Daily Archives: April 19, 2026

In the Breaking of the Bread: A Sermon for 3EasterA, 2026

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April 19, 2026

A few weeks ago, when Mtr Bobbi and I were talking about the liturgies of Holy Week, she asked me about the words of invitation. In case you’re wondering, they’re found on pp. 364-5 of the BCP and read: “The gifts of God for the people of God”, then there’s a rubric that says “the celebrant may add”—“Take them in remembrance that Christ died for you, and feed on him in your hearts by faith, with thanksgiving.” I told Bobbi that I always add those words but that she needn’t; I have no idea whether any of you notice this or even care. But there’s a history here having to do with history, and liturgy, and my own journey.

         I was a historian of the Protestant and Catholic Reformations and in my studies I read a great deal about the Eucharistic controversies of the early years of the reformation, debates about the real presence of Christ in the sacrament. The conflicts were heated and not particularly edifying. On one side was Martin Luther who wrote a treatise entitled “That these words ‘This is my body’ still stand against the fanatics.” On the other was Huldreych Zwingli who argued, among other things, that when Jesus said “This is my body” he was pointing not at the bread but at his own body.

         This debate came to a head at the Marburg Colloquy in 1529 which attempted to find common ground among the Protestants so that they could present a united front against the Roman Catholics. The story goes that at one point, Luther lifted the tablecloth where he had written in chalk “Das ist mein Leib” “This is my body” and stomped out of the room, cementing divisions that have lasted down to the present day.

         Twenty years later, when Cranmer was creating the Book of Common Prayer, those differences persisted and in two editions of the prayer book, he used both of those sentences, but separately. In the 1559 BCP, which was an attempt to moderate between the more reformed and more catholic interpretations; both sentences were used in the words of invitation. Why does this matter, and why does it matter to me?

         Well, when I came into the Episcopal Church, I knew all of that background, and as I often explained to my students over the years, that formulation offers a full range of possible interpretations of what happens in the Eucharist: memorial: “Take them in remembrance” real presence “feed on him;” “in your hearts” spiritual eating. And for me, coming into the Episcopal Church with all of my knowledge of the history behind it, allowed me to receive faithfully. Over time, 40 years now, almost 20 as a priest, those words matter less to me; and I have found that my experience of Christ’s presence in the eucharist has deepened immensely, but still it’s a fundamental part of my spiritual journey.

         When thinking about what happens in the Eucharist, one of the gospel stories that has had the greatest impact on me is the one we heard today, the encounter of the disciples with the Risen Christ on the road to Emmaus. 

         It’s a lovely story, and unlike the other stories about the appearances of the Risen Christ, there’s no sense of urgency or excitement in it until the very end. Luke takes his time telling it; it’s almost is if we are walking with him on the road to Emmaus and he is drawing out the story telling it in such a way to keep our attention or perhaps distract us.

         We can sense the emotions of the two disciples as they walk; their disappointment “We thought he was the one who would redeem Israel”—their incredulity: “What are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who didn’t hear about what was happening?” their confusion or disbelief as they retold what happened to the women at the empty tomb. 

Two disciples, one named Cleopas, the other unnamed, but many contemporary scholars suggest that the second disciple might be a woman, perhaps even the wife of the other disciple. We can imagine them on their walk, reflecting on all that had happened, perhaps making plans for the future or at least asking each other what they should do now, when a stranger overtakes them and engages them in conversation.

         As the journey and conversation continue, the disciples are nearing their destination and evening begins to fall. The stranger seems to want to continue his journey but they prevail upon him to stay with them; offering hospitality to the stranger, a meal and perhaps bed. 

         The scene shifts to the table and the roles shift as well; the guest becomes host, he takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to the disciples. As the bread is broken, the disciples recognize the risen Christ. 

         There’s no mention that the disciples consume the bread, there’s no mention of wine, but clearly this is an allusion to the Eucharist. It’s also an allusion to an early miracle of Jesus recorded in all four gospels—the feeding of the five thousand. Because there too, Luke uses the exact same language, in the exact same sequence: He took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it. It’s also the same language, the same sequence used by Luke to describe Jesus’ actions at the Last Supper.

         The resurrection of Christ may seem like a remote event. His appearance to his disciples might seem to us like a one-off, an event that we can’t experience; that we can only read about. But I think this story brings it home to us and makes it accessible to us. For those two disciples who encountered Jesus on the road to Emmaus, invited him into their home and offered him a meal, encountered him in the breaking of the bread. Gathered around that table, after a long conversation together, they saw the Risen Christ.

         That same experience opens itself to us when we share in Christ’s body and blood at the Eucharistic feast. Gathered around the table, in the breaking of the bread, the risen Christ comes to us, in bread and wine, and in the body gathered. For in a real sense, we the people of God, gathered together in worship and fellowship are the body of Christ, just as the bread and wine are his body and blood.

         But that experience isn’t the end of things. Just as the disciples who walked with Jesus on the road to Emmaus engaged in conversation on scripture with Jesus before sharing with him at the table, so to are we all nourished by word as well as by sacrament; we are challenged to grow more deeply in study and scripture, learning from the one who walks beside us. Only then can we say, “Were not our hearts burning within us, while he was talking with us?”

         But even that is not the end of the story, for like all the disciples who encountered the risen Christ, we too must share the good news with others, let them know how he is made known to us in the breaking of the bread. 

On the First Day of the Week: A Sermon for Easter, 2026

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A bit belatedly…

On the First Day of the Week

April 5, 2026

“Oh God, take our minds and think through them, take our lips and speak through them, and take our hearts and set them on fire. Amen.”

         Why did she come to the tomb? The reason given in the other gospels—that the women came with spices and ointments to anoint Jesus’ body for burial doesn’t fit with John’s version of the story. All that had been done by Nicodemus at the time of burial. Did she come because she wanted to grieve near the tomb; to feel that intimacy with Jesus she may have felt when he was still alive?

         And something else. No matter how many times I have read this gospel; preached on it—that’s is around 20 sermons; how many times I discussed this passage with students in class; you’d think I would not be able to find something new or interesting in these 18 verses. But you’d be wrong. For this year, I noticed something I had never noticed before. All Mary sees is the stone rolled away. She doesn’t actually know that the tomb is empty. but in this case, that’s all she needs to run back to the other disciples to tell them that the tomb is empty; that someone has taken away Jesus’ body.

Mary Magdalene is a figure of endless speculation throughout the History of Christianity. I’m sure you’ve heard some of them. She was a repentant prostitute; possessed by seven evil spirits; the wife of Jesus. But all of that is nothing more than conjecture; and conflation of this figure with other “Mary’s” other women who are mentioned in the gospels. All that is also a product our relentless desire as humans to satisfy our curiosity;  to fill out stories and the relentless desire to fill out stories; to give them detail and deeper meaning. 

Often, such speculation, pious though it may be, obscures the stories the gospel writers are trying to tell; and also obscure the true significance of the character in the story. For example, in addition to all of the accretions to Mary’s story that I have mentioned; the church has also long called her the Apostle to the Apostles, for it was Mary Magdalene who first learned the good news that Christ was risen from the dead, and shared that news with the other disciples.

What we know is this: In John’s gospel, she appears only twice. Mary Magdalene is identified as one of the women standing near the cross at Jesus’ crucifixion, and here at the empty tomb. In fact, one of the few details on which all four gospels agree is that Mary Magdalene was present at the empty tomb. 

         Was her immediate reaction to seeing the stone rolled away a burst of emotion on top of all the grief she was carrying: anger at this additional indignity inflicted on her Lord; fear that his corpse would be or already had been defiled? Was she triggered by the scene and desperate to find help to address this new calamity?

         In any case, she ran back and told the other disciples about her discovery and two of them, Peter and the Beloved Disciple, returned with her, or rather before her because they raced along the way; the two of them looked inside, saw the graveclothes neatly wrapped in two piles. And we’re told, the Beloved Disciple saw and believed; no word on Peter’s response, and they went back home.

         Now Mary lingers in the garden. We can imagine the emotions overwhelming her—disbelief, fear, grief, perhaps anger; weeping for her Lord, for her loss, for the lost future she and the others who had been following Jesus had been imagining and hoping for.

         Only now does she do like the two male disciples had done and peek into the tomb. Perhaps she was curious about what they had seen; why they had looked, and then returned to the place where they were staying. She receives the message, the good news; the first of the disciples to learn what has happened. But still, she waits, wonders, and weeps. And then, the encounter with the risen Christ. Still not recognizing him; it’s only when he calls her by name that it all makes sense. 

         There’s a lovely progression in this story as we see Mary Magdalene coming to faith in Christ. It begins in that walk to the tomb in the dark of night; seeing the stone rolled away, and drawing the wrong conclusion. It continues when she reaches out to others seeking their help to make sense of her experience, and then, when they abandon her to her own devices, continuing to struggle to understand. And finally, there’s that moment of grace, Jesus calling her by name, and all of it finally making sense—knowing who he is; discovering who she is; seeing the world, herself, and Jesus with new eyes, the eyes of faith.

         We might contrast her journey here with that of Peter and the Beloved Disciple, who raced to the tomb, looked inside, and went back home. We’re told that the beloved disciple saw and believed—but did he? Distinguished by his close relationship with Jesus “The one whom Jesus loved” he didn’t tarry, he didn’t open himself to an encounter like Mary had; that would come later.

         Like Mary, we come to the tomb, full of doubts, fears, uncertainty. We may be suffering—our bodies may be broken and in pain; our hearts may be broken and in pain. We may wonder whether life is worth living; whether we can go on. The incessant whirlwind of news; the earthquakes shaking the foundations of our lives and our worldviews; wars, violence, oppression; a planet on the brink. 

         We look for signs in the chaos and darkness; but they are ambiguous at best, easily misinterpreted. We may want to turn away; to abandon our hopes and dreams. But if we reach out to others as Mary did; if we wait in silence, we may hear the Risen Christ calling us by name, inviting us into relationship, inspiring hope , giving us new life.

         The cross and the tomb are not the end of the story. Christ is risen, breaking the bonds of death; defeating chaos. God is still at work in the world; creating and re-creating the universe and us. The resurrection of Christ is proof positive that the forces of empire, evil, and death cannot, will not reign forever. Even now, God’s reign of justice, love, and peace, is breaking in around us. The signs may not be obvious; like the ambiguity of an empty tomb, we may overlook or miss them, but if we persevere in our hope; if we keep our eyes open, we will come to see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up and things which had grown old are being made new. 

         May the embers of our faith be kindled into fires of faith, justice, and love, that spread the good news and usher in God’s coming reign. 

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!