Over the years in ministry I’ve heard people discourage telling the stories of days gone by in a congregation. There seems to be a fear that telling the stories of beloved parishioners who have died will lead the community down a road of ossifying nostalgia. Or a fear that telling positive, hopeful stories of people who have left a congregation will lead to sadness or a false hope that those former members will return.

In contrast, in the spirit of Elijah and Elisha, whom some of us will hear from this Sunday, I believe that we who are part of a congregation right now inherit “a double measure” of the spirit of those who have gone before us, and, indeed, those who have left a congregation marked with signs of vitality and hope. I believe when we share those stories, those beloved of God who are no longer present with the community, empower and enliven us all to continue God’s good work today, right now.

Enter this loaf of cranberry bread. At the newcomer lunch I was at on Sunday, a parishioner whom everyone agrees embodies welcome told the story of a beloved, now deceased, parishioner who was the legendary welcomer-in-chief of the congregation who gave a load of bread to each newcomer to the community. In telling his story, and giving a load of bread to each person at the newcomer lunch, she was not engaging in nostalgia. No, she was embodying a double measure of his spirit and passing that spirit of welcome on to everyone gathered that day.

As I ate a piece (well, two) of this cranberry bread for breakfast this morning, I received it as a sort of sacramental of God’s welcome and embrace of all people, with thanksgiving for the ways God’s welcome has been made particular in my life through the words and actions of God’s beloved like those I received at the newcomer lunch.