Ephesians 2:14-22
“For Christ is our peace; in his flesh he has made both
groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility
between us” (Eph. 2:14).
Both groups into one. The groups Paul has in mind are Gentiles and
Jews. The Gentile question preoccupied the early church. Can Gentiles follow Christ? Or, must Gentiles first become Jews, that is
follow the Jewish Law, to follow Christ?
Jesus was Jewish after all, and he certainly wasn’t Christian. Was Jesus
sent only for Jews or did God have the entire world in mind? Are Jewish followers of Christ bound to
Jewish Law?
These questions permeate Paul’s
writings, the debates over these questions were intense and fierce. Paul’s answer is clear, especially here in
Ephesians. Paul writes—and pay close
attention to what he’s proposing—Christ “has abolished the law with its
commandments and ordinances”— toward what end? —“that he might create in
himself one new humanity in place of the
two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one
body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it” (Eph.
2:15).
This is a remarkable window into
Paul’s grace-filled imagination. He
understands God to be doing a new thing in and through Christ, “to create in
himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace.” A new humanity in place of the two, making
peace. At the risk of oversimplification,
what we have here is a summary of Christ’s ministry and a beautiful description
what happens when we are in Christ. It’s
an arresting image: Christ at work
breaking down walls of division to form something new. You see, Christ is always at work breaking
down walls of division, if we let him. Between God and humanity; between ourselves and God; between ourselves and others. And, Christ’s people are continually being
formed into something new, as disparate groups of people, not only two but
three or four and more, are forged into a new humanity, with a new identity
rooted, not in an ideology or group or ethnicity or even nationality, but in
Christ.
“So [Christ] came and proclaimed peace to you who were far
off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access
in one Spirit to the Father” (Eph. 2:17). Not either-or, both-and. This is the way of
Christ. This is the way of Christ’s people.
This is how you can identify the work of Christ today, wherever this
pattern is enfleshed in the world. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall
be called children of God” (Mt. 5:9).
And, so Paul, being a practical pastor-theologian, invited
Christ’s people to re-imagine themselves. He gave them a new vision. “So then
you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints
and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the
apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In
him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in
whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God”
(Eph. 2:19). What an image.
In several weeks, we’ll commemorate the 500th
anniversary of the Reformation. When we think of Martin Luther (1483-1546), we
think of passages from Romans, such as "the just shall live by faith" (Rom. 1:17).
However, I was struck by a comment made by Susan Jaeger, several weeks ago our adult education class. She cited N. T.
Wright’s observation that the history of the church since the Reformation would
have been very different had Luther, instead of focusing on Romans, turned to
Ephesians with its image of Christ as our peace, tearing down dividing walls.
If only.
In place of walls and fences and divisions, Christ offers us peace. And one of the best expressions of this peace
is Christ’s people gathered around a table.
It’s been said, “In a place of privilege, it is better to build a
longer table than a higher fence.” Our
ultimate privilege is who we are in Christ.
We are God’s “new creation,” God’s “new humanity,” rooted and grounded
in love (Eph. 3:17). Our lives are to reflect
the Lord of love, who came not to divide but to bring God’s children together,
declaring peace to those who were far off and peace to those who were
near. As Paul came to know personally, when we are in Christ, all these categories of near and far, insider and outsider, Jew and
Gentile, male and female, slave and free, friend and stranger, indeed, every category,
breaks down. Dividing lines begin to
blur as disparate groups, disparate identities, disparate nationalities,
disparate ethnicities merge to form something new—a new humanity that lives in
the community of Christ’s people, the Church.
And the symbol around which the community gathers is none other than a
table, not a cross. Yes, Christ’s death
on the cross changes us; Christ’s suffering transfigures human suffering and
transforms our lives. But the symbol of
the new humanity in the early church was not the cross, but the table. A table.
 |
| Catacombs of Priscilla |
Go down
into the catacombs outside Rome and you won’t find a single fresco of Christ on
the cross. You don’t find the cross
anywhere. Remember, the cross doesn’t become a
Christian symbol until the fourth century, when the Roman Empire coopted
Christianity. But what you will find in
the catacombs are frescoes of Jesus breaking bread with his disciples gathered
around a table. The meal was central. We know that the first Christians worshipped
on Sunday evenings and shared a meal together. They not only remembered Jesus, they
encountered his real presence in the breaking of the bread and the sharing of
the cup, they affirmed their commitment to one another, they shared their lives,
they held all things in common (Acts 2:44), they prayed together, they sang psalms, hymns,
and spiritual songs, making melody in their hearats to the Lord (Eph. 5:19), and they offered thanksgiving to God. Thus, they came to know what being a living
temple of the living God looks like and feels like; they realized that the
community had become a dwelling place of God—not in a building, not even in a
sanctuary (as beautiful as this one is), but in them and in the community, the koinonia. We are the temple. Christ dwells both in one’s
hearts and hearts united in Christ.
On this World Communion Sunday, as followers
of Jesus we know that tables matter more to the Lord than fences or walls—and
we need to affirm this especially today in a world obsessed with fences and
walls, that prefers to instill divisions between peoples and races and
groups. And, friends, do not underestimate the
counter-cultural power of the Lord’s Table; do not underestimate what we are
about celebrate here. The table calls us
into a radically different way of living, a subversive way of being, which imagines
an alternative way of being human, of being in relationship. Just consider the early church in Rome, above ground the Romans were crucifying enemies of the statement, while below ground, underground, we have images of Christ's people around a table. The contrast couldn't be more striking.
~ ~ ~ ~
“To participate in the Eucharist [or Communion] is to live inside God’s imagination. It is to be caught up into what is really
real, the body of Christ.”[1] We are being drawn into that body. For, the Lord welcomes us, in all our wild
diversity, to participate in his life; he invites us to lift up our hearts into
the life of God.
And this new life is symbolized in what happens here at this table, when we experience Christ in the breaking of the bread—which is Christ in our breaking and in those places where the world is breaking; when we experience Christ in the sharing of the cup—which is Christ sharing his life with us and our lives with him, sharing in the life of the world. And because of this mystical participation, this sharing, of suffering and life, we experience unity, we discover that Christ is our peace. And, because Christ has welcomed us here, we extend that welcome to everyone. We make sure there are plenty of place settings, that no one is excluded. We make sure that every barrier is removed, that everyone has free unencumbered access to the abundance of this table, to the presence and peace of the Lord.
And this new life is symbolized in what happens here at this table, when we experience Christ in the breaking of the bread—which is Christ in our breaking and in those places where the world is breaking; when we experience Christ in the sharing of the cup—which is Christ sharing his life with us and our lives with him, sharing in the life of the world. And because of this mystical participation, this sharing, of suffering and life, we experience unity, we discover that Christ is our peace. And, because Christ has welcomed us here, we extend that welcome to everyone. We make sure there are plenty of place settings, that no one is excluded. We make sure that every barrier is removed, that everyone has free unencumbered access to the abundance of this table, to the presence and peace of the Lord.
So, come, taste and see that God is
good (Ps. 34:8).
Know again—or, maybe for
the very first time—the gifts of God are for the people of God, for you. For the world.
Thanks
be to God!
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[1]
William T. Cavanaugh, Torture and
Eucharist: Theology, Politics, and the Body of Christ (Oxford: Blackwell,
1998), 279.
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