Broken. Whoa!

Sermon from May 4, 2014
Luke 24: 13-35
St. Mark’s, Beaumont, Texas

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

This morning, you might have noticed that I carry a crozier.
The crozier or bishop’s staff has long been a symbol of the office of bishop in the church.
And yes, if my crozier looks like a shepherd’s staff, then that is exactly the correct connotation.
For bishops in our church are shepherds of the flock.
And my bishop’s crozier that I carry is a symbol of my service as a shepherd, a chief pastor among the clergy and the lay people.

Yet I must confess to you, that my crozier – my bishop’s staff that I carry this morning – is broken.
You see, last Sunday, when I was at a different congregation, I had leaned the crozier up against a wall.
And the crozier fell with a thud to the ground.
The wooden crozier broke into two pieces, up near the top, a break in the curve of the top of the crozier.

Now the man who made my crozier out of walnut from east Texas took it this last week to repair the break.
This man knew that I needed the crozier back quickly so I could carry it here at St. Mark’s.
Therefore, due the quick turnaround, the fix is not perfect.
You can still see the place where my crozier is broken.

There is a part of me who wanted my crozier to be perfect when I carried it into St. Mark’s this morning.
There is a part of me that wanted to look flawless as your bishop.
Yet my imperfect crozier is a reminder to me:
A reminder that I am broken and you are broken and Jesus is broken on the cross.
The broken bishop’s staff that I carry is also a reminder of the bread that we share in communion – bread which is broken.

Two thousand years ago, Jesus is recognized when the bread is broken.
You see, on that very first Easter Day, two of the followers of Jesus are walking along the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus.
And the risen Jesus joins these two followers on the road, yet Jesus is not recognized.

The followers urge Jesus to come and stay with them because it is getting dark and too late to keep traveling.
So the risen Jesus has dinner with his friends from the road.
And at dinner, Jesus takes bread.
Jesus blesses the bread.
Then Jesus breaks the bread.
And as the risen Jesus breaks the bread, then he is recognized.

Every Sunday, we gather for the celebration of the Holy Eucharist, for communion.
Every Sunday here at St. Mark’s, we remember the dinner in the village of Emmaus, the dinner where Jesus is recognized.
Every Sunday, just like Jesus did at that dinner in Emmaus on Easter night, we take the bread, we bless the bread, then we break the bread.
And in that action of the fraction, that action of breaking the bread, we see Jesus.

I don’t know how Frank and Dean and Betty might celebrate the Eucharist among you.
Yet when I officiate at communion, I lift the bread up high over my head so that everyone can see it.
And then I break the bread, hopefully so you can hear the bread
Crack!
Hopefully, you recognize Jesus – in the breaking of the bread.

A few weeks ago, a priest told me a story about his parish church.
At this church, a new family of four came into the church, a family with two parents and two small children.
It was obvious to the priest that this family was not familiar with the Episcopal Church and was not familiar with the shuffling of a Book of Common Prayer and a Hymnal in worship.
Yet this new family of four sat in the back of the church and worshipped reverently.

When it came time for this priest to break the bread, the priest lifted the bread high above his head.
The priest kept a moment of silence.
Then this priest dramatically broke the bread in two.
And immediately the little boy in the back went:
“Whoa!”

When we see the bread broken, we see Jesus.
And when we see Jesus, broken for us, we exclaim:
Whoa!

I am an ordained person who breaks the bread.
When I break the bread, I think of Jesus at dinner.
And when I break the bread, I also think of all of us – all of us who are imperfect and broken.

When I break the bread, I see Jesus, with his body broken on the Cross.
When I break the bread, I see the Body of Christ on this earth that we call the church, broken by division and fears of decline.
When I break the bread, I see myself, broken by my imperfections and shortcomings.
When I break the bread, I see you, broken by loneliness and addiction and disappointments.
When I break the bread, I think:
Whoa!

And after we break the bread, broken pieces are placed into our hands.
And mysteriously, by eating this broken bread, we become one Body in Christ to serve the world.
By eating broken bread, we are resurrected.

For God only resurrects dead things.
God only raises those who are broken.

Therefore, I am glad that the bishop’s crozier I am carrying today is not pristine and perfect.
For you and I are not pristine and perfect.

You and I are misfits and nerds and outcasts.
You and I live in dysfunctional families and with parents who are a pain in the neck and with children who drive us crazy.
You and I medicate the pain of life by going shopping or by drinking or by chasing after the good life.
You and I are disabled and divorced and dying.
You and I are poor in spirit and lacking in faith.
You and I – we are broken.

Yet the risen Jesus chooses to have dinner with the broken.
The risen Jesus chooses to raise the broken from the dead.

For on that very first Easter night, the risen Jesus did not choose to be recognized in a perfect rainbow or in a glorious sunset.
No, instead, the risen Jesus chooses to be recognized in the broken lives of his simple people.
The risen Jesus chooses to be recognized in a simple piece of bread.
Bread – that is broken.
Whoa!

AMEN.