I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me” (1 Corinthians 11:23-24).

“I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you,” Paul tells the Corinthians. Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me.” We typically think of remembering as the mental equivalent of looking at an old photograph—the dusting off of facts and experiences from the past, bringing some encapsulated historical bits out of their filing cabinet or museum case, out of the forgotten archives, bubbling up into the top of our brains, into the present for a few brief moments of reflection. But this is not the kind of remembering that Paul is talking about; this is not “biblical” remembering, not “biblical” memory.

You all know that well-worn soap opera plot device that uses amnesia—where someone gets hit on the head and can’t remember who they are? These people suffering from amnesia are not themselves; they are lost, confused, lonely, fearful…Then, when their amnesia is cured, they are once again able to be who they really are—they are themselves again. When Paul says, “Do this in remembrance of me,” the word he uses is anamnesis—literally, “un-amnesia.” What we’re doing when we celebrate the Eucharist, Paul says, is not simply recalling what Jesus happened to say that Maundy Thursday night in the Upper Room—it is a life-changing, identity-restoring action. We are re-membering our selves: all the king’s horses and all the kings men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again—and neither can we ourselves—but Jesus can and Jesus does. Paul says that when we welcome the presence of the living Jesus into our lives, our amnesia is cured; we are no longer lost, confused, lonely, and fearful. We can remember and be who we truly are: the redeemed, the beloved, the children of God.

This is the power and the mystery of Jesus gift of new life to us—the power and the mystery of forgiveness, and welcome, and wholeness, and love. Tonight we join the disciples at Jesus’ banquet table, not really yet understanding the depth—even death—he will go to free us from our captivity to selfish amnesia and open the way for our rebirth. Tomorrow we will join the disciples in witnessing the horrors our amnesia and sin can inflict. And at Easter, we will join the disciples in beginning to truly understand the power of God’s love.

One of my favorite poems, by English priest George Herbert, who died in 1633, is a sort of crystalline summary of this whole redemption story, and it’s especially beautiful and poignant on this night of Maundy Thursday.  There are copies at the back of the church if you’d like to take one home as you leave tonight in silence. My prayer is that its words may help you remember who you truly are.

Love (III) – George Herbert

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.

“A guest,” I answered, “worthy to be here:”
Love said, “You shall be he.”

“I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee.”

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
“Who made the eyes but I?”

“Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.”

“And know you not,” says Love, “who bore the blame?”
“My dear, then I will serve.”

“You must sit down,” says Love, “and taste my meat:”
So I did sit and eat.