The Pastor I Want To Be

Monday mornings are mini-Sabbaths for me. A time to get my soul screwed on straight for the work of ministry facing me this week. Along with tea, quiet, my journal & Bible (the pastoral epistles these days), I also journey along with Marva Dawn and Eugene Peterson in a course of spiritual reading (The Unnecessary Pastor: Rediscovering the Call these days.)

Currently, I am reading a chapter by Brother Eugene, a commentary on the book of Romans as profoundly pastoral theology. I am discovering in this fresh view of Paul, crafted by Peterson's pen, the pastor I want to be. The exact kind-of pastor I thought I would be -- before the reality of ministry's multiple adiaphora set in. Here are his encouraging words to all the Monday morning weary and hopeful:

I am interested in St. Paul's letter to the Romans as. . .a piece of writing that is a working demonstration of spiritual formation in the Christian community. My interest iis piqued by living in an age in which the work of much of the church's leadership is neither pastoral nor theological. The pastoral dimensions of the church's leadership are badly eroded by technologizing and managerial influences. The theological dimensions of the church's leadership have been marginalized by therapeutic and marketing preoccupations. The gospel work of giving leadership to the community of the Christian faithful has been alienated from its source.

Paul was a pastoral theologian. All of Paul's thinking and writing, teaching and preaching in the service of God (that is, his theology) was at the same time carried out in the service of a community of souls (that is, it was pastoral.)

For too long, pastors have not been treated as theologians; theology has been leeched from our lives. At the same time, pastors have been told that they're not pastors but counselors and people who run churches.

Normallly, the work of pastor is not generalized; it is specific to a particular community in a particular place. We aren't going to be able to copy Paul: we have no idea what Paul would do if he had to deal with music teams and pothols in the parking lot, figure out budget, bury teenage suicides and marry confused young adults, run a youth program and pose as a genial man of God at the annual church picnic.

Pastors who are pleased to sit at the feet of Paul the theologian more often than not sign up with psychologists and management consultants for expert counsel when it comes to going about their daily work iin the kingdom. This is understandable, for caring for souls is honored and demanding work; those who give their lives to it need all the help they can get. But without theology, caring for souls can easily transgress into manipulating or seducing selves.

And scholars for whom Paul is the patron saint of the learned life frequently minimize the way in which Paul used his mind in the immediate service of God and souls, preferring thus to work in settings protected against interruption. Theological and exegetical study is honored and demanding work, but abstracted from the actual conditions of community and congregation it easily loses connection with the God who loves the world and gave himself for it. having a mind, a glory we hold in common with the angels, is grand. Cultivating the life of the intellect is essential to the sanity of the church of Christ. But the use of the mind can as easily lead into pride as into truth. This happens when it severs itself from the pastoral.

Recently responding to another pastor's blog, I reflected this:

All of the maintaining work that goes into a churchly vocation is weary-ing work but not in the same way that ministry is weary-ing.
Ministry is life-giving, even when it wearies me.
Ministry is good, even when it’s hard.
Ministry is satisfying, even when it’s messy.
A to-do list filled with maintaining makes me not want to get out of bed in the morning.

What I love about Brother Eugene is the permission he provides to pastors to, in fact, be pastors. To not get lost in the paperwork shuffle or the immediacy of programming. But to be pastoral (set firmly and lovingly in the context of a particular community and theological (reflecting on the person, attributes and nature of the Triune God)? That is the pastor I want to be.

What We Have Left Undone

Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent, for the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us; that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways, to the glory of your Name. Amen.

Ministry is never done. Which means that, inevitably, much of what could be bows to the tyranny of what should be. Gettin' it done, inevitably, triumphs over dreams, imagination and "wouldn't it be amazing if. . ." ideas. Every night, as my head hits the pillow, I am haunted by the reminder of all the good that was left undone in my day. What is the line between finitude and sin? . . . Kyrie Eleison.

Almighty God, who does freely pardon all who repent and turn to Him, now fulfill in every contrite heart the promise of redeeming grace; forgiving all our sins, and cleansing us from an evil conscience; through the perfect sacrifice of Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

My Peeps

So, this made me happy today. CRC represent!

The Trouble with the Fishbowl

In seminary we talk a LOT about "pastoral identity." One of the truths bestowed upon us is that ministry can feel like living in a fishbowl. Especially in Old Style churches, where comments are made about whose car is parked in your driveway; small chastisements regarding the hours you work (too many, too few, strange timetables), etc.; whether this, that or the other thing is appropriate attire for a Domini and on. . .and on. . .

But here's what they DON'T tell you about the fishbowl (or maybe I was still fixated on Domini attire when they mentioned it): Being in a fishbowl doesn't just mean everyone can see you -- it also means that, no matter how many times you circle around the joint, you are in your own watery, glass confinement. It means that everyone who is allowed, by virtue of your title, to watch your every lap around the bowl is simultaneously held at a distance from the waters you know. They still breath in oxygen. And while you may share the same living space, don't kid yourself: you are living worlds apart.

When they told us we were "set-apart" for ministry, I didn't know this is what they meant. It sounded so noble back then. It sounded laudable. It even sounded manageable. Set apart?

I just miss being able to breathe.

Faith is a Team Sport

Text:        John 20:24-31

Theme:    Faith is a team sport.

Doctrine:    Faith; Communion of the Saints; Ecclesiology

Image:        Yellowstone & the bears

Mission:    To have respect and hospitality for many different "kinds" in the church.

Need:        To trust that, if there is room for everyone, there is room for you in the church.

Illustration

Two summers ago, I lived and worked at Yellowstone National Park. When I arrived in the park, it was late Spring, the season when the bears descend from the high places to the lowlands to hunt for berries and amuse the tourists with their visible antics. Well, I had been there two weeks and hadn't seen a bear for myself. I heard stories, I saw pictures, tracks and other, less delicate, evidence of the bears. And yet, no bear spotting. I began to doubt the existence of these "mythological creatures," these so-called "bears." But, of course, it was pointless to share my skepticism with other park employees. They would just tell me glowing stories of the bear that was following them down the trail and the time one guy almost walked in between a mama and her cubs. And that is all well and good for them. But, as Thomas knows full well, having people tell you about their experience of something is light-worlds apart from experiencing it yourself. Bears? Heh. Unless I saw them for myself, I was not going to believe.

The Trouble with Thomas

Have you ever wondered where Thomas was? I mean the first time the Risen Christ appeared. Where was Thomas? "Thomas was not with the disciples when Jesus came." After four weeks of studying the disciples' stories of life in the immediate aftermath of the Resurrection, it's not entirely surprising that Thomas was missing, is it? Every person confronted with the death of Jesus was devastated in their own way. And some of us retreat when attacked. Maybe Thomas is one of those people. We don't know.

We do know that, unlike the travelers on the road to Emmaus, Thomas came back of his own accord. And when Thomas returns to his place among the disciples, his buddies can't wait to tell him: "We have seen the LORD!" Rather than saying to them, "Great! I'll totally take your word on that," Thomas doubts. Can you blame him? "We have seen the LORD!" Sensible people don't just take that piece of information without question! It's intellectually dubious, for starters. And for finishers, well, if I were Thomas, I guess I'd want to know – why them? How come they get to see Jesus? It's not fair! I'm never in the right place at the right time! If he's already irritated, a bunch of yahoos gloating about their spiritual experience isn't going to help.

I refuse to call this dear disciple "Doubting Thomas." I think it's a horrible nickname that's dogged him for far too long. One commentator acknowledges the same unfortunate treatment of Thomas. He says, "Thomas is not Judas." Thomas doesn't betray Jesus. He wonders how such a thing as the resurrection could be. Then, to be fair, he does issue a rather cheeky challenge – to his community and, ultimately, to God. "Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe." Cheeky words! No doubt about it. And some of us, if we are honest, expect God to show up with thunder in His voice and lightening in his fists. Maybe the disciples cocked their heads to look up at the ceiling and scooted away from Thomas, just in case Divine bursts of meteorology were about to crack the plaster above them. But instead. . .nothing. . .or, at least, nothing yet.

The Trouble with Us

Thomas doubted. No question. But the most important characteristic of Thomas is not his doubt. It's what he does with his doubt. The same is true for us. The most important characteristic of our faith is not whether we doubt. Instead, it is what we do with doubt. Remember back to my summer in Yellowstone. Two weeks in. No bears. At that point, I had a choice to make.

1) I could have packed up my stuff, hitched the first greyhound back to my suburban life of Target and Starbucks. Then my doubt would have become self-fulfilling prophecy. And I would probably still secretly doubt the existence of bears in Yellowstone National Park. OR

2) I could have doubted the way Thomas in this passage doubts. I could have done my doubting in the community of the persuaded. I could have stayed where I was most likely to encounter bears scampering along hiking trails and parking themselves, most obviously (and inconveniently) outside cabin doors or wandering through campgrounds.

Time out from the analogy, for a minute. When I meet folks who've stopped going to church, next to citing the hypocrisy they observed among church people, the second excuse most people use is: "I have doubts."

As if doubt is the end of the conversation! But, in fact, doubt is the beginning of the best conversations! In Mark 9 we read the story of a Father who asked Jesus to heal his son –

"If you are able to do anything, take pity on us and help us."

Jesus replies, "'IF you can?' Everything is possible for one who believes."

"Immediately the boy's father exclaimed, 'I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief."

Commenting on this encounter, the American novelist, Flannery O'Connor, wrote: " The experience of losing your faith, or of having lost it, is an experience that in the long run belongs to faith; or at least it can belong to faith. . . 'Lord, I believe; help my unbelief' is the most natural and most human and most agonizing prayer in the Gospels, and I think it is the foundation prayer of faith."

The Grace of Jesus to Thomas

Thomas does not use his uncertainty as license to abandon faith. How do I know that? Because of this – because of what He did with his doubt. Despite disbelief, skepticism and maybe even anger, Thomas remained where God was most likely to show up. Hebrews 10:25 cautions us, "Do not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing but encourage one another and all the more as you see the day approaching." Thomas uses his doubt to fuel his quest for truth. Better yet, the Risen Christ used the platform of Thomas' doubt to reveal Himself in truth.

"A week later." That's right. A whole week later "Jesus came and stood among them."
A week later, Jesus again appears to the disciples only, this time, "Thomas is with them." Greater than any character flaw or doubt or cheeky challenge, it is these four words that define the character of the man: "Thomas is with them." Thomas had his doubts. But Thomas stuck it out in a place where it was most likely that the Risen Christ would show up. Through it all, his faith was not his own, he was fed and kept and nourished by the community of faith around him. And, eventually, "a week later," the Risen Christ shows up. Jesus speaks peace to all in the room and then he turns to Thomas. The tone of his address is hard to determine. Typically, folks make Jesus out to be angry or frustrated, disappointed or annoyed. But we don't know that from the text. What we know is that each verb Jesus uses is a command: Put. See. Reach out. Put. Stop doubting. Clearly it is important to Jesus that Thomas understands this. It is crucial to Jesus that Thomas receives what is needed.

And the result of Thomas' encounter with the Risen Christ shouldn't surprise us. When Jesus finally appears and singles out Thomas, in that moment, in that transaction, what had previously only been the stories of others became Thomas' own experience with the Risen Christ. His response was immediate and unwavering, like that of the women at the tomb. Like the traveler's to Emmaus who could barely contain themselves as they sprinted back into their life of faith. Like Peter who jumps out of his boat to get to shore. Thomas responds: "My Lord and My God."

The Grace of Jesus to Us

What is Jesus' final evaluation of Thomas: "Because you have seen me, you have believed." That doesn't sound like a disciple who should be required to carry the title "Doubting" through all of church history, does it? In fact, that sounds very much like faith – even if it wasn't a straight and compliant journey. Even if it wasn't a childlike or easy faith. It's still faith. And even Jesus acknowledges that.

More recent commentators have decided in favor of a new nickname for Thomas – one that I like much better – AND one that is found in the text itself. "Thomas (also known as Didymus)." Thomas, is Aramaic for "twin." Didymus is Greek for "twin." Doesn't the remind you of Cephas, called Peter? Cephas and Peter are Aramaic and Greek for "the Rock."

Thomas the Twin. Much better. It even has the added benefit of alliteration! But, seriously, here is why it is a helpful name – Scripture never tells us who Thomas' twin is. Preachers like to speculate that He is a twin to us all. That in Thomas' story, we find one of our own. For better or for worse, this is our kin.

Some of us here reckon ourselves to be identical twins with the-Thomas-formerly-known-as-Doubting. Maybe you're a mathematician, still trying to get Christianity into a formula or chart or diagram of some sort. Maybe the messiness of life has made it impossible for you to latch onto the truth of a good God. Maybe you are waiting for the Risen Christ to show up in your life. We are Thomas' identical twins. And we've got our doubts.

It takes a great deal of courage, a healthy dose of tenacity to have faith when our sight grows dim. To believe, even while we waver and doubt, is still faith. Because the opposite of faith isn't doubt. The opposite of faith is certainty. It doesn't take faith to assert that 2 + 2 = 4. Christianity isn't an algebra equation. Christianity is a story. A story that beckons and invites and welcomes our participation. We can admit our doubt. And then we can admit our desire to believe and ask God to meet us in the midst of our muddled up and messy jumble of faith and doubt. We can "not stop meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing." We could, instead, position ourselves with the best possible vantage point to see the Risen Christ when he comes. And isn't the best possible vantage point in the midst of the assembled people of God?

But, of course, within the assembled people of God, some of us aren't identical twins with Thomas. Some folks have the certainty of those with an easy and early relationship with the Risen Christ. We are the ones meeting Thomas at the door: "We have seen the LORD!" Or else we are the ones Jesus commends. We are the ones "who have not seen and yet believe." Don't get too big a head. You've still got that fraternal twin Thomas to drag around with you.

Series Conclusion

Think about what it means to be the church. We are called the community of faith. Faith may be – in fact, should be -- something that each individual has BUT your faith, my faith is all, ultimately, OUR faith. We are in this venture together. And we are in it for the long haul.

Do you remember how, four weeks ago, I made you look at the person sitting next to you in the pew? Could you do that again, please? Humor me. And now look across the sanctuary. This is your community of faith. Our neighborhood extends well beyond these doors. We've learn that lesson so well this year. And I'm proud of what we have discovered. But there is a neighborhood built into this sanctuary as well. We are in this venture together. We are in it for the long haul. Faith is a team sport. Folks, take a good look because this is your team.

On this team, , we have been gifted with the challenge of figuring out how to enact 4^th century theologian, Augustine's, words:

In the essentials, unity.

In the non-essentials, liberty &diversity.

Over all things, charity.

Here's why this matters so very much – if we cannot figure out how to hold onto each other in the essentials. If we allow non-essentials to divide us, I'm not sure we'll be able to survive. I worry about this sometimes. Not in this church so much. But in our classis – our geographical grouping of churches. And in our denomination. And in the Church Universal. If we cannot figure out how to hold on to one another in the essentials, if we let the non-essentials divide us, I'm not sure we can survive.

Colossians 3 tells us, "Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the LORD forgave you. And over all these virtues, put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body, you were called to peace."

As members of one body, the resurrection of Jesus Christ is our only truly legitimate source of unity. "Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said." When the women at the tomb heard those words and encountered the Risen Christ, they overcame their fear in order to obey Jesus' command "Go and tell." When Peter sat over a daybreak campfire with the Risen Christ, he overcame his shame and failure in order to obey Jesus' command "Feed my sheep." And the travelers to Emmaus? They just needed some reassurance that all was not lost by following Jesus. And the Risen Christ used the familiar things of the world and the familiar ritual of the Table to nourish their faith. And Thomas the Twin? He wasn't going to make it on his own but, in the community of faith, the Risen Christ appeared to him too. Different people. Different needs. One Risen Christ. One Church Universal.

Thanks be to God.

 

    
 

No Woman’s Land

So, I was listening to NPR this afternoon -- Fresh Air to be specific -- and it was an interview I thought I was going to enjoy.  Ayelet Waldman, a feminist author of the Mommy-Track Mysteries, about a lawyer who stays home to raise her kids.   There's something there that's likeable enough.  It's bound to be an interesting conversation, right?  About women and the choices we have to make and how we find balance, etc.  And then she starts in a decision she and her husband made to abort their fourth child and still, I was like, it's a conversation worth hearing.  Agree/disagree, whatever.  Why do women make the decisions they do.  And THEN she starts in on a detailed description of the procedure --

So, I switched the radio to the local Christian station, looking for something wholesome and soothing, only to discover a sweet round-table conversation with a group of women about the role of a Christian wife and mother.  There's something there that's likeable enough.  It's bount to be an interesting conversation, right?  About women and the choices we have to make and how we find balance, etc.  And then one women talks about marrying into her husband's "ideal" family with a mother in apron and pearls and a father who was a real "man's man," providing for the family and always having the last word and still, I was like, it's a conversation worth hearing.  Agree/disagree, whatever.  Why do women make the decisions they do. And THEN she starts in on how submission changed her life and she always lets (makes?) her husband have the final word --

So, I switched off my radio altogether and fumed.  There IS a middle ground, right?  Women who stay home with kids.  Women who opt for traditional gender roles (tradition dating back to 1950).  Women who work inside and outside the home.  Women who take advantage of choice (and potentially make the wrong one.) 

There IS a middle ground.  I should know.  I'm trying to walk it.  But it ain't easy.  And there isn't a ton o' company on the journey.  It's No-Woman's Land and, somedays, I'm just relieved to dodge the cross-fire.

No-woman's Land

So, I was listening to NPR this afternoon -- Fresh Air to be specific -- and it was an interview I thought I was going to enjoy. Ayelet Waldman, a feminist author of the Mommy-Track Mysteries, about a lawyer who stays home to raise her kids. There's something there that's likeable enough. It's bound to be an interesting conversation, right? About women and the choices we have to make and how we find balance, etc. And then she starts in a decision she and her husband made to abort their fourth child and still, I was like, it's a conversation worth hearing. Agree/disagree, whatever. Why do women make the decisions they do. And THEN she starts in on a detailed description of the procedure --

So, I switched the radio to the local Christian station, looking for something wholesome and soothing, only to discover a sweet round-table conversation with a group of women about the role of a Christian wife and mother. There's something there that's likeable enough. It's bount to be an interesting conversation, right? About women and the choices we have to make and how we find balance, etc. And then one women talks about marrying into her husband's "ideal" family with a mother in apron and pearls and a father who was a real "man's man," providing for the family and always having the last word and still, I was like, it's a conversation worth hearing. Agree/disagree, whatever. Why do women make the decisions they do. And THEN she starts in on how submission changed her life and she always lets (makes?) her husband have the final word --

So, I switched off my radio altogether and fumed. There IS a middle ground, right? Women who stay home with kids. Women who opt for traditional gender roles (tradition dating back to 1950). Women who work inside and outside the home. Women who take advantage of choice (and potentially make the wrong one.)

There IS a middle ground. I should know. I'm trying to walk it. But it ain't easy. And there isn't a ton o' company on the journey. It's No-Woman's Land and, somedays, I'm just relieved to dodge the cross-fire.

Christ Revealed @ the Table

Text:        Luke 24:13-35

Theme:    When we are lost, we find our way again at the Table.

Doctrine:    Sacrament; The Lord's Table

Image:        HAD hoped à will come

Need:        To sense, again the importance of the Lord's Table -- To find our way.

Mission:    To come to the Lord's Table prepared to discern the Body and find our way home.

 

Trouble in the Text

They must have been devastated, don't you think? "He was a prophet," they said. "Powerful in word and deed before God and all the people." And he had been their teacher. Who knows what they had taken on or what they had left behind to follow Jesus. They had put all their eggs in this one basket. They had bet the farm on a dream. And Friday afternoon, just two days ago, their dream was hung on a Cross like so much criminal trash. Jesus died. "But we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel."
"We had hoped. . ." It is the most heartbreaking line in the whole account. Not just: "They hoped," but "They HAD hoped." They had hoped and now? Well, the whole thing has proved nothing more than a fool's errand. Proverbs 13:2 says "Hope deferred makes the heart sick." We have some heartsick traveler's on our hands here this morning.

It's the first day of the new week. It's the first day of a new life without Jesus. You know, we don't know, we aren't told in the story why they are going to Emmaus. Are they returning -- to their former trades or families? Or are they escaping Jerusalem, with its reminders of Jesus' humiliation, of their shame? With leaden legs, our disciples begin their seven mile journey. Away from discipleship. Away from all that had defined them. Away from the one thing that had made sense, the one still point in their chaotic lives. Away from a tomb, which some claimed was empty but . . . "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice. . ." Well, the disciples weren't going to make that mistake again. They had put their lives on hold for long enough. "We had hoped. . ." It was the first day of the week. It was the first day of a new life without Jesus.

Putting physical distance between themselves and Jerusalem didn't seem to be working, though. The experiences of Jesus, the tangible brutality of suffering, the undeniable certainty of his death, could not have been far from their minds, far from their souls. "We had hoped. . ."

Along the way, they pick up a straggler. A lone traveler who joins their party as they trudge along toward Emmaus or away from Jerusalem. And their companion speaks, "What are you discussing together as you walk along?" If sandals could make the sound of rubber tires screeching on asphalt, I think theirs might have. How does he not know? This event has decimated them. How is it that anyone in the world could not know? "Are you only a visitor to Jerusalem and do not know the things that have happened there in these days?"

Truth be told, religious sectarians crucified was a common enough occurrence in Jerusalem. It would have been a mighty slow news day in the Roman Empire for this story to be picked up. It wasn't the talk of Jerusalem, really, but for those who had turned their backs on everything else in order to follow Jesus, it was the only conversation that mattered. "We had hoped. . ."

Jesus went on and "explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself." They were clearly impressed, for they asked him to stay on with them. At the same time, it wasn't his words that opened the gate for their understanding. In hindsight, they'll admit that Jesus' teaching caused their hearts to burn within them. But at the time, it wasn't his words that opened the gate for their understanding. His words were comforting, perhaps. Intriguing, almost certainly. Maybe even familiar. But teaching about Jesus (even BY Jesus-incognito) is not the same thing as recognizing the Risen LORD for themselves.

 

Trouble in the World

I wonder if you've ever had an experience of teaching like that? A time of great personal pain or loss and, sure, you heard the minister read the words of the Psalm at the graveside. You were there in your hospital bed, a medically captive listener, when your friend shared an extraordinarily hope-filled verse of Scripture with you. You heard it. You couldn't have missed it. You may have even agreed in your mind that such a thing was true. But it didn't penetrate the core of your heart-sickness. "We had hoped. . ." You know those words, don't you?

• We had hoped that Jesus would keep us free of disease.
  
• We had hoped that our belief in the resurrection might suck all the pain out of our grieving.
  
• We had hoped for happily ever after.
  
• We had hoped for children of our own.
  
• We had hoped that children of our own would take to faith without doubt or rebellion.
  
• We had hoped for health and clarity of mind for our loved ones in old age.
  

We had hoped with so much expectation of what life owed us. And life has fallen woefully short of what we thought was the Maker's guarantee. And when that happens, we even begin to doubt the promise of Jesus Christ -- that he came so that we might have life and have it to the full, abundantly. We had hoped. . .

For the travelers on their way to Emmaus, this is the day after the crisis. The day after the funeral. The day after the diagnosis. Maybe you know that moment too. The confused barrage of handshaking has stilled. The shared stories and memories of the loved one have stilled. The casserole-toting church members and the well-meaning pastor have all gone home. They have all returned to "life as normal." But for you? Life as normal? What does that even mean? There is no such thing. Try as you might, the trappings and landmarks of normal are nowhere to be found in this barren stretch of the journey. You are on the road to Emmaus.

 

Grace in the Text

When you are on the road to Emmaus, you need more than words. The disciples did too. They sat down at Table with their strange, insightful companion. Of course, when we read this text, that Jesus "took the break, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them," our eyes move automatically to this Table, don't they? But, it's unlikely that these disciples were at Jesus' Last Supper. Cleopas isn't a name we have for any of the 12 disciples. So, the power of the image, the power of the action goes beyond one evening spent by a few in an upper room. The story, it turns out, is bigger than one moment.

Turn with me to Luke, chapter 9. Beginning in verse 10, we have the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand. Jesus commands the disciples to feed all the hungry people. The disciples balk at the command – "We only have this much" – offering up two fish and five loaves. Now look at verse 16. "Taking the fives loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke them. Then he gave them to the disciples to set before the people." Taking. Giving thanks. Breaking the bread and giving it to the disciples. It's the same language and, no doubt, there was a sameness in the way Jesus did it.

Now flip to the book of Acts, chapter 27. Paul is sailing for Rome, where he will face trial and, later, death. On the way, his boat encounters a fierce Mediterranean storm. For fourteen nights the sailors did whatever it is sailors do to keep their boat from sinking. But Paul promises the men than those who stay with him have the protection of God Almighty. Just before dawn on the last night, Paul urged the men to eat: "You have been in constant suspense for the past fourteen days and you haven't eaten anything. You must eat to survive." After he said this, the text tells us, "He took some bread and gave thanks to God in front of them all. Then he broke it and began to eat. They were all encouraged and ate some food themselves."

"We had hoped. . ." the sailors said. With nearly all of their strength sapped and their courage drained, Paul invites them to find hope again. "You must eat to survive." Took. Gave thanks. Broke it. It is the same scene, recreated in crisis. The same scene which we will, again, recreate together this morning. The story, it turns out, is bigger than one moment.

Back on the road to Emmaus, "Their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight." Stuffing bread hastily into their pockets, the men sprinted out the door, back to Jerusalem. A journey made with leaden feet is reversed. "How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, 'Your God reigns!'" And they told the disciples, "How Jesus was recognized by them when they broke the bread."

 

Grace in the World

Jesus was recognized by those disciples on their way to Emmaus long ago in the breaking of the bread. Jesus is recognized by us, disciples on our own roads to Emmaus, yet today in the breaking of the Bread. We come to this Table because, sometimes, words themselves cannot contain the grace of God.

Theologian N.T. Wright says it like this: "We break bread and drink wine together, telling the story of Jesus and his death, because Jesus knew that this set of actions would explain the meaning of his death in a way that nothing else – no theories, no clever ideas – could ever do. After all, when Jesus died for our sins, it wasn't so he could fill our minds with true ideas, however important they may be, but so he could DO something, namely rescue us from evil and death."

Are you on the road to Emmaus this morning? Is your heart sick with hope deferred? Is your soul weary from "having hoped" to no avail? Sure you know Scripture. And your brain is eager to assent to its truth. But Jesus did not come only "so he could fill our minds with true ideas, however important they may be." Jesus rose from the grave to rescue us from despair. From hopelessness. From evil and from death.

The Lord's Supper is, for us, a thin-place. Where the majesty of heaven is brought low to the earth by the ordinary elements of bread and wine. The Lord's Supper is, for us, a thin-place. Where the hungry 5000 on a hillside and the inner circle of 12 in the upper room and the frightened and weary sailors close to death are brought close to us through shared ritual – which is not a dirty word! And the future fulfillment of Christ's Kingdom throws a hand of hope back to those of us still walking the road to Emmaus.

This Table is not a life as normal moment. It is an anchor in turbulent seas. It is a glimmer of hope when we had thought our time of hoping was all dried up. It is a feeding of the many from the One Body of Christ.

So, you see, when the Risen LORD appears to you, life as normal is no option. Life as normal? There is no such thing. You are on the road to Emmaus this morning. And Jesus travels with you. In a few minutes, this Table will be set. And we will come.

Sisters and brothers in Christ,

• We will come because, when it comes to the Risen Christ, our Bread of Life, we "must eat to survive."
  
• We will come because we can't always quote the right answer, chapter and verse.
  
• We will come because Christ wants us to know Him and the power of His resurrection.
  
• We will come because the Risen Christ, who lives in us is our only HOPE of glory.
  
• We will come because we are lost.
  
• We will come because the Risen Christ is the only landmark by which the geography of our lives makes any sense.
  

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.    Amen.