I Corinthians 11:18-21

In the first place, I hear that when you come together as a church, there are divisions among you, and to some extent I believe it. ¹⁹ No doubt there have to be differences among you to show which of you have God’s approval. ²⁰ So then, when you come together, it is not the Lord’s Supper you eat, ²¹ for when you are eating, some of you go ahead with your own private suppers. As a result, one person remains hungry and another gets drunk.

I have only been to one bad potluck my entire life. I have been to potlucks in at least nine states in over 50 years, and I have never been to one that ran out of food or had terrible choices. It can be a little challenging for vegetarians, but it is hard to mess up a potluck. Potlucks are based on faith and trust. The word was first used in the 16^th century for a common meal for guests consisting of whatever people had to throw in the pot. I'm sure there were some interesting soups. It might be chives and possums or roadkill chili, but no one went away hungry. The idea of potlucks became popular in churches during the Great Depression. It was an affordable way to unite people and offer a little extra to struggling folks. 

So, about that one lousy potluck. I joined Clearwater, an environmental group that worked on cleaning the Hudson River. As a member, I could sail on their sloop once a year and go to their monthly potluck. So, I brought a beautiful cherry pie and came hoping to meet some new friends and hear a lecturer about the dangers of the local nuclear power plant. Pete Seegar welcomed me at the door and marveled at my cherry pie. Great start! The food looked good, with a big pot of Jambalaya and interesting salads. People were talking around the table, and I noticed they didn't move. They ate from their plates standing around the table, so I had to keep excusing myself to try different dishes. Everyone stayed in the cliches and blocked access to the best dishes. One guy even dipped his used spoon into another dish to try it. You would think an environmentalist would know better. Clean the Hudson equals using a clean spoon!

But the greatest assault on the potluck code was what happened to my cherry pie. Pie comes in slices. If you have a round pie pan, you cut a line through the center and make six to eight slices. You cut one in half if you don't want an entire slice. Someone had taken a big serving spoon and dipped a scoop from the center of the pie, thus ruining all the slices. That is the definition of barbaric. It is not a cherry crisp or custard; it is a pie. It was already sliced. Have you no decency, sir!

The problem with this potluck run amuck was not with the food; it was a lack of hospitality. The vibe of this meal was that it was for true believers only. These were Pete Seegar's people, and they were protecting their exclusive access and insider status. You can't just walk in with your bourgeois pie slices and button-down collar blue oxford shirt. We wear Birkenstocks here. Even though their movement inspired me, the message was that I was not welcome. They were the elite and doing just fine without me, so I never returned.

The Apostle Paul presents a similar challenge in his first letter to the Corinthians. Their communion remembrance of Christ had become a potluck run amuck, which was the symptom of a larger problem in the church. It sounds like Corinthian communion was different than ours where we each get the same amount of bread and the exact size cup. Paul criticizes some church members for having their own private suppers, with finer and more plentiful food than others. Their communion may have mirrored Roman feasts, with a hierarchy of who got the best seats. It wasn't a potluck where everyone shared, but more like each bringing their own picnic, and some had a charcuterie board and meat carving station, while others could only afford mac and cheese. Imagine the following Deacons meeting if we held communion like that.

On the one hand, I like the idea of communion being a full meal. It makes sense since the Last Supper was on Passover, and Jesus added this ritual to the Jewish feast, remembering the liberation of slavery from Egypt. Eating together builds unity and close ties among people. Jesus told his disciples, "Take this bread. Drink this cup. Do this in remembrance of me as often as you do it." The purpose is to align us with one another in the ways of the Kingdom of God, the Beloved Community. 

If someone comes to communion wishing for a better wine list and prefers a Shiraz over a cabernet, they are missing the point. Or if they are showing off their wealth while someone else barely makes it, Paul says it is not honoring Christ. The apostle goes further, noting that this style of communion mirrors their broader problems of factions and theological arguments and divisions. He even suggests that if they are going to be a conflicted church and mirror the divisions of society, they might be better off not going to communion. Why have a ceremonial meal remembering Jesus if they don't follow him in the Great Commandment to love their neighbor as themselves? 

Let me contrast this with another potluck. I was invited to be an honorary member of the African American Clergy Association in Poughkeepsie, New York. My congregation had many East African immigrants, and the black clergy invited me to their monthly breakfast. I felt much more self-conscious and anxious about belonging to this group than at the Clearwater. The food was much more fat and high carb than I could eat, especially with Crohn's Disease. Everyone's piling on the sausage, and I'm sitting there with toast. During the devotional, people would punctuate everything the speaker said with "Amens" and "Hallelujahs." The speaker broke into song, and everyone clapped along. 

It was clear that I could not sing or keep rhythm like everyone else in the room. Much of their theology was more conservative than mine, and honestly, I was a little intimidated by the joyful exuberance of faith these pastors had. But this group made sure I felt welcomed. "Pastor Weir, it is so good of you to join us. Will you offer the blessing this morning?" After a hymn, one pastor told me, "Listen, Rev., you want to hang with us, you have to shout and clap. Don't worry about the rhythm or the sound; just praise the Lord." It wasn't a criticism but more like, "I see you are uncomfortable; here is what you do to fit in." 

It took some getting used to the culture, but I muddled through and eventually made friends. This meal brought great fruit. The friendships we made eating together led us to work on an affordable housing project in the community. My congregation started having several joint services with an AME Zion black congregation, including pulpit exchange. But before that could have happened, we had to break bread together. 

What this experience taught me is that feeling welcomed isn't conditioned on how big the cultural divide is. The cultural divides of race, economics, gender roles, and cultural norms were much larger between me and the African American clergy than the Clearwater crowd. However, welcome and inclusion are about the size of the host's heart. Does the host want to include the new outsider or protect the status of the insiders? Are you greeted positively or ignored? Are you a potential ally or a threat? Do you belong at this table? If the answer is "yes," the host will do their best to welcome everyone, especially the newcomer.

Early Christianity was remarkably diverse as it spread to many cultures in Europe, the Middle East, and Northern Africa. Paul's letters reflect that it was often challenging to create a community of equals across the cultural divides of the first century. The practice of gathering around the table as friends of Christ was a powerful unifying force. Things happen when we eat together. When Jesus called us to remember him, he did not tell us to go off in the wilderness alone and fast but to break bread together. Eating together was Jesus' great plan to create a beloved community as a sign of God's Kingdom.

A great meal is made or broken by the host. Welcoming people to the table is our most powerful asset. At a Passover feast, where Jesus instituted communion, the tradition was to save one seat for the prophet Elijah, with a cup of wine poured and ready for him. This empty chair signified the coming of the messiah to make all things new and good. The empty chair symbolizes hope. When Jesus said “Do this and remember me,” I wonder if he was filling Elijah’s chair. At every communion we not only welcome Christ to sit in the empty chair, but we welcome the stranger to Elijah’s chair as a way of following Jesus.

Today, our churches have many empty chairs and empty pews. Imagine a ritual where we take a moment to honor an empty chair every time we meet. At every worship service, book group, Bible Study, or social event, what if we took a moment to say, who needs this chair? How will we invite them, how will we welcome them? In a world so filled with division and strife, our empty chair is a hope of creating a community where all are fed all are welcomed.