[I’m skipping a few chapters — as I’ve said before, I don’t have much helpful to say about the spirit or gifts of the spirit…]

Sacrament and Sacrifice

To me, the sacrament is a beautiful reversal of the ancient order of sacrifice.

Blood sacrifices are ubiquitous in human and religious history. Most often, these sacrifices were performed as a way to ritually feed or otherwise appease the gods. The first chapter of Leviticus lays out the method of sacrifice. It repeatedly mentions the idea that the sacrifice is to be a “sweet savour” to the LORD, reminiscent of the origins of the practice of blood sacrifice.

The sacrifice is directed toward the god. It is something that it demands of its people. By sacrifice, the subjects of a god are able to extract favors or at least hold back its wrath.

The sacrament — at least as I understand it — reverses this logic. In the traditions that I am familiar with, the officiator breaks the bread and pours the wine (or water) at the altar. Rather than the offering being consumed upon the altar by fire (perhaps thought of as the incarnation of the god on earth?),  it is distributed to the congregants.

The sacrament is directed outward toward the people. It is offered to all. Through the sacrament we are fed and reminded of the bounty provided to us.

The outpouring of God

In Luke’s version of the events of the Last Supper, Jesus says of the wine, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you” (NIV).

The radical theologian, Thomas Altizer got himself into some controversy when he began to preach the death of God. But there is something beautiful about his thought. Altizer explored what it might mean for God to truly have been sacrificed. Christians are fond of reciting, John 3:16. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son….” But this doesn’t seem like much of  an offering if it is only temporary — just as long as it takes for Jesus to be installed on the right hand.

I think we run a risk of cheapening Jesus’ sacrifice by focusing on the fantastic, unimaginable glory that he gained as a result. This seems to turn the sublime sacrifice into merely an exchange. I am a little uncomfortable with the lyrics of the sacrament hymn, “Jesus Once of Humble Birth”. The hymn juxtaposes Jesus’ humble past with his glorious future. We  sing,

Once he suffered grief and pain;

Now he comes on earth to reign!

As if his grief and pain were done away with! The God that appeals to me is the God who suffers in the present tense. The Jesus that returned to the disciples still bore the scars of his mortal life. In the powerful words of modern scripture,

Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink—Nevertheless, glory be to the Father, I partook…

Here we have a God who remembers that suffering and is transformed by it. We read that Jesus will indeed return to reign, but  he comes not as a conquering warrior drenched in the blood of his enemies. His robes are red with his own blood. Even the propagandistic tone of Revelation turns somber when we are suddenly confronted with a Jesus that takes the form of a “Lamb as it had been slain.” As another has paraphrased, Altizer taught that the incarnation of God was an act that poured the sacred irrevocably into the profane and was thus obliterated. We maybe are reluctant to follow him that far, but I think we have ample support for the idea that God’s experience on earth was transformative in some sense.

The God who Changed

I am haunted by a few lines from Eliot’s “Ash Wednesday.” In the second stanza, after the narrator has been consumed by leopards who gnaw on his bones, God commands the bones to prophesy and they sing these words:

Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied

At the sacrament table we are called upon to remember the “greater torment” of Jesus’ love. A love that exists in the world with all of its attendant sorrow and disappointment, and more importantly, we are called upon to spread that love.


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About Brad

I am a rather typical — or perhaps just not atypical — example of a 21st century, “uncorrelated” Mormon. My “Mormon Story” is (I have learned) rather cliche. I was raised by goodly parents, we went to church, followed the letter of the word of wisdom, abstained from the baser elements of the culture, etc. I served an honorable mission, enrolled at BYU, got married in the temple, and never seriously doubted until beginning a PhD program far beyond the Mormon corridor.

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