Memorabilia
I’ve never been a collector of memorabilia. That’s been my wife’s department. Knickknacks have always just seemed like things that making dusting difficult. More recently, though, I’ve come to better appreciate that the small objects she has placed around our home are not mere bric-a-brac. They are mementos—things that trigger memories, specifically happy memories. I suppose my improved appreciation is because my memory is noticeably weaker. The triggers are nice to have around.
You likely see where I’m going with this. Jesus gave us two mementos, and he put a great deal of importance on them. He accompanied them with a command: “Do this in remembrance of me.” A memento of a trip or a wedding is mostly just visual. It is static—just sits there. The mementos given to us by Jesus engage all the senses. And his memory aid is made vastly more powerful by requiring us to do something. On top of that, what he has us do is personal, intimate. We take something into our bodies, and it becomes part of us.
After a while, we stop actually seeing the memorabilia around the house. We might—or might not—notice and think about them when dusting, and not often any other time. In the case of Jesus’s mementos, eating a bit of bread and drinking a sip of wine might suffer the same fate, becoming a mere ritual.
Object lessons are high on the list of ways the Lord God teaches us. Jesus tells us he does what he sees the Father do, and that’s certainly true of the object lessons he taught. Both Father and Son expected that when we see sowing or reaping, sheep or a shepherd’s staff, a road or a gate, then we remember a spiritual lesson. One problem we have is that many of the objects aren’t in our daily life like they were centuries ago. Some (sun, moon, stars, rainbows) are still there, but even then how good are we at remembering the spiritual lessons?
We have the mementos. What we need is to be intentional about using them as true memory aids. We have to see the thing on the end table, for the flood of memories to come. We need to see / feel / smell / taste / touch Jesus’s mementos, and remember. He gave his life for me. His dedication was absolute. He loves me, and the Father does too. I need to take him in, let him become part of me, change me. I need to be reminded, to keep the trials of this life in perspective. To “proclaim the Lord’s death”—and the salvation it gained—"until he comes.”
Love, Paul