Last Monday morning a sick and disturbed young man possessed by unknown demons turned the buildings of Virginia Tech into slaughter houses.  Many of us watched television in stunned silence as the scenes were replayed time and time again.  Obviously this tragedy once again raises questions about gun control in this country as well as issues surrounding the treatment and care of the mentally ill.  Those matters are best dealt with in a forum other than a sermon.

But something happened on Tuesday that led me to a reflection and a conviction that I want to share.  On Tuesday a convocation was held on the campus of Virginia Tech.  President Bush was present, and though I truly detest his stance and leadership of the war in Iraq,  and thoroughly disagree with much of his administration, I was glad to see him, representing all of us, there to offer words of consolation.  Virginia governor, Tim Kane, said he was there to be present with the students, faculty, and families.  To be present in times of tragedy is so important.  At the end of that convocation the crowd broke into a cheer, rhythmically chanting “Hokies” and clapping.  At first I was shocked by this action and then I realized its purpose: it gave them solidarity; it gave expression to a sense of being in this together.

To be present with another in a time of tragedy and loss is essential.  My first Sunday here at St. John’s, March 4, we had a death in the parish.  Within minutes of being told of the death of a fellow parishioner, members of this congregation were in the home, making themselves present.  Saying, without words, “We’re in this together.

As I reflected on the tragedy at Virginia Tech I began reading and thinking about the Gospel appointed for today.  In it Jesus says to his apostles, “Come and have breakfast.”  The apostles had experienced loss in the death of their beloved leader, and all of a sudden he is inviting them to have breakfast.  It is in the simple act of breaking bread together that they experienced his presence and knew that they were in this together.

One of my memories of my time of ministry in East Tennessee occurred as I was driving on the back roads in the mountains one day when I came upon a diner with a sign out front which read, “Burgers, Fries, and Homemade Pies.  Maranatha!”  Maranatha, the Aramaic word which ends the New Testament and means “Come, Lord Jesus.”  Burgers, Fries, and Homemade Pies.  Come Lord Jesus!”  Isn’t that wonderful?  What a great juxtaposition of ideas and images.  When I first saw it I drove on down the road chuckling.  But then, as I thought about it, I began to appreciate the truth in it.  Burgers, fries, homemade pies and Jesus really do go together.  Ordinary things are the context of the divine.

This morning’s Collect began, “O God, whose blessed son made himself known in the breaking of the bread.”  Most of the experiences of knowing the Risen Lord Christ centered on a meal, on the breaking of bread.  Eating and drinking, having a meal, nothing is more ordinary.  And yet, for Christians nothing is more spiritual.  Eating is so mundane.  It is routine. It is ordinary.  You would think that God could do better than the act of eating to reveal the presence of his son, wouldn’t you?  Some esoteric, obscure password or secret sign seems more appropriate for the revealing of the divine, doesn’t it?  And yet Jesus insisted, “The one who eats this bread will live forever.”  Which, I believe, is another way of saying, “I’m with you in this life and the next.  Whatever happens, we are in it together.”

Think about the resurrection appearances of Christ and how many times food is involved.  In this morning’s gospel seven of the disciples were out fishing on the Sea of Galilee.  They had gone back to earning their living as commercial fishermen, back to their routine and ordinary occupation.  Jesus shows them how to really fish and while they are pulling the boat loaded with their catch to shore, Jesus is already there ahead of them with a campfire, grilling fish and bread.  He invites them to bring their fish also, but he has already made breakfast, he has already made provision for them   This is the divine hospitality, the welcoming meal of inclusion.  His is a simple invitation, “Come and have breakfast.”  A beach, a warm fire, fresh fish, bread, good friends; sounds pretty good doesn’t it?  Jesus is providing sustenance; he is providing life.  He is truly present with them.

On the evening of the first Easter two dejected followers leave the city of Jerusalem in despair and defeat after witnessing the death of Jesus and walk to the nearby village of Emmaus.  They didn’t believe the foolish women who had come back from the tomb that morning declaring that he was alive.  In the midst of this dejection and sadness, in the midst of things they don’t understand, the Christ comes to them.  And he walks with them, he explains scripture to them, and their hearts are “suddenly warmed”.  And they extend an invitation to him, “It’s getting late, it’s almost dark; won’t you stay the night with us?”  Then they ate supper.  And they recognized him in the breaking of the bread.

Remember the feeding of the 5000?  They are a long way from any town and Jesus turns to Philip and asks, “What is there to eat?”  And as it was on the hillside with 5000 people, so it was on the beach, so it was in the room in Emmaus: same question, same food, same story.  He was with them where they were, in whatever circumstance they were.  He was present.  And everyone ate and was satisfied.

There is something about having a meal together that is unlike any other activity.  We know how important it is for families to sit down together and pay attention to one another, to really hear and respond to the other.  You know how good it is for friends to break bread together: eating, talking, laughing; engaging one another at a level that isn’t achieved in any setting other than a meal.

And so, week after week, we gather here at the Lord’s table to be with him and his friends, to be nourished, to be filled with his Spirit, to have our eyes opened, to recognize him walking with us, to enter into the mystery, to have our lives changed, to repent, to accept forgiveness.  So that we can tell others the Good News of God with us, to show by word and action that in the midst of a tragedy such as the massacre at Virginia Tech, in the middle of things we don’t understand, our God is with us.  That, I believe, is the mission of the Church.  That is the mission and ministry of St. John’s Church.  That is why this congregation exists.

Wherever we are in our walk of faith, in our journey in life, God walks with us, whether we are aware of his presence or not.  As Carl Jung said, “Bidden or not bidden, God is present.”  The gift, the blessing of the Christian faith is not having God present with us.  He is always present with all people, in all faiths.  No, the blessing of our faith is recognizing his presence and realizing his love and power.  And that recognition happens uniquely when we gather as the Family of God and break the bread and drink the wine.  But that recognition can also happen in eating and drinking at every meal if we have eyes to see.  The Lord of life walks with us in all the trials and tribulations of our lives.  The Risen Lord comes to us in the midst of the routine and the mundane.

It is such an ordinary thing: bread.  But, then we, at heart, are pretty ordinary people.  And our God uses ordinary “stuff” to show us his presence in our ordinary lives so they can be lived joyfully and fully.  “Come and have breakfast.”  A piece of fish, a loaf of bread, a jug of wine?  Even “burgers, fries, and homemade pies.  Come, Lord Jesus!”     Amen.