In the Breaking of the Bread

Genesis 18: 1-14; Luke 24: 13-35

October 14, 2007
by Dr. Charles Parker

I. Introduction

Today we are celebrating Homelessness Ministry Sunday, but my sermon this morning is also another installment of the “Laying the Foundations” series that I’ve been preaching in recent weeks, because our passion for “service” is another of the hallmarks of who we are as a Metropolitan community. Our shelter -- Metropolitan House -- our ongoing work with the Washington Interfaith Network, our amazing Volunteers in Mission program, 37 years of work with the Appalachian Service Project: all of these ministries have shaped who we are as a community.

It was your commitment to service that was my greatest joy when I arrived here this summer. As many of you know, most of my ministry has involved work with homeless and marginalized communities, and that work has shaped who I am and what ministry looks like for me; and I was overjoyed to discover that you also have that same passion.

Most of my ministry, 16 years, was spent at two non-profit ministries downtown: Bread for the City, where Jeannine is currently the Deputy Director, and Emmaus Services for the Aging, working with low-income seniors in the Shaw neighborhood. Both of those ministries were founded by a coalition of downtown churches that called themselves the Emmaus Fellowship, taking their name from the story in our gospel lesson this morning.

II. The Road to Emmaus

This story is one of the post-resurrection narratives that take place at the end of the gospel of Luke. It takes place on Easter Sunday, when two of Jesus’ disciples are traveling from Jerusalem to their home town of Emmaus, which Luke tells us is about seven miles from Jerusalem. They’re traveling on Sunday because Jesus was crucified on Friday afternoon, and by the time the body had been taken down, it was getting to be nightfall, when the Sabbath started. And as faithful Jews, they were not allowed to travel on the Sabbath, so they were effectively caught in Jerusalem all Saturday, and had to wait to Sunday to travel home.

One of these disciples is referred to as Cleopas and the other is unnamed. But in the Gospel of John, there is a woman by the name of Mary, who is called the wife of Cleopas, who was one of the women standing at the foot of the cross when Jesus died. And given the fact that these two appear to be going to the same house, it’s likely that these disciples are the husband and wife Cleopas and Mary.

It’s not too hard to place ourselves in the minds of these two as they travel down this road. They have just been through the most traumatic week of their lives. Just seven days before, they had entered into Jerusalem with Jesus as the crowds, lining the road and waving palm branches, hailed Jesus as the Messiah. The tensions were running high in Jerusalem as the crowds waited to see how Jesus would confront their Roman conquerors and start the revolution that would free their land from bondage. That’s what the messiah was supposed to do. The Romans, of course, were watching for the same thing.

And things had gotten off to a great start, one of the first things that Jesus had done was the cleansing of the temple. People were excited to see that passionate zeal for the House of God, and pleased to see the money changers get their comeuppance. But then as the week progressed, and Jesus settled into a regular pattern of teaching, the crowds started getting a bit restless. Not only was there no talk of revolution, there weren’t even any of the dramatic healings that they had heard so much about. He just taught.

And as the week progressed, the Scribes and Pharisees, sensing the shift in the mood of the crowd, made their move, and then things went downhill fast. He was betrayed and captured, tried in a midnight court by the High Priest, and then around dawn, turned over to the Romans. By late morning, he was stripped and dragging his cross to Golgotha, and he was crucified there with two petty criminals.

Mary and Cleopas watched all this happen. They’d seen one of his inner circle betray him and then commit suicide. They’d seen another deny him. The disciples had fled or were in hiding, and all of their dreams had come dashing down around them. They’re frightened, they’re depressed, and they’re lost.

And as they walk that long, lonely road back home, trying to make some sense of this, they meet this stranger who asks what they’re talking about. And these two depressed, frightened people open up and tell him what they’re struggling with. It’s a risk, it’s dangerous, but they share with him and invite him into the conversation.

But rather than sympathize and console them, this stranger tells them that they’re foolish and slow. He starts to unfold some of the Scriptures that they thought they knew so well, but explain them in a different way. And as he speaks, they start getting a sense that maybe the situation was not as dark as they thought; maybe they had misunderstood this whole messiah thing; maybe the story wasn’t over.

They get to their home, and the stranger looks as if he’s moving on down the road. But it’s late and they invite him in to spend the night. As was the tradition in the Jewish home, the guest would have said the blessing. And as the stranger prays and breaks the bread, their eyes are opened and they see the risen Lord in his glory – for just a moment before he vanishes.

III. Meeting God in the Stranger.

The churches of the Emmaus Fellowship took their name from this story because they realized that when we – as disciples of Christ – reach beyond our fear and self-absorption to engage the wanderers we meet along our journey, when we break bread with the strangers in our midst, that we too become open to meeting the risen Christ. So that reaching out to the homeless and the marginalized is not a duty, but an opportunity to meet God and have our lives transformed.

I don’t have to explain this to those of you who have repaired a home in Mississippi or Costa Rica, or shared a meal and stayed the night in the shelter. Those are life changing events. They make us disciples. But I want to share a couple of thoughts on how to go about keeping as open as possible to these opportunities to meet God.

The first thought is that it is important for us to have hands-on engagement with the homeless and marginalized. It’s wonderful to be part of a church that has a shelter in it or sends mission teams to rebuild people’s homes; but we can’t meet God in the stranger if we’re not actually meeting the stranger. It’s a face-to-face encounter. And that’s scary for a lot of us. The homeless in our community are the people that we generally hurry by, while keeping our eyes averted. It takes serious stepping outside of our comfort zones to engage a homeless person in conversation. And yet that’s where the transformation takes place.

St. Francis of Assisi had a lifelong terror of leprosy, and that’s easy to understand. Leprosy had the social stigma that AIDS does for us today, was highly contagious, and the virus was transmitted by touch. Lepers were social outcasts who had to live outside of inhabited areas, often in their own colonies; and when they traveled, they had to ring a bell and warn people not to come close, saying, “Unclean!”

One day, St. Francis was traveling along a road on his donkey, when he met one of these lepers who was begging for food. Francis’s initial reaction was to spur his donkey and ride on as fast as possible. But he felt a call from the Holy Spirit that he couldn’t ignore. He got off of his donkey, walked across the road to the leper, gave him the money he had and embraced him. He let that disfigured, contagious man know that God loved him and that he was of value.

Francis walked back to his donkey, climbed up, and looked back across the road at the leper, and he was gone. Francis looked up and down the road and the man was nowhere to be seen. And Francis became convinced that it was Jesus that he had met that day, calling him to move beyond his fears to meet his Savior.

Which segues to the second thought: that our expectations shape how those encounters unfold. This is the same point that I made about worship a couple of weeks ago. If we expect God to do miracles in worship, we open up some space for God to do miracles in worship. If we expect to look into the eyes of a stranger and see Christ, we open up the space for God to look back into our eyes and speak to us through the stranger.

This is what I love about this wonderful story from Genesis that we read this morning. Abraham has pitched his tent under the oaks of Mamre. It’s the hottest part of the day, and Abraham is resting in the shade, taking a little siesta. He cracks open his eyes and he sees these three strangers. It would have been fairly natural for Abraham to say to himself, “Great, another bunch of freeloaders looking for a free meal.” But he doesn’t; he jumps up, runs to meet them, bows down at their feet, and begs them to share a meal. He has Sarah make some fresh bread; he picks out a choice lamb to cook for them.

Abraham doesn’t know these strangers, but he engages them with such genuineness and anticipation. He knows that they bring him something as well; he doesn’t know what it is, but he knows that it’s there waiting for him.

IV. Conclusion

Work with the homeless and marginalized in our community is a sacred calling from God. But more importantly, it is a gift that God give us: a chance to reach beyond our fears and pre-occupations to meet the Holy One in those that we serve. I am grateful to all of you here who have provided leadership in this important area, and grateful to be part of a community that has been shaped by this work.

Amen.