Food for the Journey

We’re going to dive right into today’s Gospel; but let me back up just a minute to set the stage. Just prior to our reading, we have the well-known story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus who encounter the risen Lord. I want you to remember there were two disciples, but neither was one of the original 12. These two men broke bread with Jesus; their eyes were opened; Jesus disappeared, and they rushed to find the 11 who were holed up in a locked room. The 11 were grieving, but not only were they grieving, they were terrified. Remember Peter’s denial? They know they may be recognized despite their denial, and they have no idea what that might mean for them. And they’re scared about their future, they gave up three years to follow Jesus; they walked away from their families, their businesses, their lives, and now who they believed was the Son of God; the Messiah is gone. Let’s just say things didn’t turn out the way they planned.

I imagine they’re in the room sharing memories, trying to process—trying to figure out what happened, and trying to figure out what they do now. Do they stay together or all return to their previous lives? Are their businesses, their families, their communities still there and will they still accept them? Many of us can identify with these feelings. Many of us have had these same or similar conversations after the death of a loved one.

Well, into the midst of this, these two disciples run. We don’t know whether the disciples knew them or not. I suspect they did as they obviously unlocked the door and let them in. And can you hear it? Can you hear these two trying to tell the story of what happened on the road to Emmaus? I hear clamoring, interrupting, excitement—“and then” “and then” “no let me tell that part” They’re probably glowing with happiness—all this in a room that has been full of grief and fear. Perhaps one or two of the apostles are looking at each other, motioning to each other that these two are clearly crazy-- been in the sun too long or something. And right in the middle of this pandemonium Jesus appears and greets them with peace.

Jesus then asks “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts?” Please tell me I’m not alone in thinking, “what a stupid question? Is that really the best you’ve got?” These men saw you die—die as in dead, not breathing, finished—even you said it, and “It is finished.” So I personally don’t think it’s that unreasonable to assume they’d be “startled and terrified.”

He shows the disciples his hands and his feet and says touch me; see that I’m not a ghost. Scripture doesn’t say that they actually reached out and touched him. They’re still trying to get their heads around this whole thing. They feel joy but they’re still somewhat disbelieving and wondering. I picture Buckwheat in the Little Rascals rubbing his eyes—some of ya’ll will remember that; the rubbing and shaking of his head to make sure he sees it right. “How can this be?” they think, “I want to believe it, but really this is beyond comprehension—this is beyond what is humanly possible to understand.” So they’re sitting their filled with all kinds of emotions, probably looking back and forth at each other, perhaps pushing each other forward so someone, anyone will touch him, and Jesus pipes up, “Have you anything here to eat?” This is the part that I have been stuck on all week—this HUGE thing has just happened, they’re trying to understand and he wants FOOD? Really—he’s acting like he just went on a weekend trip and now he’s hungry. So I’ve been mediating on food; trying to understand the ordinariness of his request. Why didn’t he let them process?

What is it about food, actually about food and people? It is ordinary, and it is so much more. Food speaks for us when we cannot; there is a death, a hospitalization, and we show up with food. There is a birth, a new neighbor, a loved one in for a visit, and we show up with food. Food not only sustains our bodies, but it brings us comfort, security, a sense of love and of home. I know when my children have been gone to camp, and I imagine I’ll do this when they come home from college, I’ll cook their favorite meal; whatever they want because that is a way I’ll show them I love them and I’m glad they’re home. And I know already that it brings them a sense of comfort, of normalcy, of security. I drove my mother in law crazy asking for the Texas straw hat recipe because my husband loved it and it reminded him of happy times growing up—made it once, (you know the adage, you’ll never do it as well as his mother? I learned that one); thankfully we now live here where she can make it for him.

We hunger for comfort, security, love, fellowship belonging, we are satisfied not only physically but emotionally when someone shares with us; invites us over, brings us a meal. We are already looking forward to St. Mark’s day with our potluck—everyone bringing their famous dish; the dish they most love to share. Food brings order to our lives. My children laugh at me, imitate me about my baking—get Caroline in particular to do it for you, but I bake when I’m stressed, when I’m sad, and when I need order and to feel control. One of my oldest and dearest friends, Jimmy, used to say, “I hate to see you sad, but on the other hand, I really like your chocolate chip cookies.”

Jesus asks for food, and they give him fish. While they’re eating he talks to them, teaches them. This is not new for Jesus—how many times did his ministry revolve around food—feeding the 5000, eating with tax collectors, and of course the Last Supper. Food, the ordinary, the physically necessary becomes more. It becomes extraordinary and holy.

Food is necessary; we have to have it. It is our bodies’ fuel. Jesus was resurrected in the body—at least that what we say we believe each week. In our creeds we say, “we believe in the resurrection of the body” Do you understand this resurrection? The disciples didn’t; theologians for thousands of years have been trying to figure it out; I cannot imagine the number of books which have been written on it. And I’ll admit, I don’t understand. But I do understand and believe that it is through our bodies that we can share Christ.

One of the things I think the resurrection is teaching us is that our bodies—our bodies that we criticize, that we often abuse, that others abuse; our bodies are good. Our normal everyday bodies with cellulite and stretch marks (speaking for myself here), our bodies are normal and holy. Just like food, the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

We cannot reach out and touch Jesus physically, but we can reach out and touch each other. We cannot feed Jesus physically, but we can feed each other, and we can feed the poor, the weak, the lonely, the scared, the grief stricken, the overwhelmed, those that are celebrating, and those filled with joy. It is through our bodies that the resurrected Christ continues to work in this world. This message of today’s Gospel is so powerful. It tells us that our bodies are good, that our bodies are holy and that our bodies can be transformed and can bring about transformation through the ordinary every day parts of life.

It is through our bodies that we can encounter the promise of salvation right here and now. Our present reality, our bodies live in the now and not yet. Heaven begins now; the journey begins now. The transformation begins now. Sometimes the transformation begins just in the showing up; the disciples were afraid, lonely, and Jesus showed up. Jesus showed up for the disciples, and Jesus shows up for us. He shows up through each other and he shows up each week in the Eucharist. We come before the table; all of us, and as the bread is broken; as we consume the bread and wine, we again and again encounter the risen Lord. We rise and return into the world taking that which we have encountered with us to share with the world. God isn’t necessarily asking us to give up three years, to leave our homes, our work and our families. No God is asking us to work right where we are in whatever we do. God is asking us to use our normal ordinary often boring everyday lives to show his love. To live as his disciples in all we do where ever we are and with whomever we find ourselves.

The Rev. John Thomas was a retired priest in our parish in Pittsburgh, an amazing man, a mentor and a friend. Each week he celebrated he invited us to the altar with these words “Food for the journey.” I invite you in the same way. Come eat, be nourished, be forgiven; be transformed, and joyously go forth to transform in all you do. Come and partake of the food for the journey.