Bologna Sandwiches

Reflections on Luke 22:14-20 and Ephesians 2:14

When I was a kid, my bologna had a first name.  If you are in your forties or fifties, then I bet yours did too.  O … S … C … A … R, right?!  It came from the Oscar Mayer bologna commercial, because back then bologna was cool.  My mom packed it my lunch regularly.  If I close my eyes and focus just a little, I can still remember the smell of bologna and mustard on white Wonder Bread as the plastic wrap is pulled away.  Sometimes for dinner, my mom would put it in a skillet and make fried bologna sandwiches.  That was a treat.  But somewhere between the early 1970’s and today, bologna fell out of favor.  It has become the Spam of lunchmeat in these post-modern times.   

When the hour came, Jesus took his place at the table, and the apostles with him.

A few years back, I was working with several other adults and eight high school youth to repair a home for a family in the Tennessee Appalachian Mountains.  We were volunteering with the Appalachia Service Project on our church’s summer youth mission trip.  The home was a trailer that had been abandoned for several years, before the Jones family laid claim to it and set up home in it.  It was in major need of repair and we would be but one of many crews who would work on the home over the course of that summer.  Our assignment was to replace the floor and walls, run new plumbing and install a new toilet in the trailer’s only bathroom and to build a front porch from scratch, so that the front door would be accessible.  The adult leaders, myself included, were novices.  We were totally in over our heads, doing work that we believed was totally beyond us, but the Jones family believed we could get it done.  They watched us scratch our heads and conference with the youth and the ASP staff. They overheard us mumble sentences that almost always started with, “I have no idea, but maybe we should ...”  They greeted us each morning with smiles and encouragement and trusted us to do right by their home.

On Thursday the weather was really hot and humid.  We were making progress, but our tempers were getting shorter with each other and the work.  We had seen enough progress to know that we were capable, but not enough to assure us that we would be able to finish our projects by the end of the day Friday.  By noon, some of our team had already stopped working, hoping that a lunch break would soon be called, while others refused to quit.  It was then that Melinda Jones called us all to the front porch.  We had completed enough of the porch to be able to gather there.  Even those who found it hard to put down their hammers and saws stopped what they were doing to heed her call. 

Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them and said, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”

Lunch on Melinda's porch.

Throughout the week we had brought our own lunches, sandwiches we had made back at the center where we were staying.  Nothing special, just peanut butter and jelly.  But Melinda wanted to do something special for us.  In an act of enormous generosity, for this family was truly just getting by, she wanted to surprise us with a lunch made just for us … all twelve of us.  She didn’t have a table to call us to, so we gathered on her new porch, a porch in progress, where we sat on coolers and toolboxes while she served us bologna and tomato sandwiches with freezer pops for dessert.  It was one of the best lunches I ever had. 

This act of kindness was sacramental.  Its effects were tangible.  As we sat and ate, the tensions that were building between us began to dissolve.  Eased with laughter and vulnerability.  Stories were told.  Funny stories and poignant stories and stories of struggle and stories of survival.  They were Melinda’s stories.  She opened a window for us into her life with her husband and young son.  It was a gift given to us and we understood it to be an honor to receive it.  We were sitting in the midst of true communion.  Something special, something spiritual was happening in our midst.  In that moment, we knew that we were part of something bigger than ourselves.

For Christ is our peace, in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. 

This Sunday, October 7^th, is World Communion Sunday.  On this Sunday, Christians of all stripes and flavors, will be called to gather around communion tables all over the world and break bread together.  Some will come in great faith and others in barely no faith at all.  Some will come in abundance and some in dire need.  All will be feed with the simplest of elements, a little bread and a sip of wine or grape juice, while the real meal is a story so big that it has the power to heal us all … the power to break down all the barriers we have built to divide us … the power to dissolve all the differences that we use as reasons to separate … the power to remind us that we are all welcomed, all loved, all children of a loving God.  Our communion celebration reminds us that we are indeed part of something much bigger than ourselves.

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Today, if I were to give bologna a first name, it would be G … R … A … C … E.