Sermon:
1. Urgent remembrance requires the first cup of preparing
2. Urgent remembrance requires the second cup of purging
3. Urgent remembrance requires the third cup of partaking
4. Urgent remembrance recalls the fourth cup of promising

I am tremendously blessed. And one of the ways I am blessed is that I have known and been close to each of my grandparents. I have one grandmother that’s still alive. And nearly every Sunday after church, we get to go over to her house and have lunch. We get to share her favorite meal with her—Little Caesar’s Hot-and-Ready pizza. One of the wonderful things that happens sometimes during those lunches is when she tells us stories. Sometimes she’ll tell stories about how things were when she was growing up. She’ll tell us about her sisters. She’ll tell us about her Mother and Father. I remember going to visit her mother when I was little. The only thing I remember about the visit was it was in one big room. I remember that there wasn’t anything in it except wood benches and a pot-bellied stove in the middle of the floor. And I remember I had to be quiet for some reason. I think that was when my cousin and I were introduced to the quiet game. That’s the way memories are, aren’t they? They fade over time. They are forgotten with age. They pass with each passing generation. Of course I remember each of my grandparents that I’ve lost. I have special memories of sitting on Pawpaw Stanley’s porch playing with his dogs. And I have special memories of sitting on my Papaw Drake’s lap as he sang “Daddy sang bass” to me. And how Mamaw Drake would feed me corn on the cob till I was sick. Like the song says, those are precious memories. Precious memories, how they linger. How they ever flood my soul. In the stillness of the midnight. Precious, sacred scenes unfold. But do you know what? Most of the time those kinds of precious memories only last a generation or two. I’m sad to say that all I remember of my great-grandparents is the pot-bellied stove and playing the quiet game with one of them. The only other thing I remember is how another great-grandmother spit her tobacco. I don’t remember exactly how I came across it, but a few months ago, I was able to get a genealogy record back through my Mamaw Drake’s side of the family. It went all the way back to 1745. Back to a man named Jacob Starcher from Harrison County, VA. It was interesting. But not really. Because it was really no more than a list of names. There were no stories or memories attached to them. There were no precious memories because there was no remembrance. Names and dates on paper do nothing to spark the kind of emotion that comes from true remembrance. In our passage this morning, Jesus tells the disciples to remember Him. But not in some sort of sentimental, nostalgic way. He wants them to truly remember who He is and what He was about to do for them. And in doing so, He tells us the same thing. He tells us to truly remember Him. Remember who He is. And remember what He’s done for each and every one of us. Jesus is not just a forgotten name in a Book. He is God. God who took on our flesh. He took on our flesh, just so He could suffer and die in it. So He could suffer the penalty of sin in our stead. And He told us to remember. So that’s what we’re going to do this morning. We’re going to urgently