The Church of the Redeemer

Second Sunday of Lent

February 24, 2002

(All Parish Eucharist)

The Rev. Craig R. Swan 

One of my favorite things to do as a small child was to go to my maternal grandmother’s house because it was a very warm and safe place to be.  My grandparents lived in a small house on the corner of two very busy streets in Hamden, Connecticut.  Across the street in front of the house was a small deli and general store, across the side street stood the grammar school my mother attended as a child.  This part of Hamden in which they lived and raised their children was very much like Dorchester is today.  The streets crowded with small shops, multifamily homes with small single-family homes sprinkled in the mix.  At one end of their street stood the Roman Catholic Church that my grandmother attended regularly and my parents and aunts were married in, at the other end was the Methodist church, looking out onto Dixwell Avenue, one of the two major roads that brought people in to the center of New Haven.  Despite being located in one of the busier and less prestigious parts of town, my Grandfather developed his double lot of land into an oasis within the chaotic bustle of urban life.  During the years between World War II and the early sixties, my grandfather lined each linear foot of the sidewalk with a six-foot hedge that was meticulously maintained at a dense five-foot height.  Along the perimeter of the house and on each side of the Driveway flowers bloomed from late spring into early fall.  The second lot of land just beyond the garage, my grandfather plowed each spring and planted rows upon rows of vegetables, tomatoes, eggplant, peppers, string beans, and various squashes.  It was because of the hours and years of my grandfather’s labors, of getting up each summer morning at five a.m. to water and tend his gardens that allowed anyone who passed through the opening in the hedge to enter into a world of pastoral beauty that felt as if the city was miles away.  

            Entering the garden however was only the appetizer of visiting my grandparents.  The main course came when one actually entered the house through the back door, where the wonderful mix of the aromas that were my grandparents surrounded you.  It was combination of the watered down scent of mothballs that lingered in my grandmother’s sweaters and the wonderful smells of tomatoes and garlic simmering on the stove. There was always a sauce simmering on my grandmother’s stove, because preparing the evening’s meal was an all-day endeavor.  It started early in the morning as she and my Aunt Delores prepared the fresh tomatoes my grandfather would harvest from his garden to be the base for her wonderful tomato sauce.  This would be followed by making the pasta for one of the evening’s main dishes, either home made spaghetti, or lasagna, or if it was just a simple meal, the pasta would be rolled out flat and then filled for a home made cheese or meat ravioli. If pasta was not on the menu, then the sauce would be used as part of her eggplant parmesan, or added to her sausage and peppers.   Since we usually visited on a Sunday, by mid-afternoon my Grandmother would start preparing the roast, or the turkey or the ham for baking and then, once it was in the oven, she would begin cutting the vegetables and getting them ready to be cooked.  If anyone asked one of the Swan boys we would all say, no one could cook better than our grandmother.  Not even mom. 

            Once the roast was being prepared, my brothers and I would get quite excited because this meant that my aunts and cousins would be arriving soon.  It seems as if the Swans were always the first one’s there.  Most likely because we were the little ones, and this gave my grandparents time to dote over us before the others began arriving in force. It also allowed us to play undisturbed within the sweeping branches of the mulberry tree. Or perhaps, it was because we lived the farthest away.  It was a whole fifty miles from our house in West Hartford to theirs.  All the others lived in the New Haven area and they often got together for coffee during the week in the evenings. This also took place at my Grandparents’ house because neither of them ever learned to drive.  However, as the afternoon shadows began to grow, other family would begin to arrive. And soon all my aunts, uncles and cousins would be there along with a few great aunts and uncles, all with additional dishes and desserts in one hand and those old mesh lawn chairs in the other.  It was not long until the umbrellas on the picnic tables were raise and the table covered in large red checkered cloths and the mesh chairs, twenty or thirty of them sprinkled about the yard with everyone talking, laughing and eating well into the evening. 

             My grandparents have long since died and the Sunday evenings with them.  My family has grown and the generations have scattered along the east coast.  But we still get together at holidays and on occasions during the summer.  And now as my generation arrives heavily laden with food and lawn chairs and a fifth generation has begun, I have begun to appreciate the gift my grandparents gave their family and realize that my very essence has been formed by these family gatherings.  I also realize that each time the generations gather, to tell our stories and share the foods my grandmother used to make, my grandparents continue to be present and mysteriously preside at these events. 

            As Christians we have all have been given a similar gift.  On the night of the last supper, in that safe comfortable room, Jesus took a familiar and comfortable meal and infused it with new meaning.  After he took and blessed common elements of Middle Eastern life, simple bread and simple wine, he mysteriously intertwined his essence of flesh and blood with these elements.  By doing this, Jesus gave us our own meal of gathering to celebrate our common life as Christians together.  It is this celebration that connects us with the hundreds of Christian who have walked before us.  It is through the use of the basic elements of bread and wine that we are reminded of God’s continuing desire to nourish each and everyone of us spiritually, physically and emotionally.  It is through this simple celebration of the Eucharist that has changed very little over the last 1700 years, that we are each being spiritually formed and shaped.  It is through this common meal that we are able to receive the tangible evidence that God’s love for us is constant, that his presence in our lives during both crisis and celebration is consistent.  And, it is through the simple celebration of the Eucharist that we are assured of God’s continuing activity on earth. 

            On the night before Christ was handed over to suffering and death he gave us a most wonderful and precious gift . . .. a common meal that binds all of us together as Christian family and all we need to do is reach out and we will be fed.

Amen.    

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