Taste and See

Sermon for Year A Easter 3
May 4, 2014

TASTE AND SEE

I am one of three children.

I have an older sister and a younger brother.

I am the proverbial middle child.

One of our great joys growing up 

was going to visit and spend the night with our grandparents.

Because for a few days we each got to be an “only” child.

I loved every minute.

I grew up in Raleigh, North Carolina

and my mother’s parents lived about 30 minutes in away

in the small town of Wendell.

My grandfather was a carpenter and he built their house.

It was not fancy or big

and did not have a guest bedroom.

I slept on the living room floor,

on a pallet of quilts my grandmother had made,

all stacked up, one on top of the other,

to make a soft-ish bed. 

For me it was absolutely divine.

In the morning we would get up early

and go in the kitchen

and sit next to a tiny oil stove--

their house had no central heat--

and have breakfast.

My grandfather always made me a cup of coffee.

Now since I was only about 8 years old,

my coffee was about 1/8 of a cup of coffee, 

the rest milk and then about as much sugar as he could pour in the cup.

It made me feel so grown up--having my cup of coffee.

And then we would make what my grandfather called

“soaky-roakies”.

You took a hot homemade biscuit,

punched a hole in the biscuit by sticking in your thumb,

put in a pat of butter in the hole

and then filled the rest of the hole with black-strap molasses.

You waited a few minutes and let the butter and molasses

soak into the biscuit and then...

oh my!

Talk about heaven on earth.

I probably have not had a soaky-roaky for well over 50 years

but somehow,

if I were to make one tomorrow morning,

even making one in my kitchen in Shelburne, Vermont,

that first bite

would make me think of my grandparents,

especially my grandfather.

His presence would be there at my breakfast table.

Right there.

This is what happened to the disciples as they travelled from

Jerusalem to Emmaus.

Actually it happened when they stopped for the night.

They invited the mysterious stranger who had travelled with them

to stop and have dinner and stay the night.

This stranger.

At first they had wondered if it might be a spy.

How could he have not heard about what had happened to Jesus?

Surely everyone had heard that news!

But they changed their minds as they walked together.

He began to talk about scripture

and there was something about the way he talked

that set their hearts on fire.

Where,

where had they heard someone teach like this before?

It was strangely familiar--

but they couldn’t quite place it.

Who was this stranger?

So they sit down together at the table

and the stranger takes the loaf of bread

and blesses it

and breaks it 

and gives it to them.

And they know.

They know without a doubt

that this is Jesus.

Yes, they know it is impossible

but yet...

they recognize him 

in the breaking and the sharing of the bread.

They know that Jesus was crucified and died.

But they also know, beyond their rational minds,

that Christ is present 

in the breaking of the bread.

Now you may remember that on Easter Sunday

Mary Magdalene went to the tomb

and it was not until she heard this strange man there 

call her by name--”Mary”--

that she knew.

She knew from his voice--

“Rabbouni.”

Christ was alive and present in her life still.

And last week,

Stan preached a marvelous sermon about Thomas

hearing his “master’s voice”--

and again,

Thomas knew.

We were reminded 

that sometimes our ears 

see better than our eyes.

Today we discover that sometimes we taste and see.

Jesus becomes present in the breaking of the bread.

And the disciples know.

The disciples remember.

Just as we remember--

every time

the bread is taken, blessed, broken and shared.

This eucharistic action is what 

Anglican Benedictine monk and liturgical scholar 

Dom Gregory Dix calls the “heart of our worship.”

As Episcopalians,

it is what happens at the altar, at this table

that is most important to us.

that binds us together--

with God

and with one another.

We care deeply about the Word, 

the scripture readings,

the preaching--

but it is not the pulpit or the lectern

that is the centerpoint in our worship spaces. 

It is the altar, the table, 

where we remember

who we are

and whose we are.

Gathered around a small green formica table

in Wendell, North Carolina,

I held in my hands a hot, buttery, molasses-drenched 

soaky roaky biscuit

and came to understand 

in a deliciously tangible way,

the love of my grandparents.

Taste and see.

Gathered around this altar

here in Burlington, Vermont

joining with others gathering around thousands of other altars 

around the world,

we hold in our hands 

the bread and the wine of the Eucharist--

taken, blessed, broken and shared--

the body and the blood of Christ

and we come to understand 

in a deliciously tangible way

the immense and unconditional love of God.

We taste and see.

We remember.

We give thanks.

And we are invited--

to ponder and to pray--

how might we share bread 

with an oh so hungry world?

How might we share

so others might see

the face of Christ?

So others might be fed

as we are fed?

How might we share bread

more fully, more widely, 

more lovingly,

more openly,

more generously?