Anamnesis: “Make Present,” or just “Remember”?

There are basically two ways of translating “anamnesis,” which is the word Christ uses in the institution of the Lord’s Supper when he says “do this in remembrance of me,” or “do this as my memorial.”

They mean basically the same thing, but the emphasis is different.  In any case, tied to the word anamnesis is the issue of remembering.  In a Eucharistic or Old Testament sacrificial context, it is the remembering of what God has done for his people and offering of oneself to him in return.  It is thanksgiving.

But what does it mean to remember?  Is remembrance a mere cognitive exercise, or is there something more to it?  Of course today, when we use the word, we generally mean simply to bring a past event to mind.  But is this a Biblical view of remembrance?

In his milestone work, The Shape of the Liturgy, Dom Gregory Dix modified the Roman Catholic suggestion of re-sacrifice¹ in the Eucharist to something a little less offensive to the Biblical mind.  Or much less so.  He defines remembrance as the act of making present.²

According to Dix, when the church remembers the sacrifice of Christ in the Eucharist, they are recalling it not only to mind, but also to present effect.  Remembrance brings the effects of a past event to bear on the present.  It identifies one directly with those people for whom that past event was a present reality.

Of course, since the popularization of this view, Roman Catholics have been using it to stump their Protestant friends who accuse them of viewing the Eucharist as a re-sacrifice.  “Why, no we don’t!  We believe it is simply a making present of the past sacrifice.”

Well, yeah, that’s true as far as it goes, but that’s only because they changed their tune.  Of course, they still believe it means to make physically present . . . though not locally, and that is where we go down the rabbit trail of medieval categories.

But aside from the dissonance, what about the basic melody of this new tune?  Is it any more pleasant than the last?  Let’s take a look.

First there is the language of how God himself remembers.

Genesis 9:15
I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh. And the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh.

Exodus 2:24
And God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob.

There are many other similar examples.  And there is one interesting example that seems to have a very strong relation to God’s presence.

Numbers 10:9
And when you go to war in your land against the adversary who oppresses you, then you shall sound an alarm with the trumpets, that you may be remembered before the LORD your God, and you shall be saved from your enemies.

We should realize by now that Biblically speaking, remembrance is more than a cognitive recollection.  God certainly does not need to be cognitively reminded of his people or covenants.  He knows all, and he does not forget.  We should also note that when God remembers, it is always a catalyst to action.  The remembrance and the resulting action are so inseparable as to be one and the same.

So what about human remembrance?  How does God command us to remember?

Deuteronomy 15:15
You shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the LORD your God redeemed you; therefore I command you this today.

Was this command for that generation of the Exodus only?  This is after the forty years wandering in the wilderness.  An entire generation perished because of unbelief.  Most of those to whom Deuteronomy was given never saw slavery in Egypt.  How can they then rightly remember that God delivered them?  This is a question made all the more stark when we consider that the memorial sacrifices and feasts were to be observed by Israel continually.  Was the celebration of Passover by succeeding generations a mere cognitive exercise or was it an act of identification with God’s deliverance?

I read this passage a couple weeks ago, and found it quite interesting.  Pay attention especially to the pronouns.

Deuteronomy 26:3-10
“And you shall go to the priest who is in office at that time and say to him, ‘I declare today to the LORD your God that I have come into the land that the LORD swore to our fathers to give us.’ Then the priest shall take the basket from your hand and set it down before the altar of the LORD your God.

“And you shall make response before the LORD your God, ‘a wandering Aramean was my father. And he went down into Egypt and sojourned there, few in number, and there he became a nation, great, mighty, and populous. And the Egyptians treated us harshly and humiliated us and laid on us hard labor. Then we cried to the LORD, the God of our fathers, and the LORD heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. And the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with great deeds of terror, with signs and wonders. And he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. And behold, now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground, which you, O LORD, have given me.’

Notice how the perspective shifts in the act of remembrance.  The one offering thanksgiving here moves from a sort of separation between himself and his fathers to the point where speaks of himself and his fathers as one identity.  “A wandering Aramean was my father . . . he went down into Egypt” becomes “the Egyptians treated us harshly . . . the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand . . . and gave us this land.”

See how the identity of Israel as a people converge into one identity.  What God did for the fathers he did for the one who offers thanksgiving.  The suffering of the fathers is to be remembered as the suffering of the one who makes sacrifice, so that the deliverance of God might be known for all generations.

How does this apply to us?  Well, if Abraham is our father, we must do the same.  The deliverance of Israel we must recognize as our own.  The word of the prophets called us to repentance.  And finally, Jesus died and rose again for us.  When we celebrate the Lord’s Supper, we make present that reality in the sense that we identify ourselves with the sacrifice of Christ.  In remembrance, the Holy Spirit really (spiritual realities are real no less than the physical) applies to us the effects of the sacrifice.

Benjamin Warfield, in speaking of the Lord’s Supper, wrote this:

Assuredly, for example, the sacrificial feast is not a repetition of the sacrifice; and equally certainly it is something more than a mere commemoration of the sacrifice: it is specifically a part of the sacrifice, and more particularly this part—the application of it. . . . Precisely what our Lord did therefore . . . he, the true Passover, the Lamb of God, that takes away the sin of the world—was to establish a perpetual sacrificial feast, under universal forms, capable of observation everywhere and at all times . . . All who partake of this bread and wine, the appointed symbols of his body and blood, therefore, are symbolically partaking of the victim offered on the altar of the cross, and are by this act professing themselves offerers of the sacrifice and seeking to become beneficiaries of it. That is the fundamental significance of the Lord’s Supper.  Whenever the Lord’s Supper is spread before us we are invited to take our place at the sacrificial feast, the substance of which is the flesh and blood of the victim which has been sacrificed once for all at Calvary . . . ³

So then, with Dix, we might affirm that remembrance is indeed a making present to us the reality of Christ’s one sacrifice, and with Warfield, who it appears would agree with that, we say that it is the application of the sacrifice to the one who partakes.

Anamnesis, then, is the recollection to us the realities of the past in such a way that they may no longer be thought of to be a mere past reality brought to mind, but a present one as well.

There are more things to look at in this.  For instance, how our celebration of the Supper brings us to God’s remembrance, and so into his presence.  I don’t want anyone to think I overlooked that.  Dix deals with this at length, and to properly address Dix, we have to consider that sense of the word.  But this is enough for one post.  I’ll probably look at this again.

God’s Displeasure with Cain

Many of us know the Genesis 4 story of Cain and Abel from Sunday school.  The two sons of Adam and Eve bring forth offerings for the Lord.  Cain, the elder, is a farmer.  He brings the first fruits of his harvest.  Abel is a shepherd.  He brings the first of his flock.

And we know how the story goes from there.  God is displeased with Cain’s offering, but accepts the sacrifice of Abel.  Cain, jealous of his brother, kills him and becomes the first murderer.

It’s a simple and tragic story.  But there’s something going on beneath the surface.  Something that we likely did not get in Sunday school, at least in relation to this story.

For the question remains: why did God not accept the offering of Cain?  When Cain is jealous, what does God mean when he admonishes him with the words: “If you do well, will you not be accepted?” So what was the problem?  What did Cain do that was not “well”?  We aren’t even really told how God indicated that he accepted one offering and not the other.

At least when I was a child, we were told that Cain’s heart was not right when he made his sacrifice, and so God was not pleased.  And this is certainly the case.  God makes clear in many places that he desires the obedience of the heart, and not only outward sacrifice.

However, there is something more fundamentally wrong with Cain: while Abel brought blood atonement, Cain brought a grain offering.  He should have known that blood was required to atone for sin before harvest could be brought in thanksgiving.  Hebrews 9:22 tells us that “without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.”

But this is before the law, is it not?  That is, the Mosaic Torah, with it’s Levitical system.  So it is.  But God sets the example of sacrifice for Adam and Eve from the beginning with he sheds the blood of animals to clothe them.  All are in sin.  All require the shedding of blood.  Whether God then gave them specifics of what and how to sacrifice, we aren’t told.

He didn’t have to.  The pattern was set.  Abel understood this, and so brought a spotless lamb as sacrifice, prefiguring Christ.  Cain also should have known.  He did know, and so God exhorted him to “do well.”  But Cain’s rebellious pride was too great.  And so the blood he shed, instead of atoning for sin, cried out from the ground to accuse him.

And so we must find ourselves in Christ, covered by His blood, if we hope for the atonement of our sin.

But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.
Hebrews 12:22-24

For if we are found in the blood of the Lamb as Abel was, then the blood that covers us atones for our sin, and does not cry out from the ground to accuse us, as it did for Cain.

Jesus is the Bread of Life: Lukan Bookends

We are into the third week of Advent, with Christmas less than a couple weeks off.  So I wanted to take a brief look at the Gospel of Luke, and particularly at Luke’s theme of Jesus as the Bread of Life.

Luke never actually calls Jesus “the bread of life”—that title comes from John’s Gospel.  But the theme of Jesus and His relationship and identification with bread runs deep through Luke’s account, with stories like the feeding of the five thousand, the comparing of the kingdom to leaven, etc.  In fact, the Gospel of Luke is bookended by stories that relate to bread.

At the end of Luke’s gospel we have the story of Jesus meeting the disciples on the road to Emmaus.  The crucifixion has taken place just a couple days prior, and two disciples are returning home from Jerusalem, somber for the events of the past week.  Jesus meets them on the road and expounds the entire Scripture to them and how the witness of the prophets made it plain that the Messiah must die and rise again on the third day.

Even so, they don’t really get it until Jesus administers to them the first Eucharist after the institution at the Last Supper.  He takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them.  That’s when their eyes are opened.  Jesus is here!  He is present with us now in the breaking of bread. It is the first anamnesis, and the disciples immediately recall what is meant by this ritual action.  Apart from the berakah, there are no words spoken by Jesus here.  It is the action itself that is the memorial—that reveals Christ to them and makes present the moment when he first took bread and said “This is my body, which is given for you.”

By now, Jesus has vanished, but his disciples have gotten the point.  So they do exactly the same thing that we are commissioned to do after every observance of the Supper—they return to Jerusalem, proclaiming the good news of Christ’s resurrection:

Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he was known to them in the breaking of the bread.
~Luke 24:35

In the same way, Jesus is known to us also in the breaking of bread.  It is Luke’s final lesson to us (until we get to Acts, where there is much more breaking of bread).

But back to our Christmas theme.  The story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus is the climax of Luke’s gospel.  It’s the realization of what he foreshadowed at the beginning of his account.

It is not insignificant for Luke that Jesus is born in a town called Bethlehem—the house of bread.  Matthew also records that Jesus is born in Bethlehem, but he is more focused on how the birth in Bethlehem fulfills the Old Testament prophets, and makes less of the name itself.

Luke, on the other hand, leaves aside the prophets for a moment to set out for us the scene of Jesus’ birth.  He first gives an extended account of what brought Mary and Joseph to this remote town, and then, in case we missed the significance of the town’s name, he includes the detail of Mary laying Jesus in a feeding trough (Luke 2:7).  The point is repeated and emphasized when the angels proclaim the good news to the shepherds.  “This will be a sign for you: you’ll find a baby . . . lying in a feeding trough” (verse 12).  Wait . . . that’s a sign?  A sign of what?  Again a third time, in case our wits are slow, Luke tells us: “They went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a feeding trough” (verse 16).

In Bethlehem.  In the house of bread.

So.  Have we got it yet?

Sources and additional reading:

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God’s Mercy is His Covenant Love

The Kyrie Eleison is one of the best-known parts of the traditional liturgy of the church, when the congregation brings petitions to God, each one of them sealed with the alternating phrase: “Lord have mercy; Christ have mercy.”  I used to think that was kind of unnecessary ritual self-abuse.  I mean . . . yes, we are in need of God’s mercy, as we are sinners.  But our sin is forgiven in the confession.  Why then does the Kyrie take its place during the prayers of the faithful later in the service?  Why does the liturgy require that the people beat themselves up over their own sin during the bringing of petitions?  In order to understand this, we again need to put Old and New Testament together and look at them side by side.

I am sure I am saying nothing particularly new here, and to some it might already be common sense.  But it is new to me, at least with this degree of clarity, and hopefully will be helpful to any who read it.  I came to this realization recently while constructing a metered version of Mary’s Magnificat from Luke 1:46-56, which I will hopefully set to music in the near future.

My attention was drawn to verse 54.  “He has helped his servant Israel in remembrance of his mercy.”  The Greek word for mercy used here is ἔλεος in its basic form.  And by a strictly lexical definition, it means exactly what it sounds like.  It is an attitude or action of pity and kindness to those who are less fortunate or undeserving.  And it certainly means that.  We are undeserving and pitiable creatures to God, and the goodness he shows to us is mercy indeed.

But the phrase “in remembrance of his mercy” drew me deeper because it is very similar to Old Testament constructions such as those found in Psalm 136, where the psalmist proclaims that God’s “steadfast love endures forever.”

The Hebrew word for “steadfast love” is hesed.  In fact, in the King James Version, it is translated as “mercy.”  But that does not really begin to describe what it means.  The ESV’s “steadfast love” and even the NLT’s “faithful love” are closer.  Hesed is constance, faithfulness, covenant keeping, and ever-abounding love.  It is the love that God has for his people, which the Old Testament writers celebrated time and again.

So the question this raised in my mind was: could ἔλεος be legitimately translated as “steadfast love”?  Can it be taken as the Greek form of hesed?  And if not, then what word in the Greek expresses the same idea?  Of course, to determine this I turned to the Septuagint.  And the answer was quite clear.  So clearly obvious that I’m sure I can’t possibly be the first to see it, and I wondered why I hadn’t heard it before.

In the Greek Septuagint translation of the Old Testament, which was produced nearly 300 years before Christ and was accepted by the apostles, the word hesed is consistently translated as ἔλεος.  The gospel writers composed their accounts with a pen in one hand and the Septuagint in the other, as it were.  They used the language of the Greek Old Testament.  So if the Septuagint so consistently used the word ἔλεος to render the Hebrew word hesed, we can be sure that the gospel writers used ἔλεος to denote the same concept.

Old Testament hesed = New Testament ἔλεος.

When we read the New Testament and see “mercy,” then, this should bring an added dimension to how we understand it.  It is not just the mercy of a judge who acquits, or that of the benefactor who rescues.  Yes, it is that.  But there is a lot more to it.  God’s acts of compassion, his forgiveness, and his salvation are a result of ἔλεος—his hesed—his covenant faithfulness and love to his people.

So when we say “Kyrie Eleison, Lord have mercy,” we are not only asking God to forgive us our sins and look upon us with pity, though that is part of it.  But more than that, we are asking God to remember his covenant faithfulness, just as the Old Testament saints called on YHWH to remember his hesed.  Mary understood this through her deep-rooted faith in the God of Israel.  She understood that in sending Jesus, the Savior, God had finally come to rescue his covenant people.

Because he remembered his mercy.

The Case for Man

I got the idea to write this after seeing a lecture event titled “The Case for God,” (based on an upcoming book of the same title, by the lecturer) and thinking how utterly ridiculous that notion is.  God is not an abstract that we should talk about “it.”  That is a total logical reversal of reality and a grammatical absurdity of speech.  So without further ado, I present here the case for Man—the only case in Man’s favor that could possibly exist, as far as we are concerned:

Our Father in Heaven, You made Us in Your image and have revealed Yourself to Us through Your wonderful creation, through Your words spoken by prophets, through Your commandments and covenants handed down from generation to generation, and finally in the person of Your Son, Jesus Christ.

But We refused to acknowledge You, our maker.  We transgressed Your Law and have broken Your Covenant.  There is no health in Us.  Man has gone astray like a lost and stubborn sheep, refusing to hear the voice of a Shepherd.  We have walked in blindness and called it light.  We have espoused foolishness and called it wisdom.  You gave Us speech, and We used it to deny You.

Even so, You have seen fit in Your mercy to redeem Your humble creation; to reestablish Man not only to Our original estate, but to exalt Us to the Heavens by your Son, who was made Man, who died and rose again from the dead; who is ascended to sit at Your right hand.  In Him, You have brought Us out of darkness into Your light, out of sin into righteousness, and out of death into life.  With Jesus’ blood you have sealed to Us Your Covenant and have given Us the promise of life everlasting, to as many as have believed in His Name.

Therefore, Father, spare your creature, this Man who has offended You to Your face.  Do not consume Us in Your anger.

You have made a New Covenant with Us, so that by faith We may claim Your promises.  By Your word to Abraham, to whom You promised a Seed, We claim Our future generations.  By Your word to Israel, to whom You promised a redeemer, We claim freedom from bondage.  By Your Son, who bought Us with His blood, We claim life.  By His promise to be with Us until the end of the age, We claim the power of Your Holy Spirit.  By the water and Spirit of rebirth, and by the meal of bread and wine that Your Son gave Us, for which We give thanks and by which We declare His death and resurrection, We claim the benefits of Your Covenant.

Our Lord and Our God, judge of all, look with mercy upon Man, for Your Son has assumed Our nature that in Him We might be raised to Your glory.  He bore Your wrath, that We might not.

This we ask, Father, that your Name might not be blasphemed among the nations, but that it might be glorified in all the earth.  In the Spirit of Jesus the Christ, in whose Name we ask this, and who also intercedes for Us:  AMEN.

The defense of Man rests its case.