“How To Break Bread In A Pandemic”

Homily delivered by the Rev. Rhonda J. Rubinson
Sunday, April 26, 2020 at 10:00AM

via zoom

Texts: Luke 24:13-25

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

I’ve always loved this gospel because it’s about breaking bread.

Of course the Holy Eucharist is the way we break bread in normal times, and I know I speak for many of us when I say that one of the many difficult things about our current situation is not being able to gather in person and share the Eucharist. But there are many ways to break bread, and not all of them need actual bread; this gospel reading is not so much about sharing real bread as it is about experiencing Jesus amongst us, in community, no matter what form that community takes, as long as we invite him into our midst.

We’re going to discover this together by delving into the past, so please keep today’s gospel, the story of Jesus and the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, in mind as I tell stories from two different Christian traditions.

The first story comes from Russia, in the years roughly from the 1940’s to the 1980’s. Of course at that point. Russia was part of the Soviet Union, but Christians there still took their faith very seriously, so seriously that there were a large number of folks who became “poustinikki,” from the word poustinia, which means “desert” in Russian, so “poustinikki” means “desert dwellers,” here the dwelling is meant spiritually, not literally, because they typically lived in the woods by their home towns. Poustinikki came from all classes of society, from the hightest nobility down to the poorest peasants – and they were both men and women. They would renounce all of their possessions, move into the woods, build a log hut, and devote their time to prayer and meditation. It is tempting to call these people “hermits,” but you need to know that part of their new life was to live in a hut with an unlocked door. Many local townspeople would take advantage of this and visit the local poustinik for prayer and for counsel. The poustinik was also always available for whatever help anyone asked of him: if a farmer needed a hand to bring hay into the barn before it rained for example, the poustinik dropped whatever he was doing to help. The Russian spiritual author, Catherine de Hueck Dougherty, said this about the local poustinik who lived in the woods near her childhood home and who her mother would visit for advice:

“His was always a “welcome” face. His eyes seemed to sparkle with the joy of receiving a guest. He seemed to be a listening person. A person of few words, but his listening was deep and there was a feeling that he understood. In him, St. Francis’ prayer seemed to be incarnate: he consoled, he understood, and he loved. And he didn’t demand anything from anyone for himself.”

Next, let’s visit a Benedictine monastery. Saint Benedict founded his monasteries in the early years of the 6th century, a long time ago; of course they still exist today – our own West Park Monastery is Benedictine. To guide his communities, St. Benedict wrote a famous rule – a manual or guidebook – that lays out how the monastery was to run in every detail; from prayer times, to how the monks were to dress, their work hours, when and what they were to eat, and so on. Built into this “Rule of St. Benedict” are instructions on hospitality, on how guests are to be welcomed. Upon hearing a knock at the door, the porter is instructed to cry out “Thanks be to God that you have come!”, then is instructed to “provide a prompt answer with all the warmth of love.” The abbot of the monastery – he was the one in charge – the abbot was then instructed to wash his guest’s feet, no matter who the guest was.

Now please keep those two welcoming stories in mind as we return to the gospel, because they illuminate the message of this Eastertide story, which is that we often miss the presence of God in our very midst by refusing to invite him in; we can even drive God away by the way we speak. On the other hand, if we welcome others as though they were Christ himself, that’s when the Lord shows up. We tend to focus on Jesus in the gospels, but let’s take a closer look at the disciples on the road to Emmaus.

The gospel says that they were discussing among themselves Jesus’ crucifixion and burial. Right away, we can see that the disciples were off base in two ways: first, they were focusing on the trouble – the perceived loss of Jesus, and second, they were looking to themselves and each other – not to God – to try to figure it all out. When they should have been relying on their faith, on Jesus’ own words, on scripture – in other words, relying on God – instead they fell back into the useless activities of gossip and self-reliance. Predictably this gets them nowhere – the gospel says that the disciples “stood still, and were looking sad.” This despite them admitting that the women of the group astounded them by reporting the empty tomb and the angels proclaiming the resurrection! Yet, they were standing still, looking sad!

Whenever we do what they did, we too are guaranteed to get stuck, and get depressed. We will always find ourselves sad and standing still if we focus on the wrong place and say the wrong thing.

“Oh,” you might say, “But I need to watch another terrifying Coronavirus briefing and talk about it endlessly with my family and friends!”

Would Jesus approve?

Listen to what Jesus says to the disciples on the road. Instead of commiserating with them, holding their hands and saying, “oh how terrible, why don’t we spend some more time fretting and talking about all the stuff that’s going wrong,” Jesus gives them the verbal equivalent of a slap upside the head. He says to them: Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory? This seems to shock the disciples into moving again; they start forward on the road.

At this point, they begin receiving a long, personalized Bible study on their way to Emmaus. However, they still don’t recognize Jesus, and they still are not aware of the magnitude of the encounter they are having. This is because it is so far a one-sided conversation – with Jesus doing all of the talking. We’ll see why this is important in a moment, but in the meantime, Jesus decides to find out how effective his teaching has been, so he gives the disciples a little test. When they reach Emmaus Jesus keeps walking as if continuing down the road. But the disciples, now sensing that their companion is special, prevail upon him strongly to remain with them that night.

Finally, Jesus’ monologue becomes a dialogue with the disciples, and Jesus accepts their invitation. That’s all that Jesus needed – an invitation. That’s all Jesus ever needs – an invitation; that’s when the divine appears to us. The gospel says, When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight.

This is how Jesus appears even to this day.

When our hands are outstretched to serve others as though they are God’s self, that is when our hands open to receive the gift of Jesus, the bread of life, the Christ himself. As the disciples open themselves to their companion, just like the poustinik who keeps the door to his hut unlatched, and the porter at the Benedictine monastery who welcomes all guests no matter their station in life, the disciples now open their door to other souls, knowing that every stranger has something of value to offer, always, because every soul is Christ in disguise.

And finally, recognizing Jesus as he breaks the bread, the disciples are ready to welcome all, crying out as the Benedictine porter does: “Thank God that you have come!” in their spirits. It is in the moment of recognition that Jesus vanishes, because his work is finished.

The disciples had received the Lord in the guise of a stranger.

One more thing.

As we finish, I’d like to take you back into the Hebrew Scriptures for a moment, to the very beginning of Israel’s worship of God in the wilderness. When the first tabernacle is built, there is a curious instruction as to its design. On the top of the Ark of the Covenant, which was intended to welcome God’s presence, God’s Shechinah, there were to be two cherubim, facing each other across the top of the Ark with their wings touching. The reason they were facing each other is that they were in dialogue with each other, praising the Lord one to another, saying: “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Hosts”.

And you know what?

That conversation, that dialogue, those words of praise, were the invitation to God, and that indeed is where God showed up – right in between the cherubim is the very spot where the presence of God would come down into the Tabernacle and on to the Ark.

All it takes is two – remember that the gospels say that whenever two or three are gathered together in Jesus’ name, Jesus is in the midst of them. Remember that Jesus says, “gathered in my name” – not gathered together to do or say whatever we want. We must gather together in faith, with the right kind of words, those of praise and faith – that is the invitation Jesus longs to accept to appear among us. And it is in the darkest of times when this is especially true, like the time of the disciples, and yes, in our dark times too.

Is it possible for Jesus to appear to us in the breaking of the bread when we are not in church breaking bread?

Absolutely.

We can welcome each other as Christ on Zoom as we are now doing, or on the phone, or through masks from a safe distance on the street, in any way that we can share.

And as we cry “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Hosts” one to another, Jesus will show up this Easter season, even in the midst of a pandemic. Then with glad and grateful hearts we can greet him by saying as we recognize him, “Thank God Christ that you have come.”

Amen.