A little over a week ago I found myself
undergoing a number of tests during a 4-day hospital stay. During one of the
exams, I looked at the complex machinery around the laboratory and remarked to
the physician, "I am so totally out of my environment." That comment also fit
the ambulance ride, my hospital room, the required diets, sounds from equipment
and people, various aromas, and the never-ending routine of blood pressure and
blood tests.
In those circumstances, I tend to seek almost
absolute privacy. Too preoccupied and tired, no visitors and no phone calls
help me the most. Of course, my partner was with me at times that made sense to
us. A lovely hospital visitor from a regional Episcopal Church just
happened to come by, and we had a delightful, prayerful visit, but I
swore her to secrecy about my hospitalization.
What anchors me, what gives me perspective, what
nurtures me always but especially when my life becomes so disrupted, is nothing
from the unfamiliar surroundings and routines. The required peculiar diets work
sufficiently to help heal the body, but the internal feeding of the spirit is
as crucial. Figuratively speaking, the diet that works the best is Bread.
In the Bible "bread" is a common word. Bread was
so basic to life that the word "bread" could be used interchangeably with
"food." However, Jesus cautioned his listeners that ordinary, perishable bread
is insufficient for complete nourishment. Faithful people knew that the bread
provided to their ancestors in the wilderness had become a symbol of the
life-giving power of God. Jesus now declared that God's life-giving power is
fulfilled in himself: exemplified in his life, his way, and the truth he bore.
The Word of God exemplified in Jesus is the true, living Bread, the staple
providing genuine life that truly satisfies the deepest of human hungers. As
Risen Lord and Messiah, he embodies the Creator's authentic source of wholesome
sustenance.
You and I gather this evening to give thanks and
to be fed with extraordinary Bread: Bread not to stare at, idolize, or invest
with magical qualities. As the staple of genuine living, we consume holy bread,
and we partake of consecrated wine, that we may live gracefully and fully in
our present circumstances. In this grace-filled liturgical act, we follow
Christ, we affirm who we are: each of us a unique, named child of God united
in this fellowship. We are renewed in our common baptismal identity, and in
our daily lives we live out who we are, now and then blundering as we follow
him. We celebrate our God-given identity that anchors and supports us during
life's transitions and unexpected moments, whether turbulent or peaceful. We do
this so that our lives may become increasingly in harmony with his.
Yet, in the hospital I had no Bread of any kind;
it was not on my diet. Nonetheless, I could remember and envision the
"Bread of Heaven" and its purpose and power to sustain my fundamental sense of
who I am: Richard, a child of God. This vital memory was and is my basic diet
and my anchor, the source of perspective and nurture, especially when
everything around me is utterly alien. The stresses that emerge from the
unfamiliar are redeemed and significantly calmed; one's eyes of faith are
reopened, and we realize again that nothing, even sickness or death, can
separate a child of God from the love of God.
I know with all my heart and mind that
regardless of where we are or what we are doing, as followers of Christ,
through our baptism we remain children of God. You and I are Christ's
transformed family and community. We are nurtured, when we remember, or
actually participate in, the breaking of the Bread. The Collect of the Day, to
be prayed soon in our worship tonight, points us in the right direction, to the
right diet. O God, whose blessed Son made himself known to his disciples in
the breaking of bread: Open the eyes of our faith, that we may behold him in
all his redeeming work; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy
Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.