Luke 24:13-35 · On the Road to Emmaus
Sunday Dinner
Luke 24:13-35
Sermon
by Alex Gondola
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Remember Sunday when you were growing up? Maybe a lot of your families were like mine. Sunday was a special day. Sunday dinner was a special meal. It was almost always the best meal of the week. Mom put a roast of something (roast chicken, pork, lamb, beef) in the oven to cook all morning. Then the family went off to church.

When we returned around noon, the roast whatever was still cooking. But the aroma pervaded the house. And we three children couldn't wait to eat! Around one o'clock, when my sisters and I were famished, the whole family retired to the dining room -- a room we rarely used the rest of the week. The table was set with "the good china," the "good tablecloth," the "good silverware." And the meal was delicious.

Often around the table we would discuss the events of the week. Frequently we talked about church, the contents of the sermon, how the minister was doing or what he wasn't doing (Yes, we were Congregationalists!), what we children learned in Sunday School. After dinner, we cleared the table together and washed and dried the dishes together even though we owned a dishwasher! For my family, at least, Sunday dinner was special, a family ritual, a moment of togetherness, week after week.

Was your Sunday dinner like that? Or maybe a bit larger, with lots of uncles and aunts and cousins gathered at Grandmother's table? In many families, at least in days gone by, the Sunday dinner ritual was an important moment in family life.

I'm not so sure it's that way as much today. Today many families are divided by distance or divorce. And even in those increasingly rare households with one dad, one mom and 1.7 children, things are different. For one thing, a lot of families can't afford the roast! And some who can afford the roast can't afford the cholesterol! For another thing, the invention of the microwave oven has made it possible for families to eat in shifts. Junior comes home from his Sunday morning soccer game and pops a hot dog into the microwave. Sis heats up a sandwich and then rushes off to study with a friend. Mom comes home after working a weekend shift and heats up a can of soup. You know how it goes. The family doesn't necessarily get together for a sit-down meal anymore. And sometimes when they do get together, it's Sunday evening, in the family room, with television trays in front of the television. Sunday dinner may well be a tradition that is missing from a lot of current homes.

And that can be a significant loss. Because it was partly around the dinner table that I was initiated and nurtured and trained in the ways of my family. It was at least partly over Sunday dinner that my sisters and I learned who we were. We heard family stories: what one grandfather did on his farm and the other in his store. We learned what my parents and their siblings were like growing up. By listening to their conversations, we learned about my parents' values, what they believed in, what they stood for. No one ever instructed my sisters and me in what it meant to be a member of the Gondola family. We found our place, we learned our family story, we established a common identity through that family meal. So it was also with Jesus and his disciples. Jesus spent a lot of time talking with people over meals. Think about how often meals are mentioned in the Gospels: the marriage feast at Cana of Galilee, dinner with Simon the Pharisee, dinner with "sinners," the feeding of the 5,000, a fried fish breakfast by the lake.

Jesus' stories are filled with references to food: the fatted calf, a son asking his father for a fish, new wine in old wineskins, measuring out meal, two women grinding grain.

Jesus even chose a meal as the way he wanted to be remembered. Good table fellowship was characteristic of him -- so much so that the two followers on the Emmaus Road didn't recognize Jesus in the stranger who traveled with them until he was made known to them in the breaking of the bread. Jesus claimed his disciples for himself, established their common memory, initiated them into their fellowship, showed them who they were, and taught them their special story to a large extent over the dinner table. Jesus bonded his family of faith just like our families often are bonded together -- through the breaking of bread. The Lord's Supper is many things: in some ways, it's the real presence of Jesus; it's Eucharist, thanksgiving; it's a memorial of Jesus' last meal; it's Communion, reconciliation between God and human beings. It's the Mass, which means "to be sent out" in Latin. The Sacrament strengthens us and nourishes us for service. It's all this and much more: a sacrament, a sacred mystery that we can only begin to fathom. But among all the other things you might think about the Lord's Supper, think of this sacrament as Sunday dinner for our church. The bread and cup is our church family's spiritual food.

At Christ's table we review our family story: "On the night in which he was betrayed, Jesus took bread, and when he had blessed it, he broke it and gave it to them." At Christ's table, we review and renew our family relationships. (How does that old hymn go? "Lord, we thank Thee for our brothers" -- and our sisters.) The Lord's Supper reminds us of who we are, what we believe in, how we are in union with each other here at our Church.

It unites us -- not just with those who happen to be around the communion table this morning -- but also with those who are missing from our morning fellowship, separated by distance or death. As we worship in this sanctuary and receive this sacrament, we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, friends and loved ones who were members of this church who have died and now gone to be with Christ. They are with us now in spirit. Nothing, not even distance or death, can break our bond in Christ. We have received him into ourselves. Now we live together in him.

In any good church, like this one, the members and friends care for each other, like family. (How does that other old hymn go? "We share each other's woes, each other's burdens bear, and often for each other flows the sympathizing tear.") We educate our children and grandchildren together. Together we pay the monthly bills that provide for the upkeep of our family homestead, this historic church.

As a family, we now share the same spiritual ancestors and the same family story. We share the same ancestors. Our ancestors include the Reverend Josiah Dennis, struggling to build a community of faith here even before the town of Dennis was established; and the Reverend Dr. Anna Howard Shaw, one of the first two women ever ordained into the ministry of the Methodist Church, successor to Susan B. Anthony, and the first woman to be awarded the United States Distinguished Service Medal. The Lord's Supper, our Sunday dinner, is one of the things that unites us as a church family. It reconstitutes the family experience many of us enjoyed in our childhood. For those who did not have that family experience, it creates a new family here. "Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love," the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, our Sunday dinner, our fellowship meal.

Jesus, our brother, our host, invites us to his table to celebrate our relationship with each other and our relationship with him.

CSS Publishing Company, Come As You Are, by Alex Gondola