The Little Silver Bread Box
Luke 24:1-10
Easter Sunday, March 31, 1907. St. James’ Episcopal Church. Eureka Springs, Arkansas. It had been a hot dry month, breaking all temperature records. Not much was known about polio, but some attributed the outbreak that year to the unseasonably warm weather. A temperature of 91 was recorded in Arkansas on one day that March.
The Episcopal Church in Eureka Springs was without a resident priest but perhaps a supply priest was there to celebrate the Eucharist that Easter Sunday in 1907.
We don’t know much about this time period because records don’t exist for some of these years, including 1907. From earlier records covering 1891 to 1901, we know quite a bit of St. James’ history. Thanks to the careful research of Carolyn Pugh and from old church records, I began to learn about those early years.
But history isn’t always written down. Sometimes we have to read between the lines. Sometimes we learn about it in other ways. Several weeks ago Dan Mumaugh mentioned something to me that sparked both my interest and my imagination. He said, “We should tell people that the bread box we use every week is 100 years old this Easter.” It is made of sterling silver and is simply engraved, “Easter 1907.” It is used to hold the unblessed communion bread we bring to the altar to be blessed and to feed God’s people; we have used it for 100 years and one week today! You will see it used today. It even survived the burning of this church in 1962.
When I think of all the hands that have held this box over the years, I sense something beautiful and something holy.
Just think of all the Altar Guild ladies who have held this box to carefully polish it and to faithfully fill it for our Eucharists, our services of Holy Communion time after time, Sunday after Sunday, year after year for over 100 years. Think of the Altar Guild member on Sunday, March 31, 1907 who stayed after the Easter service to serve by cleaning up and safely storing the beautiful new and precious bread box. When everyone else hurried home to prepare Easter dinner, one good and faithful woman stayed behind to serve, to put away the bread box.
Just think of all the ushers who have carried this silver bread box to the altar. On that Easter Sunday 1907 it would not have been carried to the altar for that was not yet a practice. But since that time, faithful men and women and children have held and carried it as an “offering and a sacrifice to God” — along with the wine and the monetary collection — the people’s offering.
Just think of all the acolytes who have held this box as they received it from the ushers — often young boys and later girls who served their church by being acolytes.
Just think of all the deacons who reverently have held this box as they prepared the altar — most recently The Rev. John Burton, and the bishops and priests who have done the same in the absence of a deacon.
The silver bread box has been part of many marriage services at St. James’ over the years. Billie and Frank McCabe were married at St. James.’ Billie tells me there was a Eucharist as part of their marriage service.
Recently, our dear friend, Ray Pendergrass was buried from this church. The silver bread box was used that day as we both grieved and gave thanks for Ray’s life and his faith in the resurrection.
I know some of you have been baptized or confirmed or married here at services where the little silver box was held by ushers and acolytes and priests and deacons. Some of you are perhaps here for the first time ever today. Now you too have a connection with those who have come here before and those who are here now and those who will come to this table in the future.
In itself, the silver bread box is just an object, even though it is a precious and lovely one. Yet, it reminds us of something very important. It is part of the offering of ourselves that we make each time we gather at this table. When we offer to God the bread and the wine, our monetary gifts, and most importantly ourselves, we are expressing our hope and our faith in the resurrection.
When Mary Magdalene, Joanna and Mary the mother of James went to the tomb on that first Easter morning, they must have been full of grief and disappointment. They knew their Lord had died on a cross like a common criminal. Yet, they still went, to do what they could do — to anoint his body — to offer themselves.
Sometimes, it is like that for us. When our lives are full of disappointment or anxiety or regret, or a million other discouraging things, we are invited to come to this altar. We offer ourselves, with all our gifts and our shortcomings and problems to God. Sometimes we stay away. We forget or don’t acknowledge that there is one place we can always turn toward and always come home to, to be forgiven and comforted and renewed. We are always invited. The hope and the promise of the resurrection await us.
Ever since that first Easter, the hope and the promise of the resurrection have been there for each of us—on the best days of our lives and on the worst ones.
When I looked back at the history of this little church, I was touched by the lives of those who came before us. Times weren’t always good. Being a faithful church member didn’t provide any automatic immunity against problems and pain and sorrow. It didn’t then; it doesn’t now. But none of us need to carry those burdens alone.
There are stories of joy and stories of sorrow in the history of St. James’ people. I would like to share one with you that I have pieced together from the early church records. This was written by the rector in 1891:
“When I, Rev. R.S. James, became Rector of this Parish, May 24, 1891 there was no Parish Register. Apparently none had ever been kept. By inquiring of those who were prominent in the Church and others I obtained nineteen names.”
One of those nineteen names was that of Mrs. Jennie Beatty. There was no Mr. Beatty listed in the Parish Register at the time, but he was listed later under sad circumstances. Mrs. Beatty’s residence was recorded as the Southern Hotel. There are no other references to the family for several years.
Then the Beatty family had a child. Helen Delilah Beatty, born May 22, 1896 was baptized at St. James on August 15, 1897. It must have been a day of joy. But the joy didn’t last long. She was buried September 13, 1898 at the age of two.
Another child was born. Fifteen-month-old, Olga Beatty was baptized at the Southern Hotel, her home, at noon October 21, 1899 just before she died. Olga was Helen’s little sister; W.F. and Jennie Beatty were their parents.
I found no further records related to the family — no transfers, no births, no baptisms, no confirmations, no marriages, no burials. I searched the later records with a fine-toothed comb hoping to find something that would indicate W.F. and Jennie Beatty came back to this church for solace and strength, for pardon and renewal, and for the love and support of their church community. Of course, individual communions are not recorded so I like to think that communion bread from the little silver bread box fed and sustained them at this altar in later years. I know it was here for them if they chose to come.
There are as many stories as there are people who have attended St. James’ — the seven who left St. James’ to start their own church — one man and six women — and who returned the next year on Easter Sunday, 1901; the writing behind one woman’s name which simply says, “disappeared;” — the birth and baptism of twins; the election of a former St. James’ rector as Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church. All the stories, both written down and those never recorded, all the stories remembered and long since forgotten make up our story.
As we come to this table today, we do so in the hope and the promise of the resurrection. We who are many are one, because we share the one cup and the one bread.
He is risen indeed! Alleluiah! Amen!
The Rev. Betsy Porter
Easter Sunday
April 8, 2007
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