Ashtrays and the Lord's Supper

My wife commented on the staggering number of ashtrays in my mom's small apartment. There are at least seven the living room alone. No, my mom doesn't smoke. (Actually, she used to. When I was born her doctor "prescribed" a cigarette each morning with her coffee. She faithfully smoked one cigarette a day until I was 18, then she stopped - cold turkey!)

So why all the ashtrays? Maybe - like the fake marble one that adorns the top of a wrought-iron magazine rack - it's because they've always been part of her home decor. Maybe it's because my dad smoked constantly for 65 years. (He, too, quit cold-turkey - just before his 80th birthday. He died 3 months later. Too little, too late.) Dad never used any of these ashtrays, though. He prefered a metal ashtray that was sewn into a corduroy beanbag (literally - it was filled with soybeans). It would sit comfortably on his chest as he reclined on the couch reading Prairie Farmer and watching Wheel of Fortune. That ashtray - if she still has it - isn't on display.

No - I think it's because of memories: The glazed terra cotta one from our trip to Arizona when I was 4; the white one that was part of Grandma's hobnail collection; the big maple leaf that Uncle Russ brought back from Vermont; the one with the decoupage horse that Aunt Wanda made in ceramics class. To discard any of these would be tantamount to erasing a memory.

Most of us keep some sort of tangible means of reminiscence. Maybe it's something as obvious as a photograph. Perhaps it's more subtle - like the grey t-shirt that's still got a stain from where my newborn daughter's "baby ook" marred it perfectly.

Our church building is filled with them. There's an inscription in the front of nearly every hymnal and pew Bible. The organ has a huge plaque. The new tables in the fellowship hall each have a small gold plaque. The painting above the sink in our breakroom was given "in loving memory" 35 years ago.

Practically speaking, this is often a hindrance. When a pulpit or a table or a musical instrument has outlived its utility, it's difficult to discard it - tantamount to erasing the memory of a mother, a grandfather, a favorite Sunday School teacher, etc.

But, still practically speaking, Jesus left us with a tangible means of remembrance. One that - after 2000 years - is inadvisable to discard. When he celebrated his last Passover with his closest friends, he admonished them to "do this in remembrance of me." One of the things that the early Christians were "continually devoting themselves to" was the "breaking of bread." I hope this hasn't become an empty ritual for us - just part of our church "decor."

I hope we remember who he was: the Word of God - present at the creation of the world - clothed in human flesh; the Son of God, who humbled himself and died on a Roman cross; the Son of Man, who was raised from the dead to become the Firstborn of many brothers and sisters.

Through a miraculous mystery, "God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God" (1 Cor. 5:21 NIV). This righteousness (diakosune in Greek) is a virtue that sums up all the other virtues; a synonym of perfection; justice. It is the way in which God justifies persons so that they move toward living only for him. This righteousness is not only imparted to those who follow Jesus, it is manifested in their lives.

As we remember, may we understand. As we understand, may we worship him. As we worship him, may we be transformed into his righteousness.