Grace to you and peace from our loving God, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Many of us have a favorite restaurant. I enjoyed a lunch with one of our members at mine this week. Depending on one's taste and style, it could be an elegant establishment or a neighborhood greasy spoon. Preferences depend upon our mood, our company, or the occasion.

One might conclude from scripture that Jesus never turned down the chance to dine with friends, regardless of the setting. In fact, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to describe Jesus' ministry with reference to his dining habits. Jesus did a lot of good eating with a lot of questionable folks. The types of meals, the situations, the company, the locations vary greatly.

Still, in all of Jesus' dining experiences, there is at least one common denominator. Wherever he went, with whomever he shared a meal, Jesus was always dining in the shadow of the cross. Whether it was a feast for the body or a symbolic supper to feed the soul, he always ate under the shadow of his future, defined by the cross.

One of the frequent settings for a shared meal for our Lord was Bethany. These were occasions filled with the presence of good friends and family. They offered him and his disciples a moment of rest and renewal. Here Jesus enjoyed the company of some of his best friends—Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. There were times of relaxation and conversation, where Jesus could hang out and not worry about the treachery faced in Jerusalem.

Still, even those suppers weren't solely about meeting his needs. He also extended himself to help his friends and followers.

These suppers highlight what we might imagine as the horizontal beam of the cross. The crossbar points out sideways in both directions, extending outstretched "arms" across the earth, reaching out to every living thing in the community of creation. Jesus was in the midst of the people, leading, serving, and loving them. The meals were places of joy as well as places of reflection and remembrance.

This is the most obvious feature of such meals. But it is also true that our Lord found them to be places for prayer—affirming what I'd like you to think of as the vertical beam of the cross. The part of the cross that points toward God reminds us of the bridge that Jesus forms between Creator and creation, divine and human.

Another different kind of nourishment was provided to Jesus at suppers like those at Gethsemane. In the garden, Jesus faced his greatest struggle of heart and soul. He left the companionship of the Passover table to finish dining alone. One of his disciples was to betray him; the specter of death on a cross stood before him.

But at that moment of great conflict and torment, the vertical beam of the cross was fully present. His agonizing moved him to raise his hands upward toward the heavenly presence of the Father. In the shadow of the upright portion of the cross, Jesus could pray, "not what I want, but what you want." (Mark 14:36)

Yet, even in the midst of this moment of communion with the Father, the horizontal dimension is also apparent. For it is because of Jesus' sacrificial love, his commitment to be a servant of others, even to giving his life, that Jesus is able to stretch out his arms on the horizontal beam of the cross.

In today's text, James and John aren't concerned about the quality of the suppers they've shared with Jesus. Their focus is neither vertical nor horizontal. It is only inward. They're concerned with their personal status in Jesus' future ministry, and they ask for a promise of position.

Of course, Jesus refuses to make such promises. His disappointment at the request brings an accusation that they are no different from status-seeking, power-hungry Gentiles. Far from offering sanctified seating arrangements, Jesus tells his disciples that they must be slaves, servants, and the last-if they wish to be great. Discipleship, Jesus insists, is not a direct ticket to some eternal easy street; it is a commitment to life as a servant of others. The goal is not some heavenly destination, but a life of humility and service with others.

There's little doubt that James and John felt double-crossed. As disciples of Jesus, they imagined that it went without saying that certain perks, priority, and privilege were part of the deal. Instead, they get this double-cross, discipleship that denies self and defines success as service and humility.

We share their experience. It's probably inevitable. It may come shortly after; it may take a long time. But at some point after one is baptized and comes to know Jesus, there grows a sense of personal privilege that one expects as a part of the faithful followers of Christ. When we experience, as did James and John, the harshness of the call of the cross, we can feel as though we've been double-crossed.

Humanly speaking, being double-crossed is a wholly negative experience. In fact, our culture has tended to reserve a bad connotation for many things bearing the label "double." To work twice as hard is to pull "double duty"; in espionage, a spy who betrays both sides is a "double agent"; a word or phrase that carries innuendo is a "double entendre"; to be tried for the same crime twice is "double jeopardy".

Jesus' "double-cross" discipleship, however, is the call to experience the power of the vertical cross-beam combined with the compassion of the horizontal cross-beam. It was this double cross that informed Jesus' sense of mission and enabled him to carry out his sacrificial gift of love for all. Jesus understood, and experienced in his ultimate sacrifice, that the more powerfully vertical one's relationship with God, the more profound are one's horizontal relationships with others.

It's a simple story, but it illustrates the blend of hurt and care. A room service waiter at a Marriott hotel learned that the sister of a guest had just died. The waiter—Charles—bought a sympathy card, had hotel staff members sign it, and gave it to the distraught guest with a piece of hot apple pie.

"Mr. Marriott," the guest later wrote to the president of Marriott Hotels, "I'll never meet you. And I don't need to meet you. Because I met Charles. I know what you stand for....I want to assure you that as long as I live, I will stay at your hotels." (Dow and Cook, "Turned On," Harper, 1996)

Frederick Niedner, a professor of biblical studies at Valparaiso, was a speaker at Holden Village when I was there a few years ago. I remember that he spoke about our Christian life as a Eucharistic life—a life centered around a meal. This is a meal unlike those of Bethany or Gethsemane. This is a meal that is neither primarily relaxed joy nor painful struggle. The holy supper uniquely blends the horizontal and vertical dimensions. We are strengthened by grace that our faith may become more active in love.

Niedner called our Eucharistic life a "handed over" life. In sharing the hospitality of our Lord, we share his fate and his mission. We too are given over into the hands of sinners. Suffering, death, and betrayal, witnessed in the rite which remembers Jesus life-giving sacrifice, are integral to the Christian life. Communion, life, and joy, witnessed in the community forged through the sacrament, are just as fully our heritage through this meal. Grain is crushed that it might become food for others. Grapes are squeezed and subjected to the forces of decay that they may bring joy to our feasting. We too are offered up for the sake of others, knowing both struggle and victory, power and compassion. We are served, served up, and engaged in service.

All of this in the sharing of a meal. I thank God for the time we take each Sunday to share in the celebration of Holy Communion. Such behavior flies in the face of common practice regarding meals and mealtime. Rather than eating in shifts, as is so common in families these days, we all gather weekly around the same altar at the same time, sharing the elements that witness to our unity of spirit and mission.

Wendell Berry says that "Eating has become a degraded, poor and paltry thing. Our kitchens and other eating places more and more resemble filling stations, as our homes more and more resemble motels. 'Life is not very interesting,' we seem to have decided. 'Let its satisfactions be minimal, perfunctory and fast.' We hurry through our meals to go to work and hurry through our work in order to recreate ourselves in the evenings and on weekends and vacations. And then we hurry, with the greatest possible speed and noise and violence, through our recreation-for what? To eat the billionth hamburger at some fast-food joint hell-bent on increasing the quality of our lives?" ("What Are People For?" North Point Press, 1990, 147)

It is as difficult for us sitting at table with our Lord to perceive both the right questions and the right values as it was for the disciples sitting at the feet of our Lord. Jesus calls us this morning to a quality of living that is not easy to hear. Our lives are, at center, an intersection of grace and service known most fully in the cross of Christ. It may seem like a double cross; but it is a profound truth. Amen.

May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep our hearts and minds through faith in Christ Jesus our Lord unto eternal life. Amen.