David Orendorff · Luke 24:13-35

I come from a fairly large family on the Orendorff side. Growing up in Oklahoma, most of us lived within an hour or so of each other. Often aunts, uncles and cousins gathered on Sunday afternoon for dinner at someone’s home or a park. There could be as many as 25. The best times were when we gathered at Great Uncle Hugh’s and Aunt Mina’s because they lived on a Kansas farm and had chickens and cows. Uncle Hugh once gave me a coon skin. I treasured it until it disappeared. I suspect my mother.

Arriving, the kids would be chased off to play. The nine boys played baseball, basketball or football. I don’t know what the girls did; I never paid much attention. When it was time for dinner we were called to wash our hands.

Dinner was usually fried chicken, mashed potatoes, some seasonal vegetables, and fresh bread. Once we were all seated and grace had been said, the conversation began. The adults started it but the kids were included. Current events were discussed. There were a lot of jokes and teasing. Most importantly, the family stories were told so we knew who we were.

One of my favorite stories was about Pop. Pop, who died when I was six months old, was my grandfather Orendorff and an early Oklahoma Methodist minister. One of the stories told about Pop has become a favorite. It seems that as a child he had a hard time coming straight home from school and was often late. On one of these occasions Pop’s dad asked him, “Son, why are you so late today?” And Pop told him this:

I was on my way home when I saw a small crowd gathered in front of the store. I went over to see what was going on, and there was a man with an enormous machine. And on the side of the machine was a great handle to crank.

And I heard the man say to a little girl, “Little girl, little girl, what is it you need?”

And the little girl answered, “Oh sir, I need a pair of shoes, for the winter is coming and my feet are bare.”

And the man nodded and then began to turn that crank. And he turned and he turned, and he turned, and out came the nicest pair of shoes for that little girl. And he gave them to her.

And then the man turned to a poor woman in a tattered shawl and asked her, “Pretty woman, pretty woman, what is it you need?” And the woman looked embarrassed but replied, “Oh sir, it gets so cold in my worn shawl. I need a coat for the winter.”

“Very well,” said the man and he began to turn that big crank. And he turned and he turned and he turned and out came a lovely, warm coat that was just the right size for the woman. And he gave it to her.

Then the man asked a little boy standing near me, “Little boy, little boy, what is it you need?”

And the boy who was but six years old told the man, “Oh sir, my mother and I are so poor since my daddy died. Some days we don’t have any money for even a small loaf of bread, and we go hungry until my tummy hurts. If I could have a small cart and a little pony, I could pick up and deliver groceries for people, I could give rides to children; I could haul things and earn a little money for us.”

And the man, with a tear in his eye, took a deep breath and grabbed the crank of that great machine and he turned, and he turned until he was sweating hard, and then he turned some more and out of the machine came the best little red cart. And the man grabbed the handle and he turned and he turned until he was almost exhausted and out came a beautiful small pony. The man gave the cart and the pony to the little boy.

And then poppa I came home as quickly as I could.

I learned from this story and others that:

1. A great story can get you out of trouble.
2. Compassion is always our family’s first business.

To gather with aunts, uncles, and cousins all held together by the love of Mom, is in my mind the definition of heaven.

Vickie’s family also had the tradition of gathering for Sunday dinners. Her immediate family was not as large but her extended family was huge. An Egeland reunion in Big Timber, Montana, could easily number a hundred folks. Her family, too, made these times for eating, stories and loving. I would guess that many of you have had similar experiences in your past. Those of you who did not grow up with some kind of Sunday dinner have been robbed.

Vickie and I have continued this tradition in our own family. At Sunday Dinner for Easter we had 10. And last Sunday for Vickie’s birthday we also had ten. Sunday dinners are the best part of my very good life. I expect to play, to eat, to talk, and to love with my family forever, since surely Sunday dinner is heaven.

When I read the Walk to Emmaus scripture, I think of Sunday dinners. Cleopas and the other disciple (many think it was probably his wife) don’t know it is Jesus until he breaks the bread; that is, he eats with them. It is not by Jesus’ physical appearance or in his teaching, but in the breaking of the bread that he is known. This point is so obvious that it is certainly the main lesson of this scripture.

Without Sunday dinners I don’t think we know ourselves very well, and I am pretty sure we don’t know Jesus. Proclaim all the creeds and formulas of salvation you want, and the truth will be found in coming together as family, sharing a sacred meal (all meals are sacred) and telling the stories of our God and our souls.

From their Jewish heritage the early church knew this, and the first gatherings were on Sunday (because it is resurrection day) for dinner. They gathered in the larger homes and they brought what food they had to share. A recent letter from Peter or Paul might be read. Sometimes family stories of Jesus were told from one of the small biographies being passed around. They would sing to God and pray. But most importantly they would eat Sunday dinner.

In the second century the dinner became a ritual part of worship, and the Mass was born, and Sunday dinner was called Eucharist or Communion. The Mass was Sunday dinner in every week’s worship service commemorating the events of Maundy Thursday and Easter.

Some 1600 years later, Protestants drifted away from weekly communion. This was partly because there weren’t enough clergy for each congregation. The result was an increased focus on the preached word. But even as they minimized the ritual meal, the Protestants could not escape the power and need to eat together. Thus it became common practice for worship to be followed by a coffee and cookie fellowship or a potluck.

I commend Bear Creek for establishing weekly communion as an integral part of worship. To know Jesus in the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup is the whole truth of our faith. And I thank Marian, her assistants and the Fellowship Committee for the coffee and cookies after worship so that we continue to better know each other. Sunday dinner binds us to the love of Christ and grows us in Christian community.

How well we do Sunday dinner is important. I am not talking about getting the ritual right but about getting the love right. It is the time to catch up on each other’s news. It is the time to tell the children the stories of our faith. It is the time to learn who needs us to care and who needs us to pray. And very importantly, it is a time to include and welcome guests and new members to us. It is a time to practice divine hospitality; to be with Jesus. Sunday dinner is waiting for us. May we fully give ourselves to its wonder, joy and love.

Shalom and Amen.