One Lord, One Body: Walking Worthy at the Table

The Lord of David: Christ's Divine Identity Revealed

We just heard the Gospel reading proclaimed this morning — Matthew chapter twenty-two, verses forty-one through forty-six, where Jesus turns to the Pharisees and asks them, "What do you think about the Christ? Whose son is he?" So I won't read it again, but let's sit with it for a moment, because there's more going on in that exchange than meets the eye.

Allow me to set the scene here. This is Holy Week. Jesus has already entered Jerusalem on a donkey to shouts of "Hosanna." He's cleared the temple. He's been challenged by the Sadducees about the resurrection, and He's answered them with such wisdom that the crowds are astonished. And now it's the Pharisees' turn to test Him. But before they can lay another trap, Jesus turns the tables and asks them a question of His own — a question that has puzzled rabbis and scribes for centuries.

"Whose son is the Christ?" And they answer correctly, according to their own tradition — "The son of David." Everyone in Israel knew the Messiah would come from David's line. The prophets had said it plainly. But then Jesus points them to Psalm 110, a psalm written by David himself, where David — under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit — calls the Messiah his Lord. "The LORD said to my Lord."

Now think about that for a moment. In that culture, a father would never call his own son "lord." A son honors his father, not the other way around. So if David, the greatest king Israel ever had, calls this coming Messiah his "Lord," then this Messiah must be more than just David's descendant. He must be David's superior. He must be, in some sense, divine.

This is exactly the argument the early Christian apologist Justin Martyr made back in the second century, defending the faith against those who denied Christ's divinity. Justin pointed to this very passage and said that David, speaking by the Spirit, was testifying that the Christ is Lord even over His own ancestor — proof that the Messiah is no mere man, but God Himself, taking on human flesh.

And that's the beauty of what Jesus is doing here. He's not just winning an argument. He's revealing who He is. He is David's son according to the flesh — born of Mary, of the house and lineage of David, just as the prophets said. But He is also David's Lord according to His divine nature — eternal, uncreated, seated even now at the right hand of the Father.

And Folks, this matters for everything that follows in our sermon today. Because if Jesus is merely a good teacher, a wise rabbi, a moral example — then His commands to love God and love neighbor are just good advice we can take or leave. But if Jesus is Lord — truly Lord, David's Lord, our Lord — then when He commands us to love, and when Paul later commands us to walk in unity, we are not receiving suggestions. We are receiving the word of the King.

That's the foundation. Before we ever get to unity in the church, before we ever get to the Eucharist, we have to settle this first question: Who is Jesus? And the answer Matthew gives us is clear. He is Lord. And no one — not the Pharisees then, and not us now — can answer Him back. We can only bow.

The Greatest Commandment: Love as the Root of All Law

Now let's back up just a few verses in that same Gospel reading, to Matthew 22, verses 34 through 40, because this exchange happens right before the one we just reflected on. You'll recall Jesus' words there — a lawyer asks Him which is the greatest commandment in the Law, and Jesus answers: love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself, and "on these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets."

Notice something here. This lawyer asks a common rabbinic question of the day — which of the 613 commandments in the Law is the greatest? And Jesus doesn't pick one commandment. He gives two, and He tells us they are joined together. Love God with everything you've got — heart, soul, mind — and love your neighbor as yourself. And then He says something remarkable: "On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets."

That word "hang" is important. Think of a door hanging on its hinges. Everything else in the Law — every command about sacrifice, about the Sabbath, about how to treat the poor, about honesty in business — all of it swings on these two hinges. Take away love of God and love of neighbor, and the whole Law falls apart. It has no support left.

Saint Augustine, writing centuries later, put it this way — and I'll give you the sense of it in plain words: love is the end, the goal, the fulfillment of every commandment. Augustine said that whoever thinks he understands the Scriptures, or any part of them, but does not build up this double love of God and neighbor, has not yet understood them at all. In other words, you can know your Bible from cover to cover — but if it hasn't produced love in you, you've missed the point of the book.

And here's what I want you to see. These two commandments are not really two separate things. They're one thing, seen from two angles. You cannot love God and hate your brother. Saint John says as much in his first epistle — if a man says he loves God but hates his brother, he's a liar. The vertical love — up toward God — and the horizontal love — out toward neighbor — are like the two beams of the cross. Take one away and the other collapses.

This is why Jesus links them so tightly. It's easy to say we love God when God is invisible and doesn't inconvenience us at the dinner table. It's much harder to love the neighbor who annoys us, who disagrees with us, who has wronged us. But Jesus says — no, that's the test. That's where the love of God shows itself real.

And folks, this sets the table — quite literally, as we'll see later — for everything Paul is about to say in Ephesians 4. Because unity in the church is not a bureaucratic nicety or a matter of good manners. It flows directly out of this greatest commandment. If you love God, you will love your brother. And if you love your brother, you will pursue unity with him, even when it costs you something.

Called to Walk Worthy: The Ephesian "Therefore"

Now let's turn to Ephesians chapter 4. Paul writes:

"I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." (Ephesians 4:1–3)

Notice that first word: "therefore." In the Bible, whenever you see a "therefore," you should stop and ask, "Therefore, based on what?" Paul doesn't start his ethical instruction out of thin air. Chapters 1 through 3 of Ephesians are a mountain of grace — Paul has just spent three chapters telling the Ephesians who they are in Christ. Chosen before the foundation of the world. Adopted as sons. Redeemed by His blood. Sealed with the Holy Spirit. Raised up with Christ and seated with Him in the heavenly places. Brought near to God when they were once far off. Built together into one temple, with Christ as the cornerstone.

Only after laying down that massive foundation of grace does Paul say "therefore." In other words — because of everything God has done for you, now here is how you are to live. This is so important. Paul never says "do this so that God will love you." He says "God has already loved you completely — therefore, walk worthy of it." Grace always comes before duty. The indicative always comes before the imperative. What God has done comes before what we must do.

And what does this worthy walk look like? Paul lists it out: humility, gentleness, patience, bearing with one another in love. Notice — not a list of doctrines to master, but virtues to practice in relationship with other people. Humility means not thinking more of yourself than you ought. Gentleness means strength held in check for the good of others. Patience — and the Greek word here literally means "long-suffering," a long fuse rather than a short one. And "bearing with one another" — that means putting up with each other's weaknesses and quirks, the way you'd carry a heavy load alongside someone rather than dropping it on them.

Saint John Chrysostom, the great preacher of Constantinople, used a beautiful image for humility in the church. He said that humility is like the mortar between the bricks. You can have the finest bricks in the world — strong, well-made, individually impressive — but if there's no mortar holding them together, the wall falls down at the first strong wind. Humility, Chrysostom said, is exactly that mortar. It's the unglamorous, hidden thing that nobody notices when it's working right, but the whole building depends on it.

And notice the goal Paul gives at the end of verse 3: "eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." Not "create" unity. Not "manufacture" unity. Maintain it. We'll come back to that word in our next point, but hold onto it — unity is something already given to us by the Spirit that we are called to protect and preserve, the way you'd guard a treasure that's already yours, not build one from scratch.

So here's the question Paul is putting to each of us this morning: are you eager — that's his word, "eager," meaning it takes effort and diligence — are you eager to maintain peace in this church, in your family, with that person who's hard to get along with? Or are you content to let humility, gentleness, and patience slide because it's easier?

Seven Ones, One Body: The Shape of Christian Unity

Let's continue reading, Ephesians 4, verses 4 through 6:

"There is one body and one Spirit — just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call — one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all." (Ephesians 4:4–6)

Count them with me — go ahead and count on your fingers if you'd like. One body. One Spirit. One hope. One Lord. One faith. One baptism. One God and Father. Seven times, in the space of three verses, Paul hammers home this word "one." This is not accidental. Paul is a careful writer, and when he repeats a word seven times in a row, he wants us to feel the weight of it like a hammer striking a nail again and again until it's driven all the way home.

Why does he do this? Because the Ephesian church, like every church since, was tempted toward division. Jews and Gentiles worshiping together for the first time in history — different backgrounds, different customs, different assumptions about how to live out the faith. It would have been so easy for factions to form. And Paul heads it off by reminding them — there is no "your church" and "my church," no "your baptism" and "my baptism." There is one body, because there is one Spirit who indwells it; one hope, because there is one Lord who secures it; one faith, one baptism, because there is one God and Father over all.

This reminds me of Saint Irenaeus of Lyons, writing against the heresies that were splintering the Church in the second century. Irenaeus argued that the true Church, spread throughout the whole world, holds to one and the same faith — the very faith handed down from the apostles — even though believers speak different languages and live in different lands. He said the Church guards this one faith carefully, as though it lived in a single house, believing with one heart and one soul, and preaching with one voice, as though possessing but one mouth. That's a beautiful image, isn't it? One mouth, speaking one faith, across every tongue and nation.

Now here's the key thing I want you to notice, and  it echoes exactly what we said in point three. Paul does not say, "Go and build unity out of these seven different pieces." He says these seven things already exist, given by God — one Spirit, one Lord, one Father. The unity is already there, objectively, whether we feel it or not. Our job — going back to verse 3 — is to "maintain" it, not manufacture it.

This is such good news,especially in a world, and yes even in our own church families, where divisions and grudges and misunderstandings can creep in. The unity of the Church does not depend on all of us having the same personality, the same opinions on every matter, or even always getting along easily. The unity is a gift of the Spirit, secured by one Lord, one faith, one baptism. Our task is simply — simply! — to not break what God has already made whole. To guard it. To walk in a manner worthy of it, as Paul said back in verse 1.

And this brings us to where all of this is meant to land — not in abstract theology, but at the altar rail, this very morning.

One Bread, One Body: Approaching the Altar in Charity

So let's bring it all together. We began with Christ as Lord — David's Lord and ours, the King to whom we owe absolute obedience. We saw that all the Law hangs on love of God and love of neighbor. We saw Paul's call to walk worthy through humility, gentleness, and patience. And we just heard that sevenfold thunder of "one" — one body, one Spirit, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father.

Now where, this side of heaven, do we see "one body" made visible, tangible, something we can literally hold in our hands and place on our tongues? At the altar. In the Holy Eucharist.

Saint Paul tells us elsewhere that the bread we break is a participation in the body of Christ, and because there is one bread, we who are many are one body. Ephesians 4:4 — "there is one body" — finds its most concrete, physical fulfillment every time we come forward to receive Holy Communion. This is not a metaphor for Catholics. This is the same Lord who sat at God's right hand in Matthew 22, truly present under the appearance of bread and wine, uniting us — really and truly — into one Body.

Pope Leo XIII, writing in his encyclical Mirae Caritatis on the Holy Eucharist, taught that this sacrament is the great bond of charity that holds together the whole Mystical Body of Christ. He said that just as natural food nourishes and strengthens the body, so the Eucharist nourishes the soul and, more than that, knits together the members of the Church into one, uniting them to their Head, Christ, and to one another in a supernatural bond of love. Leo XIII understood that the altar is not just where we receive personal grace — it is where the "one body" of Ephesians 4 becomes visible, becomes edible, becomes something we can hold.

That's why the Baltimore Catechism, which so many of us learned as children, teaches so plainly on this point. It asks, "What are the chief effects of the Holy Eucharist?" And it answers that the Eucharist increases sanctifying grace in the soul, and — listen to this — it also unites us more closely to Christ and to one another, making us one in the Mystical Body which is the Church. The Catechism also reminds us, in its questions on the commandment to love our neighbor, that charity requires us to forgive those who have injured us, to avoid quarrels and grudges, and to bear patiently with the faults of others — which is exactly, word for word, what Paul asked of us back in Ephesians 4: humility, gentleness, patience, bearing with one another in love.

So here is where the two texts we've studied this morning meet, right at this altar. Jesus is Lord — He has the authority to command us to love. Love of God and neighbor is the hinge on which the whole Law hangs. Paul calls us to walk worthy of our calling through humility and patience, maintaining the unity the Spirit has already given — one body, one Lord, one faith. And that one body becomes visible, this very morning, in the one bread we are about to receive.

Which means, folks, before you come forward today, I want to ask you to do something the Church has always asked of her children — examine your conscience. The Baltimore Catechism asks plainly: does charity oblige us to be reconciled with our neighbor? And it answers — yes, we are obliged to forgive injuries and to seek peace with those who have offended us, or whom we have offended, before we approach the sacraments. Ask yourself this morning: is there a grudge I'm carrying? Someone in this parish, in my own family, whom I have not forgiven, or from whom I have not sought forgiveness? Ephesians 4 does not let us receive the sign of "one body" while nursing division in our hearts against a member of that very body.

So here is my call to you this morning plain and simple. Before you walk up this aisle to receive Holy Communion — whether today or in the days ahead — take a moment right now, in the quiet of this pew, and examine your conscience. Is there anyone you need to forgive? Anyone from whom you need to ask forgiveness? If the Holy Spirit brings a name to your mind right now, don't push it away. This week, before you come to this altar again, go to that person. Make the phone call. Write the note. Have the hard conversation. Because Jesus, our Lord, David's Lord, has commanded us to love. And this altar is where that love becomes one Body, one Bread, poured out for the many — so that we, the many, might truly become one.-F.D.