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Our scripture today comes from the Gospel of Luke at nearly the very end. Chapter 24
13 through 35. Now on that same day two of them were going
to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other
about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus
himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.
And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They
stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are
you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place
there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about
Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people,
and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified
him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this,
it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group
astounded us.--They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his
body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who
said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it
just as the women had said; but they did not see him.” Then he said to them, “Oh, how
foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared!
Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his
glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things
about himself in all the scriptures. As they came near the village to which they were going,
he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with
us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay
with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave
it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from
their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he
was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” That same
hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions
gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared
to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known
to them in the breaking of the bread.
May God bless to our understanding these words.
If you think about it, Easter is a strange
thing. We celebrate something that we have no concept of in real life, in our experiences
of the world. A man—a prophet—who embodies care and compassion, especially for those
who are despised by society, has suffered and died. And then we hear that something
miraculous—and bizarre—has happened. Three days later, he’s not dead, he’s alive!
I don’t know about you, but I take great comfort in the stories that follow Jesus’
death and resurrection. Last week, Heidi talked about Thomas the twin—better known as the
“doubting” disciple. I’m so thankful for Thomas’ skepticism, for his wanting
to believe, but needing to see and touch. He’s a realist. It is refreshing to my modern
and dare I say, skeptical mind. Seen traditionally as the inferior disciple, it turns out that
the point of the story is that Thomas’ doubt, skepticism and questions are all a part of
deepening faith. That he is not in fact the inferior disciple, but a model disciple. Because
doubt, like theologian Paul Tillich says, is not the opposite of faith, but rather an
essential part of faith. Easter is so good, so unbelievable, we, too, are indeed invited
to be like Thomas. So if you didn’t
get Easter, even if you hope in its deep truths—that life overcomes death, that love overcomes
hate and apathy—and that doubt is an essential part of the faith like we talked about with
Thomas, today’s story is again for us. Because today we encounter
two people: Cleopas, and his companion who’s name is not mentioned. They are walking along
the road following Jesus’ death. Unlike us on Maundy Thursday, they have no concept
of a resurrection on the horizon. For them, “Good” Friday had not been good in any
way. They are lost in grief and disillusionment. Jesus, their hope, the one they believed was
the Messiah, hoped for for generations, was dead. And as far as they were concerned, that
was the end of the story. Perhaps they were beginning to suspect that the whole thing—including
their hope—had simply been a big mistake. Days had passed “and there was no change,
no resurrection, no Jesus.” Then a stranger meets them on their journey—and
they are so despondent and worn out from their grief—because grief will wear you out—that
they didn’t recognize that the stranger is Jesus. They certainly weren’t looking
for Jesus. They were simply trying to pick up the pieces of a shattered faith and carry
on without the man they loved. So there they are on
the road, walking to… Emmaus. But why Emmaus? And where was Emmaus? Geographical locations
in the Bible, seminary professors will tell you, are always significant. Here’s the
thing: Dwight and I looked it up and scholars don’t really know where Emmaus was. There
are theories, but some suggest, even, that it might not have actually existed. The plot
thickens! Cleopas and his companion are heartbroken and disillusioned, walking to… well… somewhere.
Theologian Frederick Buechner calls Emmaus “the place we go in order to escape—a
bar, a movie, wherever it is we throw up our hands…the place we go to forget that the
world holds nothing sacred: that even the wisest and bravest and loveliest decay and
die; that even the noblest ideas…about love and freedom and justice—have always in time
been twisted out of shape by selfish [people] for selfish ends.”
To complicate things further, Cleopas is traveling with his companion,
who’s name is never revealed. Why even mention a person when you don’t even mention their
name. Now, there are plenty of people in the Bible who are never named, and some will tell
you that it is because only the important people in the Bible are named. But what if
Cleopas’ companion isn’t named because Luke was leaving a space for you and me? Cleopas
and Heidi. Cleopas and Katie, Cleopas and Dwight Cleopas and Nancy Cleopas and Mark.
Might we be in this story? Cleopas and his companion are swollen with disappointment,
with sadness and a sense of emptiness. And we know what those are like from time to time.
We have moments where we resign ourselves to life as it is. We lose hope in beauty and
goodness. We despair that we will never find that fulfilling career, that we just won’t
be able to make that next mortgage payment. That we may never be the parents we hope to
be. We lose faith in friends or family when conflicts arise. We grieve and feel angry
or confused as we transition between stages of life. We feel a mix of relief and sadness
at the death of a “terrorist mastermind” in the news, while we despair in the horror
of ongoing conflict and war... It is here that God
comes to us. In the particular complexities of life. In the moments of despair, as we
are walking…to…well wherever it is we are going. As we are walking our roads to
Emmaus, along the way, the One who inspires the best in us also comes to us amid shattered
dreams. The One we call the Prince of Peace doesn’t shy away from chaos and conflict.
The One who taught us to pray accepts that sometime we are so troubled that we can not
pray. The One who offers salvation identifies with people who are terrified and lost. The
One who offers unmatched encouragement knows better than any other the depths of discouragement.
Do you grasp the meaning? If you did not sense the joy of Easter morning—if you have not
felt Jesus rise as the Christ, if you have more doubt than hope and you need to see it
for yourself, if you don’t have the desire to jump and shout, “halleluiah!”—you’re
in good company. Because in this story,
we have the image of God walking alongside human confusion, pain, loss, doubt and despair.
We all have roads to Emmaus. The story today invites us to expect God to find us along
the way. We are challenged to see that it isn’t unshakable faith or deep spirituality
that connect us with the risen Christ. It is Christ—or God, or the Spirit—whatever
you want to call it, who meets us. And when God meets
us. Though might be a fleeting moment, in the same way that Jesus appeared and then
vanished in the disciples presents, the moment is to be appreciated. Easter isn’t simply
a Sunday and it isn’t over the following Monday. It stretches into our lives. Cleopas
and his companion can’t meet the stranger on the road again, but their lives will never
be the same. This is why they say, “did not our hearts burn within us?” The warmth
of God will stay with us. A friend recently told me a story about his
friend who runs marathons regularly. And the runner’s mom comes to every race. It’s
kind of funny if you think about it. This guy runs for 3 hours usually in a marathon,
and his mom sees him for probably 30 seconds when she’s standing on the race course,
cheering him on. As he’s going along the path, he may not even see her there a mists
the cheering crowd, but it really doesn’t matter. She makes sure he knows that she’s
there with him, there, cheering him on, and as a result, he knows this to be true, even
if he can’t see her or hear her in the crowd. Even if the path is difficult, even if the
run is painful, I imagine it warms his heart to know she’s there. And I imagine that
long after the race is run, the memory of her presence at every race along the way warms
his heart. The church’s celebration of Easter may come and go, but may the warmth of God
stay with us as we walk our Emmaus roads. Because when we walk along the journey especially
in sorrow and in doubt, God meets us there so that we, too, may say, “did not our hearts
burn within us?” Amen.