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Encountering the Risen Jesus
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Third Week of Easter
“I am the living bread that came down from heaven.
Whoever eats of this bread will live forever;
and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”
-John 6:51Even as Jesus is saying these words you can imagine some would-be disciples slipping to the back of the crowd before making a beeline home. Watching Jesus give sight to someone born blind and healing leprosy would have been amazing, but now he is not making any sense. After Jesus says these words, John’s Gospel notes that many of his disciples said, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?”
The twelve will stick with Jesus, but many others will fall away. Knowing Jesus as a great teacher is one thing, but talking about your flesh as food and your blood as drink must have sounded like the rabbi had lost it. We are so accustomed to speaking of Christ’s body and blood in this way, that we could miss the shock of what it was like to hear this when Jesus was still alive. This lengthy bread discourse in the fourth Gospel follows Jesus feeding 5,000 people as the time for the Passover approaches. With that central Jewish feast in mind, Jesus referring to the bread that comes down from heaven makes more sense. Jesus reinterprets the story of the Passover and the Exodus through his own life and ministry.
This week, the theme of Feast follows the lead of Cyril of Jerusalem who used two of his five lectures to explore the holy mystery of the Eucharist. Jesus’ miracle of feeding the multitudes as well as his reinterpreting the Passover are central to our understanding of the Eucharistic Feast.
In feeding the 5,000, Jesus has given them physical food, a feast in the wilderness, and then uses that meal to teach that he can give them spiritual food as well. He said, “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life.” He wants those who are listening to him to not just eat some bread and fish and then go home to hunger again. He wants them to develop a spiritual hunger and thirst that he and only he can fill. And to teach this, Jesus uses the Passover story, which was about moving from slavery into freedom to show how faith in him also moves his followers from death to life.
These words from this Gospel, “the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh,” are given in the first year of Jesus’ three years of ministry. John’s Gospel, with these Bread of Life passages coming so early in his ministry, makes clear that the Eucharist is not about Jesus’ sacrificial death alone. Our faith is grounded in the Incarnation–Jesus’ whole life from Bethlehem to Golgotha and beyond to an empty tomb in a garden, appearances to his disciples, and ascension. Everything Jesus did—who Jesus was and how he acted—are part of God’s revelation to us. We are to take Jesus whole story and make it part of our story. God took Jesus’ whole life, blessed, broke it, and gave it to us. We are to let that story of God’s love for us take us, bless us, break us and give us back to the world.
Dom Gregory Dix in his work of scholarship on the Eucharist, The Shape of the Liturgy, wrote, “At the heart of it all is the Eucharistic action, a thing of an absolute simplicity— the taking, blessing, breaking and giving of bread and the taking, blessing and giving of a cup of wine and water, as they were first done with their new meaning by a young Jew before and after supper with His friends on the night before he died….Was ever another command so obeyed? For century after century, spreading slowly to every continent and country and among every race on earth, this action has been done, in every conceivable human circumstance, for every human need from infancy and before it to extreme old age and after it, from the pinnacles of earthly greatness to the refuge of fugitives in the caves and dens of the earth.”
We need this strengthening of the Body and Blood of Jesus encountered in the Eucharist as apart from God, we find it easier and easier to remain apart from God and to rely on other, lesser answers to our deep hungers and thirsts which only Jesus can satisfy. This is where the comparison to physical hunger and thirst helps us as we know that we need the nourishment of food and drink again and again. We may feast now, but we will still need to eat tomorrow and another meal in between those two as well. In that same way we need spiritual nourishment again and again.
From time to time, each of us can find ourselves feeling distanced from God. And so this is word to the wise that when that happens, know that staying away from the altar is not the path to healing and wholeness. Keep going to church. God can handle your doubts and even your anger. Keep asking for and expecting the peace which Jesus alone can give. You need the nourishment you find at the altar as much as you need something to eat and something to drink. It is returning again and again week after week for Jesus’ presence in Word and the sacrament of the Eucharist that we are fed. Jesus gave us this bread so that we might live. And in those times in life when challenges rise and we are not sure we have what it takes, we return again to be sustained by Jesus’ presence. And if we begin to feel unworthy of God’s love, we know that we are still invited to the feast. We can always return to the altar, confess, and receive forgiveness. Then through Christ’s presence in the Eucharistic Feast, we are nourished for the days ahead.
• When have you found receiving the Eucharist particularly meaningful?
• If you have found yourself away from church for a time, what brought you back?
“Fasting and feasting are universal human responses,
and any meal, shared with love, can be an agape.”
-Elise M. BouldingWhen I was much younger, I was perturbed by the term “Eucharistic Feast” because it didn’t fit my definition of what I thought a ‘feast’ was supposed to encompass. How could a wafer and a sip of wine be termed a ‘feast’? A feast is supposed to be composed of even more food options than Thanksgiving plus entertainment of some sort. Obviously, my definition of feast was drawn from all the Merlin and King Arthur books I read! Now that I am older and wiser, I understand just how much is contained within that word.
Artificial Intelligence (A.I.) tells me (in 13.5-point Roboto font, which seems apropos) that the Eucharistic Feast is: “a banquet feast that is both a sacrifice and a meal that takes place at an altar. The Eucharist is a memorial of the sacrifice of Christ, who offered his Body and Blood on the cross, and is also a sign of unity, charity, and a paschal banquet.”
So, if the Eucharistic Feast is communion within a community, a celebratory feast is people eating together in community, and hopefully, seeking communion with each other. One of my favorite movies is an excellent example of this. Based on the 1958 story of the same name by Isak Dinesen (the pen name of Karen Blixen), “Babette’s Feast” is, like most movies, complicated.
The movie is about two sisters, Martine and Filippa, who are elderly and pious Protestants, that live in a small village on the remote western coast of Jutland in 19th-century Denmark. Their late father was a pastor who founded his own Pietistic church, and the sisters now minister to an ever dwindling congregation.
Forty-nine years earlier, the sisters spurned their suitors in order to remain with their father. Martine turns down a young Swedish cavalry officer, Lorens Löwenhielm, and Filippa rejects the famous baritone Achille Papin, from the Paris Opera.
Thirty-five years later, Babette Hersant appears at their door carrying a letter from Papin explaining that she is a refugee from counter-revolutionary bloodshed in Paris and recommending her as a housekeeper. The sisters cannot afford to employ her, but Babette begs to work for free. For the next 14 years, she serves as their cook, creating improved versions of the bland meals they and the congregation are accustomed to and gaining their respect, and that of the other locals.
Babette’s only link to her former life is a lottery ticket that a Parisian friend renews for her annually. One day, she wins the lottery and receives 10,000 francs. After her win she decides to prepare a dinner for the sisters and their small congregation on the occasion of the founding pastor’s hundredth birthday. More than just a feast, the meal is also an act of self-sacrifice.
The sisters accept Babette’s offer to pay for the creation of a “real French dinner.” Babette arranges for her nephew to go to Paris and gather the supplies for the feast. The ingredients are plentiful and exotic, and their arrival causes a lot of discussion among the villagers. As the various neverbefore-seen ingredients arrive and preparations commence, the sisters and their congregation begin to worry that the meal will become a sin of sensual luxury, but agree to eat the meal, on the condition they don’t take any pleasure in it nor make any mention of the food during the dinner.
Löwenhielm, now a famous general married to a member of the Queen’s court, comes as the guest of his aunt, a member of the old pastor’s congregation. Unaware of the other guests’ plan, not to mention that he was a former attaché in Paris, he is the only person at the table qualified to comment on the meal and does so. He regales the guests with information about the extraordinary food and drink, comparing it to a meal he enjoyed years earlier at the famous Café Anglais in Paris. Although the other guests refuse to comment, Babette’s meal breaks down their distrust and superstitions—old wrongs are forgiven while old loves are rekindled, and an almost mystical redemption of the human spirit settles over the table.
The sisters assume that Babette will now return to Paris, but she informs them that all of her money is gone and that she is not going anywhere. She then reveals that she is the former head chef of the Café Anglais, where a dinner for twelve cost 10,000 francs. When Martine cries, “Now you will be poor the rest of your life,” Babette replies, “An artist is never poor.” Filippa says, “But this is not the end, Babette. In paradise you will be the great artist God meant you to be.” She then embraces her with tears in her eyes saying, “Oh, how you will enchant the angels!”
The movie is both secular and religious and speaks to what John Stott said:
“The Christian community is a community of the cross, for it has been brought into being by the cross, and the focus of its worship is the Lamb once slain, now glorified. So the community of the cross is a community of celebration, a eucharistic community, ceaselessly offering to God through Christ the sacrifice of our praise and thanksgiving. The Christian life is an unending festival. And the festival we keep, now that our Passover Lamb has been sacrificed for us, is a joyful celebration of his sacrifice, together with a spiritual feasting upon it.”
We had the chance to experience an agape meal when we were in Israel. Our group, which was in Israel to explore both the Palestinian and Israeli sides of the story, traveled one day to Hebron, a Palestinian city in the southern West Bank, south of Jerusalem. The third-largest of the Palestinian territories, it had a population of 201,063 Palestinians in 2017 (the year before our trip). There are also 700 or so Jewish settlers concentrated on the outskirts of its Old City. Although the city has been under the civil control of the Palestinian Authority since 1997, the Israeli military maintains a presence in an area comprising 20 percent of the city.
Hebron includes the Cave of the Patriarchs and is considered one of the oldest cities in the country. According to the Bible, Abraham settled in Hebron and bought the Cave of the Patriarchs as a burial place for his wife Sarah. Biblical tradition holds that the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, along with their wives Sarah, Rebecca, and Leah, were buried in the cave. It was an almost surreal experience to be standing in that ancient place knowing its history while it was watched over by an Orthodox Jew from New York who had settled in the area.
Our group, thirteen of us, were invited to a Palestinian couple’s home for lunch and conversation. I honestly don’t remember if they were Christian or Muslim, but I do remember their generous hospitality. They prepared a traditional Palestinian meal for us called maqluba, concocted of caulifl ower, onion, chicken and rice that are layered in a pot and overturned onto a tray when fi nished. It is then served with yogurt, slivered almonds, and parsley.
We learned a lot during that meal as they shared their stories of what it was like to run a shop in a Palestinian town while surrounded by hostile Jews most days. To be fair, we also heard from Jews what it was like to live in fear of attacks by Hamas and other radical Muslims—it’s an insoluble situation in a tiny country. Still, that meal was one of the brightest spots in our week or so in Israel. I left with the feeling that, as Elise Boulding says above, that ‘any meal, shared with love, can be an agape.’
• Have you ever experienced a “Eucharistic Feast” that wasn’t during a church service? If so, what made it special to you?
“Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, ‘What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?’ They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, ‘Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?’ He asked them, ‘What things?’ They replied, ‘The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women in our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.’ Then he said 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?’ Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.” (Luke 24:13-27)
Jesus had already appeared to the women in the garden before this encounter on the road out of town. We know this because the full passage in Luke’s Gospel includes their reporting to Jesus how the tomb was discovered empty. As a shepherd brings the strays back to the flock, Jesus goes after these two lost sheep leaving Jerusalem in disappointment and confusion.
The two disciples do not recognize Jesus. While this lack of recognition is common in resurrection appearances, it is odd that Jesus pretends not to know them or to have any idea about what has transpired this passover either. Jesus asks what has been going on in Jerusalem. Cleopas and the other disciple tell Jesus about how the one they thought was the Messiah had been put to death and then add, “Some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.”
Jesus then lets the mask slip a little here and chides the disciples saying, “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?”
Jesus then begins what must have been the best Bible study ever undertaken. Jesus patiently explains how everything he has done was predicted by the prophets. The ministry of Jesus in what we now call the New Testament dovetails perfectly into the Old Testament. Jesus paints a perfect picture of who the Messiah is. This is an important example of how, for some lessons, the time has to be right. Jesus had been predicting his death and resurrection, but his disciples failed to understand what he is saying. Only after his death and resurrection, can they see the words of the prophets in a new light. With the students ready to truly hear the lesson, the teacher appears on the Road to Emmaus to shed new light on those familiar passages, like the Suffering Servant in Isaiah, that no one had seen as messianic.
The two disciples still don’t understand that they are walking with Jesus. Their eyes will be opened when the encounter continues in our reading this Saturday, but for now we see how the early church looked at the Old Testament anew with the hindsight provided by Jesus’ life and ministry, his death and resurrection. Jesus himself interpreted the Hebrew scripture for them, giving them eyes to see what they had missed.
• Is there a story from scripture you have come to see differently based on your life experiences?
“Even of itself the teaching of the Blessed Paul is sufficient to give you a full assurance concerning those Divine Mysteries, of which having been deemed worthy, you have become of the same body and blood with Christ. For you have just heard him say distinctly, That our Lord Jesus Christ in the night in which He was betrayed, took bread, and when He had given thanks He broke it, and gave to His disciples, saying, Take, eat, this is My Body: and having taken the cup and given thanks, He said, Take, drink, this is My Blood. Since then He Himself declared and said of the Bread, This is My Body, who shall dare to doubt any longer? And since He has Himself affirmed and said, This is My Blood, who shall ever hesitate, saying, that it is not His blood?
“Consider therefore the Bread and the Wine not as bare elements, for they are, according to the Lord’s declaration, the Body and Blood of Christ; for even though sense suggests this to you, yet let faith establish you. Judge not the matter from the taste, but from faith be fully assured without misgiving, that the Body and Blood of Christ have been vouchsafed to you.” (Lecture 22: On the Body and Blood of Christ)
“The Priest cries aloud, Lift up your hearts. For truly ought we in that most awful hour to have our heart on high with God, and not below, thinking of earth and earthly things. In effect therefore the Priest bids all in that hour to dismiss all cares of this life, or household anxieties, and to have their heart in heaven with the merciful God. Then ye answer, We lift them up unto the Lord: assenting to it, by your avowal. But let no one come here, who could say with his mouth, We lift up our hearts unto the Lord, but in his thoughts have his mind concerned with the cares of this life. At all times, rather, God should be in our memory but if this is impossible by reason of human infirmity, in that hour above all this should be our earnest endeavour.” (Cyrils of Jerusalem’s Lecture 23: On the Sacred Liturgy and Communion)
We go back to the Church of the Resurrection for quotations from Cyril of Jerusalem’s final two lectures for those baptized at Easter who had received communion for the first time in the Easter Vigil. This meant that teaching about the mystery of what is happening in the Eucharist was an important part of what he wanted to share in his reflections in Easter Week.
In the penultimate talk, Cyril explains that the bread and wine will, of course, still taste as they always do, for they remain bread and wine even as they are now Christ’s Body and Blood. Cyril is writing centuries before the Reformation, when precisely how one defined what happens in the Eucharist became something for which Christians were willing to be martyred. The Roman Catholic formula of Transubstantiation is defined in their catechism as, “the change of the whole substance of bread into the substance of the Body of Christ and of the whole substance of wine into the substance of the Blood of Christ.” Using categories from Aristotle where the substance is the essence of a thing and the accidents are the outer form, this teaches that the outer form remains that of bread and wine while the essential nature of that bread truly becomes the body of Christ and the wine becomes the blood of Christ.
Anglicans, and therefore Episcopalians, adopted the formula of “real presence” to describe what happens to the elements in the Eucharistic Feast. Thomas Cranmer was the Archbishop of Canterbury who drafted the first Books of Common Prayer, one in 1549 that was an English rendering close to the Latin Mass of the time and the second in 1552, a text that reflected more of a reformed understanding of the Eucharist. In his reformed revision the sense is of a very real spiritual presence that he described as, “figuratively he is in the bread and wine, and spiritually he is in them that worthily eat and drink the bread and wine, but really, carnally, and corporally he is only in heaven.” For the Archbishop who would be burned at the stake for his teachings, the sacraments were as Augustine of Hippo called them “visible words” that Cranmer saw as existing to spiritually nourish believers. He clearly taught that the Eucharist is not a mere memorial of the Last Supper Jesus shared with his disciples as Cranmer wrote, “As the bread is outwardly eaten indeed in the Lord’s Supper, so is the very body of Christ inwardly by faith eaten of all them that come thereto in such sort as they ought to do, which eating nourisheth them into everlasting life.”
Cyril moves in his last lecture to the disposition of the hearts of the worshippers, which we see also mattered to Archbishop Cranmer. In gathering for teaching in Easter Week, Cyril wanted to encourage the freshly initiated faithful to set aside the cares and anxieties of life so that worship becomes a time of having “their heart in heaven.” But knowing this might not always be achieved, we should at least endeavor to do so. Knowing that Christ will be truly present with us in our worship, we prepare our hearts for union with God as we enter into worship. For both Cyril of Jerusalem and Thomas Cranmer know that it is quite possible to be so distracted that we miss what God is doing.
In our experience as worshippers, we (Victoria and Frank) know that whether our minds are stilled and focused on God or not, Jesus will still be with us. The Holy Trinity is much more reliable than our feelings. Yet it matters for us to approach worship open to receiving the presence of Christ in the spirit of this collect “Before Worship” on page 833 of the Book of Common Prayer:
Almighty God, who pours out on all who desire it, the spirit of grace and of supplication; Deliver us, when we draw near to you, from coldness of heart and wanderings of mind, that with steadfast thoughts and kindled affections, we may worship you in spirit and in truth; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
• If a friend from another denomination asked what exactly we Episcopalians think about Communion, how would you answer them?
Hospitality can turn any meal into a feast. It is all in how the meal is offered. I grew up in the south and so I know how to be polite, perhaps to a fault. I thought I knew hospitality. But I had a lot more to learn when I arrived in Tanzania for an internship during seminary.
Victoria and I had an experience of living in the TwoThirds World when we spent two months in the Himalayan Kingdom of Nepal for two months on our honeymoon as we took pictures and interviewed people to write about the experience for magazines once home. It took a bit of a toll on our bodies as each of us got pretty sick at one point during that trip and in the process, we came home quite thin. So, I didn’t mind that I left the United States a bit heavier than I would like after spending a year with all-you-can-eat buffets daily for lunch at the seminary. No problem, I thought as I imagined that I would lose weight during the internship anyway in the Anglican Church of Tanzania. But that is not what happened.
For one, I never got sick, but the main difference between the two trips was in being considered an honored guest. In Nepal, Victoria and I were tourists, staying in a motel and eating in restaurants. In Tanzania, I was always the guest, relying on the hospitality of others. The Canon whose congregation of St. Hilary’s where I served, the Rev. Naftali Bikaka, told me that the family who invited me did not always eat like the meals I enjoyed. It was a special meal as they had a guest. This was quite humbling when you realize eating chicken did not mean running to the store. I was serving in Kibondo, a lovely town that is quite isolated on the far west side of the country, up against the Burundi border when many were refugeeing into Tanzania from their neighboring country. Connected to the world by deeply rutted red clay roads that become impassable in the rainy season, the chickens for most people in the area are those you raise from eggs. Deciding this is the day for this chicken means it isn’t available for another meal later. It felt like I was the prodigal son feasting on fatted calves every time I was invited to a home for a meal. It was humbling to experience the radical hospitality of hosts sacrificing to offer a special meal. There were many such feasts that I well recall 27 years later.
Every meal, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, included the East African staple, Ugali. This is a maize dish, like a thick polenta, that is picked up with your hands. I learned to roll some of the paste in my hand to form a ball, and make an indentation in it with my thumb, to create an edible spoon for sauce or beans, greens, and chicken. If that sounds messy, it is much less so than you would imagine as ugali made well doesn’t stick to your fingers. And we would wash our hands before and after each meal.
I found out soon enough that the guest had to have seconds. This was not an option. Canon Bikaka taught me to get less on the first pass, so that I could get seconds, or even thirds as I also made sure everyone had eaten enough before doing so. Then I could eat the amount I wanted and my hosts would feel better about it. Honestly, it worked well anyway to get a little of everything and go back for what I wanted more of so it was not some weird guest chore to performatively seek out seconds. I also learned the word to show that the hospitality had been just right. After having seconds, and when being pressed to take more, I would say in Swahili, “inatosha” which means, “it is sufficient.” The hosts would be pleased as their guest had been given enough.
I also remember fondly some tea and cookies that, while not a feast, were nonetheless an equally gracious gift. I had been watching World Cup soccer live in the street in Kibondo. It was set up by the Lembo twins, entrepreneuring Anglican brothers who charged people to watch a satellite fed large TV run on a generator. A young couple from St. Hilary’s invited me back to their traditionally built “Swahili Home” with wood frame coated with mud for the walls and palm leaf roof over a packed earth floor. They noted the contrast between their home and some houses in the advertisements we saw during the breaks in the soccer match which included a couple having their morning coffee on the veranda beside their mansion overlooking the Mediterranean. I let them know that just as there are Tanzanians who also live in luxury beyond the reach of most everyone, that is true in Europe and America as well. What I couldn’t adequately convey was how honored I was to be a guest in their home. The Chai and biscuits felt like a kind of communion in the sense of koinonia, something much more than shallow fellowship.
I heard in Tanzania that a guest brought blessings. I thought that it meant, welcome a guest and blessings will come. I remember asking Canon Bikaka, “So, they want me to come visit so they can receive blessings?” “Yes,” he replied, then he realized that I meant a sort of ‘do this, get that’ approach to hospitality. “No,” he corrected. “The Guest is the blessing. They don’t host you so that God will give them something in return. Having you come to visit is the gift.” In every invitation, I also experienced the blessing of being the guest of people who understood more about hospitality than I had previously experienced, which turned every time we shared food into a feast.
• When have you been offered radical hospitality? What was it like to be the recipient of that gift?
“As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, ‘Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.’ So he went in to stay with them. 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. They said to each other, ‘Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?’ That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, ‘The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!’ Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.” (Luke 24:28-35)
As we take up the story we began on Wednesday, Cleopas and the other disciple reach Emmaus. Jesus intends to keep going. The Greek word translated here “as if he were going on” means “pretending to go on.” The disciples prove themselves to be Christ followers, offering the stranger hospitality. Then at the meal that evening, the stranger who is the guest becomes the host. Jesus takes the bread, blesses the bread, breaks the bread and gives the bread to those gathered for the meal. Then comes the “Eureka!” moment in breaking the bread.
How very Jesus. This is exactly what Jesus did when he fed the thousands on a hillside with two weensy fish and five barley loaves. In all these accounts of the feeding of thousands, Jesus takes the bread, blesses the bread, breaks the bread and gives the bread. More recently, Jesus did the same at The Last Supper, just a few nights earlier. On that night, Jesus took, blessed, broke and gave the bread. Jesus explained that he was the bread. Jesus, who had already been taken and blessed by God, was broken by man on Good Friday and now on Easter, this same Jesus was being given back to the world. Then they knew the stranger on the road was Jesus.
As soon as awareness dawns on them, Jesus is gone. Vanished. But the two who had been slipping out of town alone had experienced the risen Jesus. At once they retraced their steps back to the upper room in Jerusalem. The seven mile slog out from town is now a quick trot back. Cleopas and the unnamed disciple learned that Peter too had seen the risen Jesus. Then they added their own experience on the Road to Emmaus to the stories of the resurrected Lord, telling what had happened on the road and how he was made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
The pattern of the encounter on the Road to Emmaus is the same pattern for our Sunday worship as we first hear the Word of God read and commented on and then we move to the sacrament of the Eucharist. Scripture and Bread. Word and Sacrament. We gather to hear the word of God in our scripture readings, in the songs we sing (which are scriptural as well) and through the words of the sermon, we spend time in the word. Next, we will move to the table and on behalf of our risen Lord, The Celebrant will take, bless, break and give the bread—the bread that is Christ’s presence among us. Like Cleopas and the unnamed disciple, we have found that when we gather for word and sacrament, we can depend on Jesus showing up. Like all of the resurrection appearances, the Road to Emmaus matters not just because Jesus was once made known to two disillusioned disciples, but as we find that Jesus is still made known in word and sacrament.
• When has an experience led you to certainty that God had shown up?
The Feasts of Passover and the Eucharist don’t just look back, but they also direct us toward the future. The Passover does look back to the Exodus but it also points forward to the coming of the Messiah. While the Eucharist looks back to Jesus, who we know to be the Messiah, it looks forward to his return in glory.
The Passover can help us to better understand the Eucharist. During the Jewish Passover celebration, a glass of wine is set out for the Prophet Elijah. It is hoped that Elijah will come join the celebration. Setting out a glass of wine for Elijah reminds those at the table that another kind of deliverance is yet to come. As they are called to look back and remember the Exodus, they are called to look forward and anticipate the Messiah. The prophet Malachi wrote that Elijah would return before the Messiah comes, so at each Passover meal, a glass of wine is at the ready to welcome Elijah on his return.
In seminary, we took part in a traditional Passover celebration with our daughter, Griffin, in the home of a Jewish family. This was arranged by Rabbi Jack Moline, who was teaching the Introduction to Judaism course I was taking at the time. This was the first time we had attended a Passover seder. At the end of the meal, a child is sent to the door to look for the prophet Elijah. Elijah is expected to return before the Messiah.
When the time came, Griffin, who was seven at the time, was the only school-aged child at the seder. She was told about Elijah and how he was expected to return. Then Griffin was asked to go to the door to check for Elijah. Griffin was scared and asked me to go along with her. Fearfully she opened the front door. She looked out tentatively at first, and then cautiously stuck her head further out the door. Finally she stepped outside and carefully looked the street up and down. Elijah was not in sight. We returned to the Passover table and let everyone know that Elijah had not come.
That night, as we were putting her to bed, Griffin asked, “Why do they want a child to go to the door to look for Elijah?” I hadn’t thought of it before, but when she asked the question, the answer was clear. I asked Griffin, “When we went to look for Elijah, did you think he might really be there this time?” Griffin said she did. I told her, “That’s why they send a child. Because, a child will look hard, and believe that Elijah will really come this time.”
Jews all around the world celebrate the Passover in anticipation of the Messiah as well as in remembrance of the Exodus. Children go to the door and look for Elijah. Each child wonders if he or she would be the one to see him first.
Have we lost that sense of wonder? Each time we celebrate the Eucharist, we say that it is to celebrate the memorial of our redemption until our Lord returns. Jesus didn’t tell his disciples that the Passover on the night before he died was his last meal with them ever. He said he wouldn’t partake of the bread and wine until they did so together in his father’s heavenly kingdom. The Eucharist is not The Last Supper for us if we can recapture the air of anticipation. Each time we celebrate the Eucharist it is to be the next-to-the-last-supper.
What if we viewed the Eucharist as The Next to the Last Supper instead? Not a meal, but an appetizer. The main course will come at the heavenly banquet. The Last Supper doesn’t come at the end of the story, because the end of the story has not yet occurred. The Eucharist also points forward to his coming again. That will be a Last Supper to remember. In the meantime, we wait, we watch, and we take part in the meal before the last. The foretaste of heavenly glory here on earth.
• Are there any memories from your childhood of taking part in a liturgy or other ritual that stand out to you? How do you see that same liturgy or ritual differently now?