
     or the Mass, or simply The Liturgy, 
     but our term happens to be the Holy Communion.

Now it's occurred to me only recently,
     but with great force,
     that that term is a collective noun.

What it's referring to, first of all, is the people present.

The term Holy Communion, of course, refers to  
     the service of worship; 
     and the words refer too to the bread and the cup we share 
     in the course of that service.

But the word itself means primarily the people:

We're the Holy Communion:  
     those of us who eat and drink here. 

I like that reminder that it's people we want to honour
     with the term "holy" 
     -- even these unlikely folk.

And, I'd like to think that one day,
     God will be able to call all of us holy,
     and we really will be.




152)  
I saw a billboard along the highway the other day 
     that made me laugh.

I was driving around Buffalo, New York, 
     of all unlikely places,
     on Interstate Highway number 190,
     -- one of those incredibly congested superhighways.

And this billboard hit my eye, 
     extolling the merits of billboard advertising:
     It said: "To you it's a traffic jam.  
     To us it's a market."

I had to laugh at the inventiveness 
     of the business entrepreneurs 
     who put that billboard there.

And I found myself sighing with regret 
     along with the words of Jesus:
     Would that the children of light were as shrewd 
     in dealing with their own generation 
     as the children of this age.

The good guys sometimes are simply 
     not as smart 
     or as inventive
     or as creative
     as the bad guys.

Isn't that often the case?  

And ain't it a pity?

153)  
I heard this the other day from a speaker:
     The game is in the playing.

It's not in the rule book, 
     it's not in the referee's head;
     it's not in the deck of cards or the sports equipment.

The game is in the playing.

You play the game.  

Or even this: The game plays you.

That's surely one reason to honour what you might call
     the traditions of religion.

Those traditions are there, so to speak, to play you.

Those words of peace and justice in our worship;
     those words of reconciliation between adversaries;
     those words and gestures of inclusivity 
     -- women and little kids as well as men --
     they're there to shape you,
     to mould you into a different person.

And it may not be so important, in our worship,
     that our words say what we mean. 

Perhaps more important, in our lives,
     is that we mean, and live, what our words say.




154)  
A wise teacher has said this 
     about the place of tradition in human life.

Tradition, he said, represents 
     the energizing memories of a people.

I like that as a reminder that we're poor indeed
     without traditions in human religious life.

They provide the energizing memories for faith.

Not simply memories 
     -- that would be only nostalgia.

But energizing memories:
     Memories that move you,
     that shape your response to life.

If everything were new every moment, 
     and we had no memories in the form of tradition,
     we'd be at the mercy of novelty and the trendy.

And we'd have to re-invent the wheel in every age.

Tradition energizes your life today.

And it's one way of giving 
     your grandfather and grandmother a vote
     in the decisions you must make today.




155)  
I heard a teacher say recently
     that we're able to mourn our losses,
     mourn our dead,
     only because God has poured out on us 
     the spirit of compassion and supplication.

That reminder is in the Bible, in the prophet Zechariah.

But I hadn't thought of it that way before.

What that means is, 
     mourning is a gift of God.

When you mourn the death of someone,
     when you mourn 
     the passing of some significant part of you 
     -- your childhood innocence,
     your adolescent idealism,
     your adult vigour and enthusiasm for life --
     when you mourn the passing of any of these things,
     you're being given a gift from God.

And if you didn't mourn,
    if you couldn't weep and feel sad at these losses,
     you'd be less than human.

Your mourning is a sign you're still alive.

And it's a gift.




156)  
In the Orthodox service of Holy Communion, 
     the priest invites the people 
     to receive the bread and cup
     with these words:
     "Holy things for Holy people."

That's a neat reminder of how we ought to look 
     at all of life, in my view.
     
It's as if all of life is meant to be perceived as holy.

And it's as if all people are meant to be perceived as holy.

We don't hear that reminder often enough:
     No matter what mistakes I've made,
     no matter how unworthy I sometimes think I am,
     here's God's servant reminding me that
     there's something holy about me, and my life.

There's something holy about you and yours.

But notice this:  
     the people's response to the priest's words.

When the priest says, "Holy things for holy people",
     the people respond"  "One only is holy."

That's God of course they're speaking of.
     the same God who calls you holy.





157)  
I attended a conference this past summer
   with the theme "Friend and stranger".

It's God of course the theme spoke of:
     God both my friend, close to me, known to me,
     but God also a stranger to me, unknown, mysterious.

I like the apparent contradiction in those terms:
     God is near, yet also far,
     known, yet also unknown.

If you want to speak the truth about God,
     then you must remember both of these realities.

The fullest truth about God 
     sometimes can only be expressed
     as a paradox.

Come to think about it, 
     the fullest truth about almost anything 
     is often a kind of paradox:
     Word and action,
     sign and signification,
     saint and sinner.  

The full truth is almost always two words, not one.




158)   
The Greek words for community 
     and communion are the same:
     koinonia,
     and it comes from a root that means common.

That's a useful reminder of two things:

First, that people are in community 
     in communion, even,
     when they hold things
     or experiences in common.

And second: it's the common,
     the ordinary and everyday
     that unites us.

We're united, that is, 
     when we share in the common.

It's not the exotic or supernatural 
     or mystic or occult
     that unites people:  
     it's the ordinary.

Ordinary perceptions,
     ordinary encounters,
     ordinary relationships,
     ordinary experiences: 
     like sharing a meal together,
     like working side by side.

It's no accident 
     that Christian worship does not come 
     from the temple,
     but from the home: 
     a bath, a meal.




159)  
Has this ever occurred to you,
     as it has to me recently, that 
     the architecture of Christian churches 
     says something
     about ourselves.

A Christian church is not built  
     like a lecture hall,
     or a theatre, 
     or a TV talk show studio.

It's not as if we're here,
     listening to someone lay a lecture on us,
     or being entertained by performers on a stage,
     or chatting up celebrities.

We're here in a church building for another purpose:
     to meet with God the Lord of heaven and earth.

So we shouldn't be surprised 
     if the experience 
     of Christian worship in such a place
     is a little unnerving, 
     a little intimidating.

There's both welcome and warning here.





160)  
In the early Christian church, 
     the memoirs of the apostles were read,
     what we might call today the New Testament,
     the stories of Jesus's life and teachings,
     and the letters of early apostles 
     like Paul and Peter and James.

Then, according to one early account,
     the presider  
     "invites us into the meaning 
     of these gracious words."

I love that: Christian worship inviting me 
     into the meaning of the gracious words of scripture.

I suppose that's a good way of thinking 
     about the religious life generally.

We want to invite people 
    into the meaning of the words they treasure.

And it suggests to me the following question:
     What for you 
     are the most gracious words 
     you can think of?

What words 
     do you treasure 
     as precious and gracious,
     beyond all other words?

And, how can you invite others 
     into the meaning of those words?

How can you yourself live more fully 
     into their meaning?

If you can ask and answer that one, friend,
     you are not far from the kingdom of God.