Known in the Breaking of Bread Preached on April 26th, 2020 for Wollaston Congregational Church Virtual Worship Scripture: Luke 24:13-35 The midday meal on Sundays, in my husband’s family, as in many English households was a roast. Mum would prepare the meal, calling on assistance from those around her as she needed it. But, carving the roast was my father-in-law’s responsibility. The memory is seared in my mind: he steps up, carving knife in hand, and later with an electrical version, to expertly slice the tender meat for lunch. Similar memories include my mom, pouring tea from the shiny chrome teapot and milk jug. She would pass a carefully arranged selection of home-baked cakes, cookies and other delicacies, from one person to the next. My husband, who expertly pours a glass of wine, turning the bottle just so for a special dinner. Or our church ladies, gathered around the long butcher block in the kitchen, chopping and slicing, for canning or soup preparation. Jack flipping pancakes on Shrove Tuesday. Jonathan turning burgers and Bill serving chowder for the annual fall fair. These are the ways we remember the ones we have broken bread with time and time again. And this is the way, that in our gospel story for today, the disciples remember Jesus. The two disciples we meet today are disappointed. Things did not turn out as they had hoped. They had hoped that their teacher, Jesus, would be the one to redeem Israel. But it did not happen as they had expected. Instead he was crucified and laid in a tomb. Of the five stages of grief, perhaps they have reached depression. They no longer deny that the crucifixion took their beloved from them and they are too exhausted for anger any more. They are walking away from the other disciples, their community and their support system. They walk slowly, one foot in front of the other, heads hanging. They leave the Jerusalem city wall and join the dusty track that leads to Emmaus. It is seven miles away, they have plenty of time to talk and reflect. They tell and retell the story to one another, as bereaved people often do until the truth has sunk in. Their hopes are dashed. Then they meet a stranger, who seems strangely out of it. How can it be possible that this person does not know what has happened in Jerusalem over these past three days? Has he been in another world? They tell him the whole saga, ending by saying that some of the women had found Jesus’ tomb empty and were told by angels that he was alive. The stranger chastises them for being slow of heart to believe! He then reminds them that is was necessary that the Messiah should suffer those things and then enter into his glory. He makes meaning out of these seemingly tragic events. And then he goes on to interpret all the Hebrew scriptures, beginning with Moses and the prophets. The two disciples are captivated by the stranger’s teaching and don’t want to let him go. As they come to Emmaus and the evening is drawing in, they invite him to come and eat, and possibly even to stay with them. They usher him into their small home and begin making a fire and setting bread to rise and then bake, pulling together a simple supper. They set the table, and gather round. He is no longer a stranger. They have invited him into their home, their inner sanctum. He takes the bread with his worn hands, blesses it with gentle eyes turned to heaven, and then gives it to each of them. In this momentary gesture, they finally know him. Memories flood back: meals eaten together in many different homes, bread broken to feed the multitudes on the hillside, and that last supper in the upper room. This is Jesus. This is what the scriptures mean. Jesus is present to them in this humble gathering. He is present in their hospitality, extended to a stranger. Their eyes are opened to this new reality. As soon as they realize it, he disappears from their sight. They don’t wait around, even though it is evening, they run back to Jerusalem to tell the others. Jesus is risen, risen indeed. At the beginning of the story, disciples had thought their hopes had been dashed. Perhaps we have the same feeling right now. Perhaps we, like them, are in one of the five stages of grief: denial, anger, depression, bargaining, acceptance. [1] We do not necessarily experience these stages sequentially. We may be in one stage and they go back to another. There may be stages we revisit many times. There is also a sixth stage of grief, which is particularly important to me as a preacher. This is the stage of “making meaning." This is what I am called to do with you each week. And, I believe this is what Jesus was doing with the two disciples he met on the road to Emmaus. We are in grief, over what has happened during this crisis, to our loved ones and our families, to our communities, and to our world. And our grief is for the loss of many hopes … hopes that the coronavirus would quickly pass through our cities and towns, with minimal casualties … hopes that all healthcare workers and others would have all the protective gear they needed … hopes that the development of a vaccine or treatment would be miraculously quick … hopes that school would restart before summer. What hopes that have been dashed for you? At this stage, we may be tempted to walk away like the two disciples. If we are depressed we may give up on our support systems, like our church our community of faith. Maybe online worship doesn’t seem worth the effort anymore. We may become impatient and frustrated with the technology we need to use to gather in this way. We want to walk away from virtual connections. And perhaps, in our grief and denial we have decided that shelter-in-place hasn’t worked and so why bother? We may be tempted by the spring sunshine to reject physical distancing. The weather and the green grass may invite us to gather for sports, picnics, even protests against the directives. We want to walk away from physical distancing. But we are required to stay the course. And we are called to remain connected in spirit. If we have access to technology we can utilize it, to chat over coffee with friends, break bread and create a virtual family dinner, hold game nights with those who are far away from us, or even birthday parties for children and elders. Thank heaven for phones and for Zoom! An NPR program, Cognoscenti, asked listeners “What’s the first thing you’ll do when all this is over?” [2] They said that “’Hug my mom,’ ‘visit family’ and ‘go out for dinner’ were common replies. So was ‘get a haircut’; But there were also a number of truly surprising — sometimes sad, sometimes funny — responses.” One respondent, who turns out to be the author Anita Diamant, said she sorely misses having guests over for dinner. She says “I enjoy setting the table. I love seeing my guests clean their plates and ask for more. Most of all, I enjoy the conversation, the interruptions, the laughter, and the passionate disagreements that vanish into thin air. I miss the fellowship of the table, which can be a profound kind of connection even if the topic is nothing but binge-worthy TV.” Another listener simply commented “when quarantine is over, don't ask me if i'm free just say when and where.” When quarantine is over … will you be too busy with work on Sundays? Will you be too tired to come out? Will you prefer to stay home with the newspaper than gather in church? I don’t think so. Many of our hopes have been dashed. And yet, memories are being awakened in us, as they were in the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. For now, we have our memories of breaking bread together, whether it is during communion in the sanctuary, or over coffee hour and potlucks in the social hall. We have known the sacred presence in those moments gathered around a table, exchanging conversation, making eye contact, passing the soup or the cake, the burgers or the pancakes. This was always a much more tangible, sacred presence, than we could know sitting in rows, facing the same direction listening to sermons! So let’s make a commitment, even a vow. When “all this” is over, when we have the possibility of gathering in the body again, let’s not make any excuses … let’s be sure to recognize that Jesus is among us in the breaking of bread … May all God’s people say, Amen [1] https://grief.com/the-five-stages-of-grief/ [2] https://www.wbur.org/cognoscenti/2020/04/24/when-quarantine-ends-frannie-carr-toth-cloe-axelson
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