Remembrance, Communion, and Hope

Rediscovering the Gospel at the Lord's Table

J. Todd Billings

• Publisher: Eerdmans
• Year: 2018
• ISBN:
  9781467449403
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Christian Ministry

"Celebrating the Lord's Supper, " says award-winning author and theologian J. Todd Billings, "can change lives."

In this book Billings shows how a renewed theology and practice of the Lord's Supper can lead Christians to rediscover the full richness and depth of the gospel. With an eye for helping congregations move beyond common reductions of the gospel, he develops a vibrant, biblical, and distinctly Reformed sacramental theol­ogy and explores how it might apply within a variety of church contexts, from Baptist to Presbyterian, nondenominational to Anglican.

At once strikingly new and deeply traditional, Remembrance, Communion, and Hope will surprise and challenge readers, inspiring them to a new understanding of—and appreciation for—the embodied, Christ-disclosing drama of the Lord's Supper.

PART 1

Functional Theologies and Desiring the Word

The wager presented in the introduction makes an assumption that can be contested: that a renewed theology and practice of the Supper would actually make a difference in the individual and corporate life of the worshiping congregation. Does this suggest that we simply need to adopt the right theological ideas and then put them into practice? In light of this wager, some readers might expect me to begin with doctrinal topics such as how Christ is present at the Supper, and the character of eucharistic fellowship.¹ Once a right understanding of these issues is in place, congregations can “implement” them, putting right theology into practice, and thus seeing transformation in their life together and witness to the world.

We will come to these traditional doctrinal topics in due time. But first, we need to examine the functional theologies of the communities that gather in worship. If we do not, then I fear we are likely to embrace idolatries that resist the radical work that the Spirit does through Word and sacrament. If we give our lives over to cultural practices that serve gods other than King Jesus, then we refuse to till the soil for the gospel Word to bear fruit. In the two chapters of part 1, I unpack the significance of functional theologies for congregational ministry in the late modern West. Then I present a constructive theological vision for how humans as affective creatures are drawn into a Trinitarian drama, finding delight in Christ and their embodied, communal identity in him. This vision underlies the theological and pastoral vision in the rest of the book.

1. This book will refer to the celebration of the Lord’s Supper with various terms. My preferred term is the biblical phrase the “Lord’s Supper” (1 Cor. 11:20), because of the way it prioritizes the sovereign presence and gift of the Lord at the Supper. The terms “Eucharist” and “eucharistic” can be valuable as well, highlighting the significance of “thanksgiving” at the Supper. As Brian Gerrish points out in describing Calvin’s view, “the meal is a gift from God, but—like every gift—it is also an invitation to give thanks” (B. A. Gerrish, Grace and Gratitude: The Eucharistic Theology of John Calvin [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993], 19). Other valuable terms include “the Lord’s table” (1 Cor. 10:21); and “Holy Communion,” or just “communion,” referring to the fellowship with Christ and one another at the meal (1 Cor. 10:16–17).

CHAPTER 1

Salvation, the Supper, and the Drama of the Triune God

Celebrating the Lord’s Supper can change our lives. As a site for the triune God’s action, it affects not only our stated theologies but also the whole life of Christians and Christian communities. This chapter begins by unpacking the notion of “functional theologies” that guide—often in a hidden way—the theologies expressed by our lives, even when they contrast with our “stated theologies.” We will see how this is particularly true for the relation of the gospel to the Supper. Then we will move to a brief biblical-theological exposition that is foundational for the rest of this book: the way in which humans were created to long for and delight in God’s Word in Christ, mediated by the Spirit, as adopted children of the Father.

Functional Theologies and Symbolic Worlds

What is your theology of “salvation”? The question is subtler than it may seem. If we are speaking in terms of functional theologies, the answer is not necessarily the same as what one would mark on a multiple-choice quiz in a Sunday school class. If we are going to be honest about where we are on the path of discipleship and where we need to go, we need to approach this question in a broader way.

Yet, as I am speaking of it here, “salvation” is not a specifically Christian—or even religious—concept. Functionally speaking, agnostics and atheists have just as much of a theology of salvation as Christians or Buddhists. How does a person or a culture define “healing” as opposed to “sickness”? What is happiness? What is success? Why is one way of speaking, acting, and living “good” while another is “bad”? While most of this book will speak of the gospel, the good news of Jesus Christ received in the Word of God, our initial inquiry needs to examine the concrete, lived side of the equation: the patterns of a person’s action display their functional theology of salvation.

Thus, questions about salvation are not abstract, theoretical questions for debate among academics. They are concrete, existential questions that are answered by one’s life. In response to questions such as these about salvation, many in today’s Western culture will quickly take refuge in subjectivist responses to these questions: “No one knows,” “It depends upon the person’s circumstances,” and so on. But these are not truly responses. Anyone who acts in the world has a functional conception of what the “good” is, what the purpose of life is, and what constitutes healing as opposed to sickness. Action in the world is unavoidable, as even passivity is a form of action. So also, action always has implications for one’s sense of how the world is and how it should be. Everyone has a functional theology of salvation.

Even atheist philosophers like Friedrich Nietzsche have a theology of salvation. In several books, preeminently Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche analyzes acts of pity: coming close to those who suffer, to empathize with them or comfort them, or ameliorate their suffering in some way. What do these actions of pity say about the way the world is and how it should be? According to Zarathustra—a figure who would not accept the categories of “good” and “evil” in any remotely Christian sense—there is such a thing as a sin. Acts of pity are a sin. Why? Because “pity is obtrusive” to sufferers. “Whether it be a god’s pity or man’s—pity offends the sense of shame. And to be unwilling to help can be nobler than that virtue which jumps to help.”¹ Ultimately, acts of pity are a “sin” for Zarathustra because the very acts of compassion for the sufferer imply that the present suffering should not exist. But if we do not accept a primal world of peace (Eden) or a final redemption free of suffering (the new Jerusalem), then our action should not indicate that suffering “should not exist.” Suffering always was, is, and will be for Zarathustra. Rather than act in pity toward those who suffer, we should “pass by” the suffering, thus not exposing sufferers to pity.² To pity is to protest against the present state of the world. But if “salvation” is to affirm the state of the world as it is (with all its suffering), as Nietzsche thinks, then “passing by” the sufferer is an action that enacts that theology of salvation.

Yet, to discern theologies of salvation one must analyze much more than the actions of individuals or even groups. We need to take stock of the cultural rituals, symbols, and signs that shape who we are as people. It is often noted that Westerners live in an individualistic, consumerist culture. While true to a degree, that observation should not lead us to conclude that we actually wield great, conscious power in defining our “identity,” sense of “good,” and view of the world. We live in a society that gives us the illusion of the consumer’s choices being central. In fact, our lives are being shaped in many ways by the world of symbols, rituals, and signs that hover around and within us.³

Think for a moment about the red and white insignia for Coca-Cola. In terms of trade and consumption, Coca-Cola is not even ranked among the top twenty-five transnational companies, and yet that insignia is one of the most widely recognized symbols on planet earth.⁴ Coca-Cola is not just one of many cheaply produced sugary drinks. Through advertising, Coca-Cola connects its product to rituals of American life. When successful athletes promote Coca-Cola after a hard workout, the product is associated with strength, strategy, and the ritual of having a refreshing drink after an athletic event. When an advertisement shows Coca-Cola at a holiday celebration, the drink is associated with the beauty of the partakers, the joy of conviviality, and the ritual of providing Coca-Cola at parties and other celebrations. If you drink Coke, you are entering into the story and drama of celebrations like this one. The symbol and ritual are powerful, and they reinforce one another, creating a symbolic world that we inhabit, existentially confirmed and reinforced by ritual.

Indeed, the symbol of Coke can lead us to participate in a narrative, a story, even if we are not consciously thinking about the red and white insignia. For many, the automatic response to the question of what beverage to drink at a restaurant or a friend’s house is “a Coke.” Coke becomes nearly synonymous with “a drink,” “a beverage.” To ask for water might be a slight or an insult to the host or the restaurant server—it says this occasion is not worth the energy or expense of “a Coke.” Coke is not just a symbol. It generates a ritual, a “cultural liturgy” that shapes the habits (and the bodies) of those who participate in this symbolic world.⁵

But what if one resists inhabiting this symbolic world? This task is much more difficult than it may at first seem. If one resists drinking Coca-Cola or eating at McDonald’s or other chains, one is entering into another ritual—that of avoidance because of the red and white symbol of Coke or the McDonald’s golden arches. Ironically, this can reinforce the power of these symbols: an “anticonsumerist” advocacy group risks being defined by its enemy, by its fixation upon the corporate forces it seeks to resist. The person who is constantly retweeting negative articles about his or her least favorite multinational corporation is preoccupied with that multinational corporation. The power of corporate symbolism lies not in forcing persons to act in a single way, but in creating a symbolic world that makes one see Coke as something other than a cheaply produced soft drink and McDonald’s as something other than a place for burgers. The corporate symbols are bigger, more powerful than that. They generate cultural rituals and liturgies that form our desires and our habits.⁶ Even the ritual of resistance does not call into question the power of these symbols. Rather, it recognizes their power in a different way than drinking a Coke or eating a Big Mac would recognize it.

Symbolic worlds and their ritual counterparts are ubiquitous, and globalization extends the reach of a Western, consumerist version of this around the earth. For Christians and non-Christians alike, these symbols and rituals help to shape our sense of “salvation”: where the “good” and “beautiful” are found, what it means to be “healed” from sickness, “free” from restriction, etc. It happens through advertising where redemption is frequently associated with wealth, beauty, sexual satisfaction, and so on. But symbols and rituals have a much wider power than that.

The power of symbol and ritual extends to the gathering of the church as well. Unintentional symbols and rituals are just as powerful as intentional ones. If you are handing a gospel tract to someone, what symbolic value does that tract have? What does it say about salvation, about what Christianity itself is? What does that altar call at the end of every service of Sunday worship symbolize? It does not matter that the Christians giving tracts and issuing altar calls might be allergic to the language of symbol and ritual. Both actions involve symbols and rituals with unmistakable power—that is, after all, why they are used. Each act has an implicit theology and functional theology of salvation. Presumably, both acts say that God is very concerned that individuals (of reasoning age and capacity) make a decision for God—whether for salvation, or recommitment to God. They communicate that the rational human will is at the center of God’s concern. There is much that these approaches do not bring into focus as well (God’s initiative in salvation, a biblical salvation-history, whether God has a purpose for infants and the mentally impaired, etc.). What is obscured from focus is just as important as what is brought to center stage by these symbols and actions.

In a similar way, imagine a congregation that has a rich symbolic action—such as a weekly celebration of the Lord’s Supper—but is uncomfortable with the notion of Jesus as Savior. Jesus is named in services, but members get very nervous talking about him outside of the service, for fear that non-Christians might find the mention of Jesus offensive. In this case, what is the broader significance of their worship service? It cannot be limited to a reflection upon the signs and actions of the Supper. A broader web of cultural symbols and rituals is in play. Their functional theology is decisively formed by a broader cultural liturgy of what Mark Searle calls “religious privatism”: that “My religious beliefs are my own business and no one else’s.”⁷ Rather than the person of Jesus having cosmic significance, he is reduced to a character in “my religious beliefs,” which do not have implications for anyone else. This cultural strategy for coping with “religious pluralism” has a profound impact upon the character and significance of the worship itself.⁸

At this point, one may wonder: Is there no escape? If cultural forces show such power over our functional theologies, is it futile to resist them? And if symbol and rituals are truly inescapable, what are we to do? On one level, it is important to ...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Foreword, by Gerald L. Sittser
• Acknowledgments
• Abbreviations
• Introduction: A Wager
• Part 1: Functional Theologies and Desiring the Word
• Part 2: A Catholic and Reformed Theology of the Supper
• Part 3: The Supper and the Gospel in Remembrance, Communion, and Hope
• Conclusion
• Bibliography
• Index of Names
• Index of Subjects