From Mall Genealogy to Emmaus: Finding Meaning in Communion

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

When you work in a church, you grow a vast collection of stories.

Though my ministerial career began only in 2020, I can talk for hours about

the stories that have accumulated over those six relatively short years.

There are tales of triumph and tragedy, of transcendence and imminence,

of condemnation, and of most tender mercies.

There are stories that I can reflect back on whose memory alone will make my

eyes well with tears, just as there are others that will make me laugh without

fail, even though I know the punchline before beginning.

But no matter their particular contour, each of these stories tells me something

about the character of God.

Some months ago, I received a call from a former congregant who had moved away a couple of years ago.

As soon as I picked up the phone, I knew exactly who was calling.

Hello, Father Mike. They would talk just like this.

And he was, by his own admission, not particularly religious But after briefly

updating me on his life, he was now reflecting theologically And he had a lot

of questions Do you think Jesus was married?

I think he was with Mary Magdalene And then at one point, do you think Jesus had a dog?

I hope Jesus had a dog.

And though I was thoroughly entertained by this conversation,

I couldn't quite figure out why he had called me in the first place.

This soon became more clear. Father Mike, I recently learned something very important.

I was at a mall in Charlotte and I passed by this kiosk doing genealogy reports.

I paid them $100 and you're not going to believe who I am related to.

Now, I imagine at this point that it'll be something like Isaac Newton or Napoleon

or Henry VIII But given the way that this conversation has gone up to this point

I'm really prepared for anything,

Who's that? I ask,

Well, I got my test back today Turns out, I'm a direct descendant of Adam and Eve.

Can you believe that? I can, I told him. I do believe that.

I love the way that stories connect us. They're powerful.

They can turn strangers into friends. They can make the most hard-hearted become soft again.

They're what make us human. And they're not only what make us human insofar

as we are able to relate to ourselves and to others, but ultimately they're what connect us to God.

Today's gospel, then, is about two of the most fundamental experiences to our being human.

Stories and meals.

Just as stories allow us to connect, so do shared meals.

They often, of course, go hand in hand. What better way to extend hospitality

to the stranger than with an invitation to gather around the table?

For as long as we've been a people, we've broken down barriers through food

These things are so inextricably related,

storytelling and meals That we even have a turn of phrase to describe that very

relationship Breaking bread,

In breaking bread, we imply, of course, that we're doing more than just eating

We imply that we're getting to know someone Maybe we're brokering a deal or forging a friendship,

We assume, of course, that we're doing more than just eating.

We're eating and we're sharing stories. We're knowing and we're becoming known.

And at that time, there was no common Greek phrase for breaking bread.

It wasn't something that people would say.

And in this sense, the idea of breaking bread is created by this very story in the Gospel of Luke.

That tells us, then, that there is something deeply sacramental.

About the interplay of story and meal.

And while the meal serves as the climactic point of today's story,

given by the fact that the disciples convey Jesus was made known to us in the breaking of the bread.

This recognition is bookended by a series of stories.

These serve important purposes. It's crucial for us to remember that the empty

tomb has only just been discovered.

The disciples are trying their best to make meaning out of an event that they

cannot wrap their heads around.

And so naturally, they all talk with one another. What happened?

And that's how we begin today.

Two friends are on a long day's walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus, seven miles.

When they're joined by Jesus, though they don't recognize him,

they tell him stories of his own life and death.

Cleopas retells the story of Jesus' life as best as he understands it.

He was a man who was great in word and deed, handed over by the chief priests

to die, and was crucified.

He even mournfully reflects, but we hoped he was the one to save Israel.

It's been three days since he died, but we found the tomb empty and we don't

know what happened. That's their story.

We, of course, now know that the story was incomplete, but that's it.

Jesus then, in turn, responds with his own story. He tells the two the prophecy of his own life.

The Gospel writes, Then beginning with Moses and the prophets,

he interpreted to them all the things about himself in all the scriptures.

They still don't recognize him, but they must be compelled enough by his story

because as he begins to walk on ahead of them, they ask him instead to stay

behind and stay the night.

Here is the story's defining moment. Jesus took bread, blessed it,

broke it, and gave it to them.

Sounds familiar, doesn't it? In that moment, the memories came flooding back.

Memories of the other miracles about feeding, of the multiplying of wine at

the wedding, of fish amidst a ravenous crowd, and of course,

of that very same action taken on the eve of his death.

Suddenly, they remembered the story, and in doing this, they saw the face of Jesus.

In the sharing of story and of bread, they became fully themselves,

and they saw the fullness of the one in their midst.

The gospel then concludes with a final third story.

Something incredibly significant has just happened to all of them And just like

they tried to make sense of the resurrection They now try to make sense of what

just happened on that walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus,

The recapturing of the story is comical and wildly inaccurate Were not our hearts

burning within us while he was talking to us on the road While he was opening

the scriptures to us It's an outright lie They had no idea who he was,

So they get home with the other disciples and they exclaim, The Lord is risen indeed!

He has been made known to us in the breaking of the bread.

Now, you might be wondering what a story about a genealogical report at the

Charlotte Mall might have to do with any of this.

It's a fair question.

And while I told you that story in part simply just because it was funny,

and because it proved my point that we're all drawn in and we are connected

by the stories that we tell, I suspect there's more to it than that.

I suspect that this story, just like all of the other ones that have been collected

over six years of ministry, has something to tell us about God.

What he was really doing was telling a story in order to make sense of his own humanity.

Where can I find meaning?

What makes me matter in the world?

We are telling stories in our lives to make sense of ourselves,

of the world around us, and of God.

Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, the truth is that most of our stories

are inaccurate, or at the very least, they're incomplete.

Our humanity demands that we tell stories to build structures of meaning,

and yet ultimately our capacity to fully understand is limited by that very

same humanity. It's ironic.

And yet we continue to seek God. And in seeking and knowing God,

ultimately we find meaning.

All of us are in the midst of a search for meaning.

We are walking on that same proverbial road as the disciples,

trying our best to make sense of our lives, of our suffering, of our God.

And like them, most of our stories are incomplete.

The good news of the gospel is that Christ does not wait for us to get the story right.

Instead, he meets us on the road and he walks with us.

He works with us patiently and lovingly until he becomes ever more recognizable to us.

And ultimately, he's known to us not most clearly in certainty, but in communion.

In the sharing of stories and in the breaking of bread, we see the face of God.

This story did not begin with us, and it certainly does not end with us.

Yet through this church, it continues.

It is a gift passed on through time that we are now the recipients of,

and that we have the gift to then give to others.

It is in that story that we find our significance.

We are part of a lineage that is not biological, but instead universal.

It's for everybody. or were direct descendants of Adam and Eve. Can you believe that?

Or, as our scripture says in the book of Acts,

for the promise is for you, for your children and for all who are far away,

everyone whom the Lord God calls to him. Amen.

The homily was offered by the Rev. Mike Reardon. Introduction and closing reflections

were shared by the Rev. Amy Peterson.

Musical contributions were performed by Dr. Kevin Seal.

Sermon audio was prepared by Nanette Popa. Production was guided by Karen Marie Frederiksen