Communion Meditation
The Rev. Dr. Robert Allan Hill preaches a sermon on Matthew 14:13–21, “Communion Meditation”. The Marsh Chapel Choir performs “Thou knowest, Lord” by Henry Purcell and “O God, thou art my God” by Henry Purcell
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Sermon Text
Communion Meditation: August 2, 2026. Robert Allan Hill
Preface
Faith is the affirmative answer to the question whether life has meaning.
Faith is the affirmative answer to the question whether love is real.
Faith is the affirmative answer to the question whether struggle is redemptive.
Faith is the affirmative answer to the question whether friendship is nourishing.
With joy in this summer season we watch our children and grandchildren playing baseball, wiffle ball, on the back hill. There is a gift in play, in playfulness, in the summer season here in the north, of outdoor engagement and joy. They remember, are reminded that is, Joe Morgan, a baseball second baseman of another era, saying, simply, ‘see the ball, hit the ball’. In other words, focus on the main thing. Try not to over complicate. Keep some of the summer stored away for the rest of the year. There will be plenty of the year ahead in which to complicate, and to complicate complication. Stay focused. See the ball, hit the ball.
Now 50 years ago now in the spring of 1976, we took our Ohio Wesleyan Venezuelan students, for whom we were dorm advisors, some 20 or so of them, all about 20 years old, down to Cincinnati, to see the great baseball team of that era, Joe Morgan and Johnny Bench and all, ‘the Big Red Machine’, including their Venezuelan country man David Concepion. How playful, easy at enjoyment with Concepion, were they, in the locker room after the game. And he with them. But also, in both and all directions, how proud they were. See the ball, hit the ball.
When we come to communion, we come to gain or regain our focus on faith, faith that sees us through. That takes us onto the field. That lets us use our skills, whatever they be. That puts us on a team of our own, alongside friends of our own. That gives you and me a place to be, a place to focus, a place to hear Scripture, a place to let the main thing be the main thing. How fortunate we are, present or from afar, to be embraced here by this magnificent building, this wonderful choir, this gathering, every seventh day, of faithful souls, this pulpit, this quiet space. And today, alongside all, the very bread and cup of the Christ of God.
We knew, and happily, Peter Berger, one of the great BU scholars of another era, and one the voices that drew us here some years ago, he a Professor of religion, founder of CURA here on campus, sometime worshipper here at Marsh Chapel, and author of the book ‘A Rumor of Angels’, still well worth a summer read. In 1969, when no one wanted anything to do with religion in this country, he placed before all an argument for the presence of God, in five foci. Look again at his argument: God in a desire for order, God in the whimsy of play, God in the resilience of hope, God in the respect for judgment, and yes it wouldn’t be Berger without the fifth, God in the joy of humor. Order, play, hope, judgment, and humor.
The Hebrew Scripture
In that vein, our psalm and lesson from the Hebrew Scripture recoil around us to recall for us the place of faith, and its support during struggle in life. In political and presidential reckoning, in personal and familial realignments and choices, we right now may benefit from such a reminder. After all, why return Sunday by Sunday to ancient writings, if not for a chance to orient our own selves and lives by the light of what our forebears have seen and done?
One the great gifts of Boston University to our life has been the immersion and inclusion in a tradition of struggle, redemptive struggle. Over dinner, courtesy of the Gotlieb Center, some years ago, we sat with John Lewis. Dime con quien andas, y te dire quien eres, say the Spaniards. Tell me with whom you walk, and I will tell you who you are. After the meal he quietly told stories which had the aspect, for one who tells stories, of frequent narration, as overtures to good trouble. In particular it brought a full smile to hear his childhood dream of being a preacher, a story that was new to us, but well known to others, and now to the world. He would come home and preach to the chickens as he fed them, and baptize them as they were born, and bury them with dignity and at the end of their egg producing days. Hence, Lewis picked up the nick name, Preacher. Yet it was really his life that spoke, and that commitment to a sense of redemptive struggle. He had something to say to our students, and to us all.
Yes, you will get jobs and find work and buy cars and build homes and raise families and take trips. Good. But what else? What else are you going to do? What else are you going to do in the brief span years you have? Will you help make this world a better place. And to do that, will get into some good trouble along the way?
In my years at BU it was one of the rhetorical high points, and that’s saying something. One of your great gifts of Boston University to our life has been the immersion and inclusion in a tradition of struggle, redemptive struggle. What an inheritance, what a legacy, Marsh Chapel, you have to share.
Meanwhile, back in the Bible, in Genesis Jacob receives a new name, One Who Struggles With God: Israel. There is a redeeming quality in struggle, so much so that one’s full identity emerges in a different way, with a different name. Jacob recalls for us the power of community, the formative range in the struggle of each community, including his own. We sure need such a reminder this summer, in this summer of uncertainty. We are on the brink of lawlessness from the highest offices in the country. What shall we bring to this struggle? A little honesty and a whole lot of ownership? But also, a critical caution, in our choices?
In the spring of 1972, graduating soon from High School, I was watching as various communities were struggling, including that of the USA itself. My father had bought a pool table that winter, the first of its sort to adorn that Methodist Parsonage. Looking back, I think he had some idea to try to connect more fully with a teenage son who was about to leave home. And it worked. We spent some evenings playing pool and talking about nothing and about everything. It was down in a pretty dank basement full of the things you throw in a basement. He would smoke his pipe and I would talk about things I really knew nothing much about. But I had opinions. That spring there was a protest against the War in Vietnam, and I had decided to go, and we discussed it. It was to be held outside his old high school, where he had been elected class president in 1949. He had gone on to serve in the Air Force as a chaplain, so he was a military person but was himself also and strongly against the war. Yet when I told him about the protest, well, he did not try to talk me out of it, but he filled his pipe and racked the balls for another game. I could tell he was trying to tell me something, or teach me something, or something, without being too parental. Anyway, the gist of his question, as I remember it in the haze of faulty memory and pipe smoke, was, ‘Do you know who is organizing this? Who is running this? For what reason?’ Well, we did not argue. I went ahead and attended the thing, such as it was. But that careful, critical edge, that question, who is really doing this and why, stayed with me. I cannot begin to number the times, in so many different situations, when that basic question—who is really behind this?—has come back to help me.
The New Testament
Likewise, our two New Testament passages, lesson and gospel, guide us in redemptive struggle. In Romans, Paul is about to launch into two chapters of farewell to his own beloved religious inheritance, his own spiritual legacy, his mother tongue, the law. Religious faith sometimes means leaving things behind, shaking the dust from one’s feet, and moving on. In a way, every day has some measure of that leave taking, of saying ‘Thank You’ and of saying ‘Good Bye’.
That is, we hope to find a way by faith into a better future. Our community here at Marsh Chapel will continue to go through changes in rhythm. With the insight, foresight and hindsight of Paul in Romans, we shall also need, for the long haul, the remembrance of Matthew, the miraculous feeding of the 5,000 with two fish and five barley loaves. Not much to go on. And yet, all were fed. And more miraculously, according to the Scripture, not only were all fed, but all were all satisfied. All were satisfied. Along with values to guide us, we shall need, Marsh Chapel, the gospel promise to keep us. Satisfied. Hm.
In a moment we will hear again the ancient liturgy for eucharist. We are not only together to receive together the bread and cup. But we are together in relationship, by memory, in hope, through prayer. And with a little imagination, with eyes closed and hearts open, we might allow the familiar, ancient prayers of communion, to bring us into communion.
So, travel with a little imagination, especially, perhaps if today you are part of the virtual congregation, a live stream congregation.…Imagine Eucharist at Marsh Chapel. Stand to sing… Pause to reflect… Step out into the aisle… Look at and look past Abraham Lincoln and Francis Willard…Receive by imagination, cup and bread, bread and cup… Kneel at the altar to pray… Stand in communion with the communion of saints…Here is the bread and cup of friendship and moreso of faith…Imagine, if you are willing, your own funeral, say right here, and a congregation reciting together a creed, a psalm, a hymn, a poem. Imagine, if you are willing, a congregation currently in a summer diaspora, but just now, by the word spoken, a gathered and thus addressable community, you and I and all together. What a marvel: And all were satisfied.
Coda
Faith is the affirmative answer to the question whether life has meaning.
Faith is the affirmative answer to the question whether love is real.
Faith is the affirmative answer to the question whether struggle is redemptive.
Faith is the affirmative answer to the question whether friendship is nourishing.