Luke 24: 13-35, 1 Peter 1: 17-23, Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17, Acts 2:14a, 36-41

April 6, 2008
Rev. Patricia Liberty

Practicing Resurrection

For many years I spent my days driving around like a Fuller Brush Salesman knocking on the doors of utter strangers who had nothing in common except that they were going to die.  Much of what I value about living and most of what I know about practicing resurrection came from the folks who answered the door and welcomed me as their chaplain.

Behind every door were stories that offered the best commentary on Scripture, made familiar stories come alive in clear and powerful ways.  So today I invite you into the stories of some folk who taught me about resurrection.

Roger lived in a cramped basement apartment with his daughter who had a hard enough time taking care of herself let alone caring for her increasingly ill father.  Roger was as lonely as he was sick and he loved to talk.  In our early visits he mostly talked around his illness, never mentioned the disease that was eating away at his bones and organs. Instead he chose instead to focus on the love his life, his late wife and his life long passion for automobiles that made him well suited for his career as a mechanic.  He often joked that he had motor oil in his veins and if he could just get an oil change he would feel fine. 

As time went on the conversation shifted from joking about an oil change to missing his 1972 Chevy, not being around to make sure his daughter kept her act together as best she could and worrying about what would become of her. 

Gradually he invited me into the story of his life that ran parallel the passing of his days. In the countless hours we spent together I learned that for all that made us different what made us the same was the precious currency of story.  It’s one way of practicing resurrection, receiving another’s story.

On the road to Emmaus two disciples are feeling the pain of Jesus’ execution and are leaving the city that holds those memories.  As they walk they tell the stories of their time with Jesus.  It is one way, perhaps the most important way to comfort one another. The risen Christ comes upon them and walks alongside them and he listens.

He doesn’t open his mouth, doesn’t try to explain, doesn’t try to take away their sadness or make a joke to lighten the mood. He quietly stays with them and listens to what they have to say. Not presuming to know the source of their sadness, he asks good questions. What are you discussing? What are the things that have happened?   He encourages the story because there is healing in the telling. 

Practicing resurrection is about telling and receiving the stories that bear witness to the truth of that God is in our midst. The psalmist wrote, we live our lives as a tale that is told…telling stories is central to our faith.  It is how we give shape to our pain and brokenness, it’s how we fashion hope and build community. As Jesus walked with Cleopas and his unnamed companion, he embodied the truth that stories shared diminish the burden.

Speaking the story aloud gives it purchase in the human experience that reaches across the ages.  We become the containers that hold one another’s truths. Such moments occasion the holy.

Thursday night I had the privilege of meeting with our Stephen Ministers….the heart of what they offer is that capacity to receive the stories and walk alongside people wherever they are in their journey.  It is the ministry of listening and receiving.  They know well their role of listening and not fixing, of companioning someone in their journey. 

In a time where talk is cheap and we are constantly bombarded with meaningless words and noises, Jesus witness with his friends reminds us of a fundamental truth of our shared humanity. 

Now in the meandering way that news travels around apartment buildings, via the laundry room and around the mail boxes, Roger learned about Arnie, who was also one of my patients.  He lived with his partner Frank just a few doors down from Roger.  In the tentative way of strangers who are part of the fellowship of the dying, they made awkward overtures to each other.

Frank would knock on Roger’s door with a few cookies, or Roger would stop by and bring in their newspaper and say hi to Arnie.  As the months wore on, their visits became daily, sharing food and goodies, though none of them had much to spare.

It seemed to me their apartment complex was something like Emmaus, a wide spot in the road that no one paid much attention to and no one visited unless they were on their way to someplace else.  Kendrick Gardens was a no-name a dingy apartment complex on the rough edges of a rough town.  It wasn’t a place where anyone would live if they had a choice.  People ended up there because it was cheap and you could bring your dog.

 Emmaus is a symbol for the place where the broken-hearted gather as they hope for something on the other side of their pain.  And there are as many Emmaus roads as there are people who have a story to share.

In that anonymous place with an unlikely case of characters Frank and Roger and Arnie learned the power of breaking bread together, and saw the resurrected Christ in each other’s faces as they shared Mac and Cheese and Hamburger Helper.

In a similar way, Cleopas and his unnamed companion, I like to think it was his wife, though the text gives us no such hint…recognize Jesus as they sit and share a meal together.  As the day draws to a close and the road goes on they implore this stranger to stay and share their evening meal.  In their simple gift of hospitality they come to recognize the risen Christ. 

Eating together is an intimate act.  It’s easy to forget in our hurried days where we often gobble food out of a bag or raid the fridge for leftovers at the end of a long day. The simple act of sharing a meal is powerful testimony to the ties that bind us together. 

There’s a reason that Jesus chose a meal as the way we should remember him.  Of all the things it could have been, a secret handshake, a particular symbol, a word, he chose a meal. 

Sarah Dylan Breuer writes, “Jesus was made known to the disciples in the breaking of bread, and central to the worship and community life of Jesus' earliest followers was gathering for “the breaking of the bread and the prayers” in the Temple courts. Prior to the Cross it was a central way in which Jesus showed what he was about and what should characterize the lives of his followers.

Jesus routinely ate with strangers and tax collectors and prostitutes.  He spontaneously sat down with five thousand people in an unheard of act of hospitality in the ancient world.  He was criticized and judged and hassled for his commitment to community that centered on the holiness of sharing nourishment.  And when it came time for a symbol that would be THE reminder of what is life was all about, he chose a meal and said do this in remembrance of me. 

Each time a meal is shared in love and gratitude we, I believe we bear witness to a central truth of Jesus’ message.

In the simple meals that Roger, Arnie and Frank shared they practiced resurrection. Though I doubt they would have named it as such their fellowship was every bit as holy as the times Jesus gathered with strangers and ate with outcasts. 

When meals are shared together walls tumble down.  If you don’t believe me, go to Bread For Life or a Senior meal site and break bread and tell stories.  Such moments are a reminder of what we share as we gather at this table.

Sarah Dylan Breuer continues, “When we share these gifts with one another we remember …our baptismal call to strive for God's justice and love our neighbors around the world as ourselves, seeing that all are fed. In the breaking of the bread, Jesus makes known to us that this is not just a possibility, but a mandate for God's people.” 

When AIDS had run its dreadful course, I was summoned to the Arnie and Franks for a final visit.  When I arrived Roger was there, along with a few other friends, and at Arnie’s request we dressed him in his favorite evening dress, the one with a bright yellow feather boa. Roger was there at his side, weeping for the death of his friend.  The walls that otherwise might have remained came tumbling down as they shared food and story woven from a common thread in their days.

Every time we join in the story of another, we practice resurrection.  It takes us out of our comfort zone and invites us to risk something with a stranger for no other reason, as if there could be any better reason, that in so doing we bear witness to the face of Christ that lives in every person we meet.  It’s a risky business, but in the end the only business that really matters.