A guest column by our Intern from Lancaster Theological Seminary, Essie Jackson
Do This, In Remembrance of Me (Luke 22:19-20 NIV)
How many times do you think God has heard the question, “You want me to do what?” From personal experience, I know God has heard it at least four times from me. First, when I was about nine or ten. I was singing with a small children’s choir at Christmas time. Well, “singing” might be a bit of a stretch. Let’s just say that I was “making a joyful noise unto the Lord.” God’s Stirring Within me said, “Sing.” Having been discouraged from doing so any louder than I had to, my child’s mind answered back, “Do what?” I felt it again, that Stirring Within, saying, “Sing your heart out to Me.” Not knowing what else to do, I sang. Quite loudly, apparently, for I heard much about those moments, for days and weeks later. But I don’t remember the congregation being there in those moments. When I began to sing, and sing loud unto the Lord, I closed my eyes to the outside world. When I opened my inner eyes, all I could see was bright . . . white . . . light . . . all around me. And I knew that I was with God. I did not have to see in order to believe . . . in order to know where I was and whom I was with. There would be two more “Do what?” conversations with God before the fourth one would bring me into this place with you.
“Do what?” I asked, as I sat in the pew at St. Barnabas Catholic Church, somewhere around midnight on a Saturday night. It was late autumn in 2006. Having arrived late for a church conference in Mountville PA, I and my chosen sister had spent much of that day sleeping. We awakened around 10:00PM with serious cases of cabin fever, and so we decided to venture out into the cold and drive around to see what trouble we could avoid getting into. She was born in Pittsburgh, so we had a destination and thoughts of beautiful city lights dancing with us along the way.
God knows that I am a sucker for old, Gothic cathedrals. Something in their stonework, the art and icons, and the intimate closeness with the saints I feel . . . as if I, like Moses, should remove my sandals upon entering holy ground. And suddenly, there she was, as tall and grand and sacred and holy as I could ever have expected her to be. I only meant to take pictures of the outside. But then, my inner punk said, “I wonder if it’s open.” And my chosen sister said aloud, “I wonder if it’s open.” It was close to midnight, but the door creaked open, and we heard the voice of the caretaker asking whether he could help us. We asked if it would be okay if we just looked around, and just like that, he said, “Sure,” and disappeared. My sister immediately departed for her own adventure, while I stayed where I was, at home . . . in the Sanctuary. Entranced by feelings Stirring within me, I sat down in a pew. That’s when I heard it, felt it. Again. And I answered, “Do what?” No answer came at first, and so after a few moments, I asked, “Is it here, Lord?” Stirring uttered, “Yes”. “Are you sure, Lord?” “Yes” Three times, I asked, and received the same Stirring answer. I wept, with joy and with fear.
You see, that last “Do what?” came as the answer to that “Come here” Stirring I felt the moment I entered St. Barnabas. It was a Stirring that told me that I would give up life as I knew it: Completing undergrad was just about a year away, but I would be giving up my job, my home, and ultimately my relationship, in order to do the “what” I felt Stirring within my spirit. Looking back, begin to I wonder whether Moses had said, “Do what?” as he spoke to the God of the burning bush or the God of Mt. Sinai. I wonder whether Abraham or Lot said, “Do what?” when that Stirring bade them move from the places they called “home.” I wonder whether Peter and Andrew said, “Do what?” when Jesus told them to leave their lives and follow Him, or whether Paul said, “Do what?” when Jesus told him to go and minister to the people he had once persecuted. I wonder whether the fellow lying on the mat at Bethsaida looked up at Jesus and said, “Do what?” when Jesus told him to get up and walk. Could Jesus himself have said, “Do what?” when that Stirring led him to his ultimate act of love for humanity, for us?
“You leadeth me beside still waters, O God.” Thank God. Because the Stirring within my soul is anything but still.
I am sure that sitting around Jesus’ final and first Table, at least one of the disciples said, “Do what?” when Jesus transubstantiated the consummation of bread and wine for his body and blood, and told them to “Do this, in remembrance of me”. For I believe that remembrance requires action. I believe that it requires that we do something in order to keep alive the memories in our hearts, the reasons for remembering in the first place. We create rituals and rites in order to do something in remembrance of our Jewish, Christian, and Gentile forebears who light our paths and enlighten our minds. We create monuments, testaments, and works of art in order to do something in remembrance of our friends and loved ones, whose struggles, hopes, and dreams we carry with us, in our everyday lives. We create holidays and High Holy Days in order to do something in remembrance of those who birthed us, nurtured us, grew with us, protected us, fought for us and with us . . . and the One who died . . . and the ones who are still dying to unite us in God and to protect our freedom as we navigate the world around us. If we are to remember, faithfully and authentically, we must move beyond merely remembering and Do Something In Remembrance. What is your Stirring leading you to Do In Remembrance? When will you move beyond mere remembering and start living in remembrance of those who have lit the path, going on before you?
