The words, “Remember Me” are very dramatic and they strike me in a
very deep way. To ask of someone to remember you is a powerful
request. Tonight, Jesus asks that of us. He asks us to remember him.
Tomorrow, when he is on the cross, the repentant thief will make a
similar request of him, “Jesus, remember me.” And Jesus will promise
that he will indeed remember him. And, in that moment, he sends the
same promise to all of us, that if we have faith and we believe, we
will be remembered. But Jesus is calling us to a very specific type
of remembering. It’s not like, “Honey, remember the milk.” It’s not
the type of remembering where you try to keep information in your
brain or memorize things so you can take a test or give a
presentation. It’s a very, very specific kind of remembering.

My mother remembered her father in the way that I think Jesus is
asking us to remember him. My mom loved her dad SO much. I think she
felt supported by him in a way that she didn’t by anybody else. She
just felt so much love from him. She loved him so much that when he
was dying and my grandmother and aunt and uncle, it was too much for
them. He had a really painful death, and they couldn’t watch it. My
mom stepped in and she walked him through every step for over a year.
After he passed away, my mom kept him alive by telling stories about
him, passing on advice to me and my brother. The way she talked about
him made me and my brother love our grandfather. Even over a decade
after his death, when she’d talk about how much he meant to her, her
eyes would well up with tears. That was the type of remembering that
Jesus wants us to do for him. My grandfather was a salesman and he
was an antiques dealer, in Boston for awhile. My mom very much took
on his love of antiquing, much to my and my brother’s dismay. He also
was someone who loved to set a nice, proper table and have a meal,
the kind of table that has so many plates and utensils and cups on it
that you can’t even see the table. He even had these tiny little
plates for the pat of butter. The butter had its own plate.

Now, my mom loved to tell the story about the first time she brought
my dad home to meet her parents. My dad was from this big Irish
Catholic family. They barely had plates enough for everybody, let
alone all the utensils. And they were early-to-bed, early-to-rise
type of people, so they had eaten dinner at around 5:30 every night.
Well, at my mom’s house, cocktail hour started at 5:30. They didn’t
eat dinner ‘til eight or nine. So, this first time my mom brings him
home, by the time they sit down at the table, my dad is so starving
and he is looking at all these plates and all these forks and all
these knives. He has no idea what to do with them all. So, he is kind
of watching people. Finally he just gives up. He dumps everything
onto one plate, takes the biggest fork on the table and just scarfs
down the food. My mother said she would never forget the look of
horror on her father’s face when this heathen she had brought home
dumped his spoon on the plate and chowed it down. She was so
embarrassed but she loved to tell that story! And when she told that
story, I could picture it perfectly! I could feel the tension in the
room. I could see my grandfather’s face. That’s the kind of
remembering we are talking about. You know, when my mom really wanted
to remember her dad, she would set the table again. For Easter and on
special occasions, she would bring out his china and set the table.
And it wasn’t that we were just setting the table and looking at it,
“Oh, isn’t that nice?!” But she taught me and my brother what to use
and she served the meal on it, all that good stuff! And, when she did
that, when she set the table, that was her way to remember her dad.
Jesus never wanted us to go to Mass and drone out empty prayers about
a man we did not know. He didn’t want us to be somewhere, thinking of
someone we didn’t know or care about. When we do something like we
just did, wash each other’s hands and feet, we’re not faking it. My
mom wasn’t pretending to put a meal on the table. We love so much
what Jesus did. We love that he washed the feet of the disciples and
we remember it by doing it for each other. We’re not just mimicking
it. Don’t you feel, when that person washed your hands and dried your
hands, that they were honoring you? That’s the kind of memory that
Jesus is calling us to. “Remember me.”

It brings up an important question, though. What is on Jesus’ table?
You know, it’s not china. What is it he’s asking us to remember? I
remember when my dad found out he was dying and he only had a couple
of years left to live. He thought about going to the Grand Canyon and
going to Ireland and seeing all the places he hadn’t seen. In the
end, he decided not to do that. He decided he wanted to stay and be
close to the people who he loved and the places that he loved and
spend as much time with those people as possible. And some of my best
memories of my dad are from those last two years. Likewise, Jesus
does the same thing. He knows his time is up. He knows his days are
numbered. And what does he do? Does he run around the city, “Oh, I
never got to that neighborhood! ... OH, wait. That person didn’t
really get it! ..... I’m going to sit down. I’m going to write
everything I did and said and I am going to make it perfect because I
need them to know exactly how I wanted it.!” .... No, he doesn’t. He
called us to the table. He invites his closest friends, even the one
he knew would betray him, to have a meal with him, to spend precious
quality with them. And this memory he leaves them with, in the
washing of the feet, is so beautiful and so powerful, how could they
forget? How could they forget? They’re such with him. He trusted
them to remember him. He trusted them to keep his word alive.

So, how do we remember? How do we do that? We too have people who we
feel betrayed by, people who didn’t live up to our expectations,
people that betrayed our trust. And so, we can remember that Jesus
even invited Judas to dinner. And we too have people that we love so
much, we feel they are the only people who understand us. And we love
them so much. And we can too remember to invite them to dinner, to
spend quality, precious time with them. It’s so important. In Jesus’
last moment, that’s what he did. And we, too get caught up in
control. That last lesson, what was it about? Relinquishing power.
But what do we do? “Who’s in charge? Who’s the boss? Who’s has the
best clothes? Who went to the best school? Who’s the smartest? Who’s
the prettiest?” Jesus can help us remember that, when we start
feeling like that, but it’s not about control, that the Creator is
in charge and we can trust her. Jesus does that.

Now, the more we try to control our own hearts, the more we try to
control our environment, control the things we do, control each
other, the further away from that memory we get. Speaking of control,
speaking of power, I love the Catholic Church so much. I have so much
respect for it as an institution. But if I had to name one problem
that I thought we had as a Church today, the problem would boil down
to power. On so many levels, it comes to control and it comes to
power. And in some ways, in some small ways, that has corrupted its
integrity, the integrity of this institution. And I don’t think it’s
a coincidence. I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all, that in
Jesus’ last moments, he reminds us of something. He warned us about
that. Don’t let it be about power! Don’t let it be about control!

The other day, we were at lunch in the parish house and there are a
bunch of women and Father Aidan sitting around a table. Now, I am
going to give a disclaimer. I know he didn’t mean this. He was just
trying to get a rise out of us women at the table in our discussion,
but he said, “ Women in the Church! What’s the big deal? .... What’s
the big deal?” And, I bring it up today because I couldn’t, as a
young woman in the Church, talk about power and control, without
saying, “I think it is a big deal. I think it is a big
deal.” (Laughter here... and then some applause...)

I want to leave you with a story. A few weeks ago, when I was in
L.A., I saw a feminist theologian, Edwina Gately, speak. And she told
this story, and I admit, in part, the fact that it was about a woman,
by a woman, that I chose this story. But, that’s just my opinion.
That’s just one level. Take it or leave it.... On a deeper level,
this story is about exactly what I am talking about. It’s about
Edwina going to a Mass with someone who is going for the first time.
And it’s about her seeing that person’s perspective, and it reminding
her about why she is there. And I think we can all relate to this
story, on that level. I think many times we all feel like outsiders.
I think there are times when we forget why we are here, where it
becomes a habit or we feel distant. I think it happens to all of us.
And that’s why I chose this story, because when Edwina told it a few
weeks ago, it literally brought tears to my eyes, not of happiness or
sadness, but of truth. It just seemed so true to me, what she was
saying. So I wanted to share it with you and... All right, I won’t
give any more disclaimers... This is how she told it. It’s not how
I’m telling it. It’s how I heard it, so I don’t take any credit for
this story. And, if you’ve heard her preach before, and I mess up
some of the details, I apologize.

She works in Chicago, in a home for recovering prostitutes. And, this
is a story about a woman who showed up at her doorstep one December.
This woman had been abused by her stepfather, and when her mother
found out about it, she left her. And so, at twelve or fourteen years
old, this girl found herself alone on the streets, living in
warehouses, trying to survive, and, twenty or so years later, she
ended up on Edwina’s doorstep. I don’t even want to imagine the in-
between. I don’t even want to imagine what she experienced. The first
thing she die when she got to Edwina’s house, in December, was said,
“Are you going to have a Christmas tree?” ...Yeah, we’ll have a
Christmas tree. “Are we going to decorate it? We’re going to decorate
a Christmas tree!” ... Yes, we’ll decorate a Christmas tree. She
had never had a Christmas tree before. She had never decorated a
Christmas tree. And then she said, “What about presents? Are we going
to get presents?” ....Yeah, you’ll all get a couple of presents.
“Like wrapped presents?” .... Uh-huh. She had never received a
wrapped present in her entire life. And Christmas Eve came and Edwina
said to the house, “I’m going to Midnight Mass and anyone who wants
to go is welcome.” And so, she got some takers. So, they get to Mass.
They walk into Midnight, Christmas Eve Mass, Edwina, the theologian,
a trans-sexual and three prostitutes. It sounds like a bad joke,
doesn’t it? And they walk into Mass and she is thinking, “All right,
let’s just get a seat near the back.... I don’t want anyone to really
notice... We’re just going to sit over here....” But this woman, the
one I was just telling you about, well, it was her first Mass and she
wanted to sit in the front row, and she insisted on it. She dragged
them all up to the very front row, and Edwina is thinking, “Oh, my
God.... OK. This is not good.” And they get to the front row and the
singing starts. And you know us. You know, “da, da” (quiet little
voice.) Well, this woman is singing out like she had never sung
before, as loud as she can, and Edwina is thinking, “Oh, my God! They
are going to think she is drunk. The ushers are going to come and
help her out... She’s never going to want to come back to Mass... I
need to quiet her down.” So, she is nudging the people next to her,
“Get her to take it down a notch. Take it down a notch.” But this
woman is so into this, like she is praising the Lord. She doesn’t
know what’s going on over there. She doesn’t care. Now, this woman
starts realizing that we all respond to prayers, so she picks up a
Missal and she starts responding too. But she doesn’t just say the
responses. She very loudly also reads the priest’s part. And, Edwina
is whispering, trying to get her attention.... and then they get to
the part of the Mass that we are remembering tonight. And an amazing
thing happens. The voice of the priest and the voice of the
prostitute rise up together in the Church, “This is my body, given up
for you.” (Edwina) “Oh, my God! She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t
know. She doesn’t understand..... or does she?” The Mass continues
and she gets to the part of peace, and we all do our Catholic thing,
you know. Very polite, right? Very subdued. Well, she doesn’t know.
She’s bear-hugging people. She’s walking up and down the aisles,
“This is my first time!! Oh, Merry Christmas! Oh, this is my first
Mass!! Merry Christmas!!” And Edwina is thinking, “OK. This is it.
This is it. I have to stop her....” She gets up and she starts
pushing her way through, “Excuse me. I’m sorry. I’m just gonna...”
And she is about to get her and she reaches out, and she is about to
get her... and all of a sudden, she has a vision and it is a small
room and there are a bunch of people speaking in tongues, and there
is this group in this corner. They’re drunk. They’re crazy. They
don’t know. And she realizes, “This is my problem. This isn’t about
her. This is about fear. This is about control. This is about power.”
And she lets her go. And this woman, this prostitute, at her very
first Mass, is remembering Jesus in a powerful and beautiful way. And
so, my prayer tonight, and every day, is that I will remember Jesus
like it’s the very first time. Amen.