[Propertalk] 3 Easter a rcl

[robertpmorrison at charter.net]

Forgetfulness is interesting!  I can't remember whether I posted this 
yet or not. I wrote it about a week ago and have been glancing at it now 
and again since.  Anyway, if this is a repeat post, my apologies!

Bob


THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH OF ST. ALBAN, ALBANY    		            THE THIRD 
SUNDAY OF EASTER - A
ACTS 2:14a, 36-41				      			           8th MAY, 2011
1 PETER 1:17-23						              PSALM 116:1-3, 10-17
LUKE 24:13-35


	“A question that sometimes drives me hazy:
	am I or are the others crazy?” 1

	Albert Einstein said that, where or when, I’m not sure. But if HE can 
make that feeling public, whether half in jest or not, then it makes me 
feel a bit better about myself and my ability to perceive, and 
understand, and to remember.

	I came across the quote in an article about Alzheimer’s and dementia 
which began, “Many people suffer from forms of dementia. It’s a 
terrifying thought and most of us would prefer not to address it. It’s 
not usually part of our everyday life – unless some one you care for is 
affected. In those circumstances you take a very deep breath indeed and 
prepare to travel a tortuous journey with your loved one. Generally 
speaking your battle is on a practical level for some of the time. Where 
are the lost items ? [ I read a wonderful book recently called "Knickers 
in the Fridge" ! ]  What can I do to make things better? Should I help 
my person to try to remember? or will it make things worse? How long can 
we continue without resorting to help from elsewhere? How do I stop 
myself from feeling resentful? and most of all …. ‘Oh God, why us?’” 2

	In talking to His disciples, Jesus mentioned those who had working 
eyes, yet couldn’t see, functional minds, yet could not comprehend. In 
that instance He was being severely critical – the leaders, the people 
in charge of the country’s spiritual, political, moral and, yes, 
physical welfare, were concentrating so hard on the lint in their own 
navels and just what they could do with it to increase their own comfort 
and prosperity that they failed to see and hear those crying out in 
desperation – those who were only a few feet in front of them. They, 
admonished Jesus, were living with some sort of spiritual Alzheimer’s.

	But Jesus felt the same way about the two men getting home from 
Jerusalem after Passover. It’s obvious they knew who Jesus was. They’d 
even been in His company. They could quote Him. They could describe His 
physical appearance and what had happened to Him. They’d been at what 
might be termed “the Big Event” in the city. But, somehow, they were 
unable to connect the dots. Fortunately, Jesus is nothing if not patient 
– patient with them and patient with us. So He took the time to walk 
with them, to push their imaginations, to stir their memories, to dredge 
up what they must have heard and had drummed into them by any number of 
local rabbis – He took the time to explain, right from the start of 
their religious understanding, what had happened. And, other than a 
“Good grief, you guys are slow!”, Jesus kept His cool and kept on 
working the two men’s minds.

	I’ll say this for them, though – and Jesus noticed it right away – they 
may have missed putting two and two together and keeping their eyes open 
for Jesus as they walked back home, but they were completely immersed in 
the ethical behaviour Jesus had instilled in His listeners. No matter 
how confused they were, no matter how sad, how depressed at having to 
get up the next day and do what they had to do – they insisted, they 
insisted quite strenuously, that Jesus not take another step beyond the 
point where they could minister to Him and keep Him safe, warm and fed.

	It’s amazing how this is supposed to be bubbling away at the top of our 
minds. Even if your thoughts and my thoughts right now have fastened on 
to some image or word, and are busily engaged in something, we’re always 
to be on the lookout for what we can do for everyone else. It doesn’t 
matter who, it doesn’t matter what. If we have even a scrap of paper, we 
need to write our phone numbers on it and, at the very least, say, “Call 
me – anytime, day or night, if you need help or reassurance, or just a 
friendly ear.”

	The amazing and joyful vocation given each of us is that even when we 
say, “Oh God, why us? Why me?” we’re still supposed to say, “Hello, how 
can I help? That looks heavy. You look tired. How long have you been 
standing in the rain? Have you eaten anything today?” And instantly, the 
shutters are lifted – if we remember the baptismal vows of the past 
couple of Sundays. If I could imitate Gomer Pyle’s accent, which I 
can’t, I’d say, “Shazzam! Well, Golly, Golly, Golly! You’re Jesus!”

	And we’d be right. The very best way to get to meet Jesus and everybody 
else is over the crust of a broken loaf. The quickest and most direct 
way to understand what the Bible takes nine hundred plus pages to say is 
to engage one another and to offer hospitality. “Will you continue (will 
you be faithful) in … (attending to) the breaking of the bread …” 
another of those baptismal vows, not only referring to coming together 
in community to celebrate Eucharist, but also referring to sitting in 
the parish hall, or while standing waiting for something to happen.
	
One of the most extreme ways we’ve devised to humiliate and dehumanise 
people is to put them in solitary
confinement, to slide a tray through a narrow slit in a door and avoid 
eye or even hand contact. Conversely, one of the ways in which we’ve 
discovered we can bring an incredible feeling of dignity, and love, and 
respect is to look into someone’s eyes and say, “Would you share with me 
what I have?”
	
It seems so simple. The two who’d reached their home in Emmaus could 
hardly believe it – a piece of bread? Several hours worth of Bible 
conversation were summed up in the most mundane thing from the dinner 
table – yet the very staff of life.

	Some of you may remember on Palm Sunday, a group of young people, some 
of them holding hands and skipping down the side aisle after having left 
the altar rail, I think it was Kendrick who said a very audible, “THAT 
was fun!”

	Somehow, he’d seen past all the words – or maybe, in ways we can’t 
begin to explain, God had enabled him to
process everything that happened in the parish hall, and whatever went 
on with Patty and the others in the classroom – all the things that he’d 
experienced in the hour plus that he’d been here were boiled down to 
something which opened his eyes and blew his mind. Jesus is fun! Jesus 
is here! And nothing was going to contain or diminish his enthusiasm at 
this recognition, at whatever level he appreciated it.

	Here’s the deal. Jesus is alive. Jesus is present. Jesus is patient and 
perceptive and He wants to get us out of whatever it is that may be 
making us feel draggy. Jesus wants us to be sufficiently alert that in 
the breaking of bread and coming together to share at the altar, and at 
the table in the parish hall, and at the table wherever we eat lunch, 
and at every table and counter – Jesus wants us to discover how alive He 
is and how much He cares, so that we can leave here filled with 
excitement about telling people what’s happened to us.

	One of the neat things about the Gospel story this morning is the 
contrast between how the two men walked down hill from Jerusalem as if 
their feet and hearts were made of lead, and the way in which they 
simply flew out of their home in the village and raced back – uphill all 
the way, at night – in the very dark which they were afraid would 
endanger their guest – through the city gate and right into the room 
where Jesus’ other friends were.

	Think for a moment about what makes you the most weary. Then imagine 
what doing that task and moving on to the next one would be like if you 
took Jesus at His Broken-bread Word.

	How would you smile if you walked past a café, or a table in a 
restaurant, and saw someone split apart a roll or a piece of bread? 
Would it occur to you to think that God was blessing you with a reminder 
of Jesus’ love? Would it cross your mind to say to someone else that, no 
matter how simple the fare, that sharing it – not eating that bread 
alone – is one of God’s most precious gifts.

Raymond Tallis, a retired M.D and Professor of Geriatric Medicine at 
Manchester University in Britain commented on the radio a couple of 
weeks ago that he felt that the most important thing that distinguished 
humans from other living animals is the fact that we sit down at a table 
with one another and eat, and share – both food and the discoveries of 
the day. 3 That and the ability to point at things specifically are what 
excites Dr. Tallis as he thinks about who and what we are.

These are acts and abilities which Jesus accepted in His birth. Becoming 
fully human, He learned to eat with His family, with His friends, even 
with those with whom He had enormous difficulty. And right to the end He 
used His ability to point as He entrusted His mother and the so-called 
“beloved disciple” into each other’s care.

These are things of which we should be aware, so that we always remember 
to honour one another in the name of Jesus.

	That article about Alzheimer’s which I quoted at the beginning of the 
sermon – it ends, “This illness is a relentless, creeping monster, ever 
so slowly removing the loved one and replacing her with an alien being. 
The body is almost the same but the main difference, to me anyway, is in 
the eyes. Eyes speak without words. They sing without melody. They 
express feelings, fears, truths. They plead, jest, adore. They glow and 
burn. They crinkle and weep.

	“But dementia removes all this. The shutters start to descend. The 
window becomes obscure and eventually there will be no way of looking 
in.

	If it’s like this from the outside what the hell must it be like from 
the inside?”

	And yet I’ve seen signs in which the eyes HAVE been made alive again, 
if only for an instant. They’ve been opened as I’ve said the words, “The 
Body of Christ”, and the person, somehow, recognises and accepts Jesus’ 
Presence. Even in this apparent darkness, I’m certain that the Light of 
Christ CAN and DOES penetrate, in ways we can’t explain.

	If we’re to follow Jesus, ALL of us have to take every opportunity we 
have to sit with people, to share with them – I know this is difficult 
for Episcopalians – but share with them in as direct a way as we can, 
the story of how we’ve encountered and been encountered by Jesus. And to 
invite them to look for the possibility of finding Jesus with them too. 
This must never be pushy. We simply have to share what has been given us 
– like those at the table of that house.


NOTES:

1 	Albert Einstein

2	“The shutters are coming down”:  Alzheimer's by Eyesometric — April 
26, 2011 http://eyesometric.wordpress.com/2011/04/

3	“Belief”: 19th April, 2011. “Joan Bakewell's guest is the physician, 
poet and philosopher, Raymond Tallis. He is Professor Emeritus of 
Geriatric medicine at Manchester University but has made his name as 
much outside the field of medicine as within it.” 
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b010745p



Robert P Morrison
Interim Vicar
The Episcopal Church of St Alban
PO Box 1556
Albany OR  97321   541-921-1076 (cell)