Who do you break bread with?
Who do you invite to stay with you?
Who is the unknown companion?
How will you know him?
I remember: The Falafel Guy at Sather Gate in Berkeley would fill your pita with lettuce, tomato, falafel, and if you asked, baba ganoush, and hummus. Bless him... Years later on pilgrimage to the Holy Land our last stop was to be in Abu Ghosh, a village with two claims to fame. Most recently it held the world record for the world's largest hummus platter, which alas we did not taste; as it is, Lebanon has taken the title away. More traditionally and lastingly, Abu Ghosh is near the site of the disciples' visit to Emmaus.
There is a church there, the Church of the Resurrection, that houses frescoes depicting the story from today's gospel. We learn how the disciples knew Jesus in the breaking of the bread. And in seeing those pictures and hearing the story, and breaking the bread together ourselves, the past becomes present to us.
The story begins: It was a long time ago – it was earlier today. On the Emmaus road two were walking – and a third came alongside. Who was the third? They did not think to ask. They were preoccupied, overwhelmed, bewildered and baffled, with troubles of their own.
The news, the good news, was hidden in a maelstrom of fear and anxiety – even terror: for it was an act of terror that set their feet on the road, drove them from Jerusalem. Jesus of Nazareth was crucified under Pontius Pilate. And then, on top of that, came the truly incredible news the women were telling: the tomb was empty. He was not there. Angels spoke to them.
When the disciples set out down the road to Emmaus they did not know where they were going. Sure, they knew where the road led – but they did not know what the future held. They were talking with each other about what had happened, trying to sort out what was really going on. What did it mean?
The third approached, and walked along with them. They did not recognize him. But he accompanied them on the way. And at his inquiry they rehearsed for him the events of those days, almost like a creed, beginning with the words and deeds of Jesus, a prophet mighty before God and the people. They spoke of his betrayal and death, the empty tomb, and the angels’ message. But they didn’t get it – they did not know what it meant, what was really going on beneath the surface of what was happening.
O you foolish Emmæans! How slow you are to grasp it – this is what the prophets were talking about – that the Messiah must suffer, must pass through passion and death and resurrection, before he can reach his glory.
As they reached the village the unknown companion made as if to go on. But they stopped him, offering hospitality. They insisted. Stay with us, for evening is at hand, and the day nearly spent.
So he went in—
“But let me tell you, that to approach the stranger
Is to invite the unexpected, release a new force,
Or let the genie out of the bottle.
It is to start a train of events
Beyond your control. So let me continue.”
[“The Cocktail Party” by T. S. Eliot, The Complete Poems and Plays 1909-1950 (Harcourt, Brace & World, 1952) p.306]
For now the stranger took, blessed, broke, shared the bread; and they knew: this is his Body, and we are in his Kingdom, now. And there in that place the guest became the host. He became the host, as he must always do, when we invite him in.
When we take Jesus in, as guest, as host, we are transformed, we are enlightened.
We are at his Table, fellowshipping with him.
And he himself is the Bread; he is the Life.
As he left them, they were no longer afraid. They turned to each other and said,
Our hearts warmed
as he taught us
on the road, opening
the Word to us
to our understanding.
Word and Table –
in these they knew him –
in these we know him—
as we break the bread
and tell the tale,
of the marvelous events
of God with us.
They returned immediately to the City and to their company, to tell their friends, to share the news, the good news, that all the world soon should know, that Christ is risen from the dead, Alleluia! That he arose, that he made himself known in the breaking of the bread.
That is not the end of the story. Like manna in the wilderness, like loaves for 5000, like bread for two disciples at Emmaus, but greater, is the gift of himself that the Lord gives us, bringing us life, new life in abundance. For the bread broken that is his body has multiplied across times and places and generations.
As we, one body, share the one bread, we celebrate that selfsame Lord until he comes again.
And so we ask— how is Christ known among us?
Who do you break bread with? Who is it that you see at the table? Is Jesus there? Jesus, who told us, I will be with you. Jesus, who said, when I was hungry you fed me. Jesus, who said, I am the bread.
Is he there at the table?
Yes— for whenever we bless the bread and break it and share it, whenever we take the cup of wine and share it, we remember his death until he comes. And we know that he is risen— that he is alive and among us— that in this action he becomes known to us.
Do we walk with him on the way? Do we welcome the stranger? Share our table fellowship? With whom do we, now, break the bread? Do we know, in them, friend or stranger, the fellowship of Christ? Do we hear him teaching, are our eyes opened, do we see him, as we study the Scriptures?
There are several useful and specific things that people of faith, connected to traditional religions, have to offer people seeking a new church home, including seekers who are less attached to a faith tradition.
Theological understanding, spiritual practices, reliable mentors and spiritual guides, and faithful communities, are among the gifts we the church have to offer the devout and the seeker, the eager and the bereft, the occasional and ancillary member, and even the “spiritual but not religious.”
As Herb O’Driscoll points out in his commentary on this gospel, “We live in a time when spirituality is suspicious of structure and form and institution. Yet any spirituality, if it is to last through the vicissitudes of time and history, must take on form”.
What we have to offer as a church is our experience of God, not just in ourselves, but in communities, through the aid of pastors and teachers, through prayer partners and soul friends, through study and service, and in the breaking of bread and in the prayers.
Yet even more than our structures and traditional practices, whose external aspects, memories or associations may act as barriers, we have something to offer to people seeking a way to truth and sane living in an uncertain world, that is much more precious than the institutional containers we have used.
It is the all-embracing love of God.
When I was back in Tombstone where I once was vicar, I looked for Mongo, who drove the old stagecoach. I didn’t see him. But then after all, when he met me somebody said, “Hey Mongo! He’s from your church.” And he said, “It’s my church - when I go.” “So it’s your church.” “When I go.”
Someone who knows us as "my church - when I go!" is a member. Someone who returns to bury a family member, or seeks to be married or to be baptized, is a member.
And someone who knocks on the door when they seek a light may find us to be a lighthouse, and a beacon, and a home.
Open our eyes to your presence,
open our hearts to your love,
that we, openhearted, open-eyed, open-handed,
may share the bread and tell the story,
that you may be present
in the midst of us,
and that we might share
that good news with all those we meet on the way.
Travel with us, Lord, show us the truth;
stay with us, Lord, show us your love;
send us, Lord, forth from this place,
newly strengthened by Word and fellowship
with the knowledge of your love,
and full of news, good news,
to share, in word and deed, with the world.
Elusive God, companion on the way,
you walk behind, beside, beyond:
you catch us unawares.
Break through the clouds of doubt,
the disillusionment and despair,
that obscure our vision,
that
wide-eyed with wonder
open-mouthed with awe
we may find our way
and journey on
as messengers
of your good news.
Amen.
JRL+
AEaster3, Emmaus, Luke 24:13-35
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