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Resurrection Response Luke 24: 13-35 4/26/09

I can remember the story as if it was yesterday. I had been searching... searching to find myself... searching to find the God who I had loved so dearly... searching to find a community that would accept me just as I was, with all my bumps and bruises, with all my gifts and talents, with a history and with a future, with a sexuality that was named lesbian. I had walked and talked with many people: a Pastor or two, some friends, some gay people, some Christians. I had read some books, most of them extremely depressing. I had looked in the dictionary for a definition of this word lesbian -- Webster didn't seem to know very much. And then I heard a rumor about a church that was just starting… a church that supposedly would accept all of me. So I made the drive to Oakland and I walked along afraid to go in, recounting to myself all the things that happened along the journey to bring me to this moment: the words of disgust, the feelings of shame, the despair of wanting my God back, the regrets of having given so much of my life to a church that no longer wanted me. Should I go in, should I just keep on walking? Go back to Emmaus and get along with life as it was going to be. But then something happened... I went in, I looked around, I heard words of scripture, prayers that sounded familiar, and then, before I knew it, there was the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup and I recognized the Jesus who I thought had been gone. Killed by the religious authorities who said this way of life could not be. Shamed by a society who only knew one way of relating to another person. Into the midst of that grief and despair came Jesus with that gentle look of love and compassion that I knew, that I recognized deep in my heart. I was standing on holy ground and had to run and tell others what I knew to be the truth. Christ was risen, risen indeed.

So that was my Emmaus Road journey to MCC and back to the God who had never forsaken me. Oh, it may not have been exactly like what happened to those two disciples on the road so long ago, but I knew their despair, their lack of hope, all the promises that now seemed broken. We never hear about these two people again. Did they end up going back to Emmaus after they told the disciples their good news? Did they walk back to life as normal? Or did they become witnesses to the resurrection? The word witness in this text means martyr. Did they give their lifeblood literally or figuratively to follow the one who had given them all?

I like to think they didn't stop there. That they went on to become some of the first members of this new Christian church that was about to be born. I like to believe that what happened in that first breaking of the bread didn't stop there… that they broke bread with their fellow believers for years to come. That they took that bread and shared it with the poor. That they gave it to the stranger who walked into their faith community early one morning. I like to believe that if someone came to dinner at their home, or went to work with them that they still walked with this Jesus who came to walk with them. I like to think if I looked at their day planner or their checkbook that they still took their time to share the bread of life and give of their monetary possessions to the life giving ministry of Jesus their Christ.

One of my favorite parts of our worship service each Sunday is sharing in the breaking of the bread. I see Jesus there. I commune with the one who gives life. I look into your eyes and see God in so many different sizes and ages, and faith backgrounds and colors and sexualities and diversities. I stand behind the altar and see a faith community that is the body of Christ on this earth. Whether we take bread into our hands on Sunday, or at the Elbow Room, or in our home with a friend, or hand out a loaf of bread at the Food Bank I pray we recognize each and every time that Jesus is there.

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