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Homepage >> Ministry >> Worship And Music >> Sermons >> Bread for the Journey Bread for the JourneyThe distinctive “crack” of the host wafer caught my attention as never before. Perhaps it was the amplified sound as it echoed in the relative emptiness of the church on that Saturday morning. Perhaps it was that I was serving at the altar during that small, intimate celebration of the Eucharist. But when the priest broke the wafer that day, the words the “breaking of the bread” took on new meaning. The phrases “Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us… therefore let us keep the feast” suddenly offered a new and deeper understanding of how Christ is present in the Eucharist – how we are nourished and given bread for the journey stretching before us. Thoughts of the various journeys of our lives underscored my thinking about the lessons appointed for this morning. While the theme of “journey” is a subtle undertone woven into our lessons, the thread of how we are sustained in the face of all that we encounter is a dominant one. An almost overwhelming sense of the absence of God or Christ is a reality in the journeys described in both the lesson from Lamentations and the Second Letter to Timothy. The call to be good, obedient servants sent forth to do God’s work permeates the Gospel lesson from Luke. The power of faith seems to be the common bond that ties everything together. The Book of Lamentations is an aching testimony to the fact of the exile of the people of Israel in Babylon. This political fact is not just a psychological or physical tragedy – city and temple destroyed… hard life in a strange, new land – but a cosmological disaster. The entire world of the Jewish people had been shaken to its core; its very foundation had been called into question. They had believed in – trusted in – an almighty and all powerful God. How could this have happened? The Psalm appointed for this morning is an apt response to the deep lament of the writer – how could the people of Israel sing songs of “Zion” when all they knew of Zion no longer existed. How indeed could they sing familiar songs in a foreign land? They must have felt a profound sense of desolation and abandonment! We encounter a similar sense of desolation in the Second Letter to Timothy, a “pastoral letter” written by the elder pastor Paul while he is imprisoned in Rome, to his younger protégé Timothy, perhaps serving the early church in Ephesus. The letter contains words of warning about specific problems but also words of encouragement about building up the church. As he sits within the dark walls of a first century prison, the older apostle foresees his death. Looking back on what he believes he was called to do and what he has done, he encourages the younger pastor to hold on to the faith that has been passed down to him. Out of the shadows of a life slowly ebbing away, Paul offers sustaining words of “grace, mercy and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord.” Words of “grace, mercy and peace”… I wonder if that is how the disciples heard Jesus’ response to their request to “increase” their faith. First, Jesus tells them that if their faith was only the size of a mustard seed, they could command a mulberry tree to uproot itself and be replanted in the sea. Even the smallest amount of faith could cause things to happen that were outside the norm – beyond the everyday sense of reality. A Middle Eastern mustard seed is just a fleck of a thing – smaller than a piece of finely ground pepper. Jesus was deliberately invoking a sense of wonder at the power of faith. Unexpected things happen. The disciples asked for more faith. What Jesus may have been trying to tell them was that they already had gracious plenty! They just needed to use it differently. But Jesus did not stop there. He told a parable about masters and slaves and what one normally expected of the other. This is not a lesson in social ethics – it’s a lesson in doing what one has been called to do with no expectation of receiving thanks or special attention in return. In the social order of Jesus’ day, he posed the question whether a “master” would invite one of his slaves, having just come in from a long day’s work in the field, to sit down at table with him and whether thanks would be offered for the work completed. No – the normal expectation was that a slave would serve his master by doing what he had been commanded to do. The slave would eat his own supper later. Our modern sensibilities are most likely offended by the language of masters and slaves – particularly the designation of “worthless” slaves. It is true that the ancient Biblical language of slavery was often used as an argument to justify the indefensible system of human bondage as realized in our more modern times. But any modern reading of them, Jesus’ words are not supportive of exploitive human relationships. They are, instead, powerful reminders of our duty and calling as obedient children of God to devote our hearts and minds to doing the work God would have us to do. This season, as we have studied the various aspects of discipleship, we have come back again and again to the ideas of humility and obedience to the One who is more powerful than we are. We come back to the expectation that we must let go of our own needs and wants in order to more fully serve others. In a profound sense, we must die in order to live. Jesus sets the example for each of us. God Incarnate – God revealed in human form so that we might know what God is like – shows us how we should act, how we should do what we have been called to do, how we should respond. The people of Israel lamented over the loss of “Zion” – the center of their being. They had lost their way in the service of God years before the Babylonians marched them off to a foreign land and they spent years yearning for what they had lost. But at their core, they continued to love God. In spite of the loss of the temple and the city of Jerusalem, a remnant of faith kept them alive while in captivity. In due season, in the fullness of God’s mercy, they were returned to their land and given the opportunity to rebuild to the greater glory of God. In many ways, their faith sustained them and brought them home with a renewed purpose and a new sense of life. In the dank confines of a Roman prison, we can only imagine that there must have been times when Paul felt a distance from or absence of God. Yet we know that the very presence of those questions is evidence of faith itself – however small, however fragile. Even the flicker of faith was enough to sustain the prisoner through the hardest of times; on other days, in better times, the brighter flame was plenty enough to share with his younger, less experienced disciple. In the best and worst of times during all of his journeys, Paul knew the gift of God as a spirit of transforming love and power. Living and teaching this message might bring suffering, but it also brings eternal life. At the end of his earthly journey, Paul knew this without a doubt. Of this Paul was completely confident and in this he found his peace. In like manner, we should also be confident and at peace. As heralds and disciples and teachers of Jesus’ words, we are called to exercise our individual gifts in the service of God with no expectation that we will be singled out for specific praise or thanks. It’s just what we’ve been called to do – just what is expected of us. But in the glorious paradox of serving and giving of ourselves, we are indeed rewarded in a special way. We are invited to this table to feast together with our fellow workers on the finest bread and wine God has to offer. The bread is broken and shared; the wine is passed around and consumed. There is gracious plenty for all. We never have to fear losing our “Zion.” The center of our being is right here. There is no reason to fear that Jesus will not be with us. Jesus is present – as he always promised he would be – in the midst of his friends gathered at his table. The lavish feast set before us is given by the One who offers us more than we either desire or deserve. In God’s cosmos, we are never seen as “worthless slaves” – we are beloved children invited to sit at table with our Lord and with each other. This morning, we gather here for the celebration of the Eucharist – a holy meal of thanksgiving and praise. As the bread is broken for each of us, we sing our song of joy: “Alleluia! Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us. Therefore let us keep the feast. Alleluia!” Jesus is here and has given us everything we need. We have enough – we have more than enough. We have gracious plenty bread for the journey – a journey of faith that promises to take us to unexpected places but which always leads us to that place where we were always meant to be.
(This sermon was preached by the Rev. Terri Stanford, Associate Rector, in St.
Chrysostom's Church, Chicago, Illinois, on Sunday, October 7, 2007, The
Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost.)
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