Luke 24: 13-35 April 6, 2008
“Their Eyes Were Opened”
On Easter Sunday our theme was “Who Has the Last Laugh Now?” It was a question I had never heard asked on Easter and it has given me a lot to think about. Luke places today’s story late in the day on Easter and Luke is the only Gospel writer to tell this story. By this time the mood seems one of somber reflection as two disciples talk about Jesus on the road to the village of Emmaus. It is most striking that even though they speak of Jesus, their hopes are dashed. They realize that he was a prophet mighty in deed and word, but with his death their hope is smashed. So frightened and discouraged are they, that they cannot perceive that the stranger walking with them is, indeed, Jesus himself.
I realize that there are probably many who in hearing this text find it far too literal and specific for 21st century sensibilities. I suggest that rather than thinking about the disparities between concrete and scientific thinking in such an account, we simply allow the story to resonate with us. We might ask, “How is this story of hope lost a story about us for our own time?”
As I’ve listened to the debates in recent months about the economy, about the concerns of global warming, the sparring of Presidential candidates over the war in Iraq, I think we know quite a lot about what it is like when we are disheartened. For every positive story in the news today, it seems that reporters provide us with at least ten negative and disarming stories.
I suspect that if Jesus were to come as a person and live out his life in our time, the accounts of his death and resurrection would be buried in eternal law suits and counter suits. The four Gospel accounts are filled with information about the details of his arrest and trial that could occupy the courts for years.
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And were that to be the focus of our attention, I doubt very much that we would ever hear the stories that are so integral to our faith. Would anyone have noticed his many appearances? Our literal and desperate searches for truth leave little room for mystery, for imagination, for wonder.
Many years ago a young man 23 years old died after a party in which drinks were served. He probably had been taking drugs, so that there was an unanticipated reaction between the drugs and alcohol. The entire community was stunned and deeply saddened by the untimely death of this young man. As we can imagine, his parents were devastated. The day before the young man’s memorial service, the parents were driving out to visit the cemetery where their son would soon be buried. It had been raining all day, but as they looked across the cemetery, the rain ceased, the sun came out and they saw a spectacular rainbow arching across the graves.
For them this natural occurrence stood as a sign of God’s love and presence to them. It was one of those inexplicable moments that strengthened them and began to plant the seed of hope that they would someday begin to live through their deep pain and be able to experience life again. In the same way, when we hear the post resurrection stories of Jesus, we need to hear those stories with the understanding that they are told in the context of the agony of deep pain and loss. The particular details of each story are far less important than the deeper truths which they are trying to convey.
For all these stories have a common core: the gradual transformation of suffering, grief, anger, and loss into renewed hope. And that is the story which we either embrace or avoid throughout our own lives. Elie Weisel has written and spoken about the experience of living in the death camps of World War II.
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So many of his first hand stories point to the central truth that the difference between living and dying in the camps often came down to one’s capacity to find meaning in suffering. Those who could no longer hold onto any sense of meaning or purpose in life soon died.
I believe that it is the same for us today. The greatest challenge of our lives is to derive meaning from the many difficulties and obstacles that beset us. Even the questions that we ask ourselves at the onset of a new difficulty or challenge are important. In the face of difficult medical news one person asks, “Why is God punishing me?” while another concludes that there is something to be learned from facing this new challenge. We have the choice of choosing to live or die, even when our bodies are alive.
After I had written this sermon I had the chance yesterday to visit my mother-in-law, Amy Henry. (How many of you remember meeting her last year when she came to worship? Quite a few.) She has been laid up these past few weeks and I couldn’t help noticing that her way of looking at life is just what we are talking about today. Never once has she said “why is this happening to me?” Instead she is overwhelmed with all the caring gestures of support she has received. Cards and letters and pictures from the children she teaches at school and church. Casseroles which fill her freezer shelves. Over and over during our visit, she said, “I am the most fortunate person in the world.
Years ago Grandma made cook books for all of us containing her favorite recipes. The recipes are interspersed with favorite Bible verses and prayers and pictures of Grandma doing things like mowing the lawn. My favorite page shows a picture of Grandma catching “twenty winks” in her recliner. The caption reads
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PMA ?? Positive mental attitude or poor mental attitude. Clearly Grandma tries hard to maintain a positive mental attitude.
I think sometimes we are tempted to think that persons of faith are spared the suffering and difficulties of everyday life. In fact, the opposite is true. In striving to be persons of faith, we open ourselves to sharing in the suffering of others. We allow ourselves to embrace issues of justice, even when we may not be directly affected. Faith is never like a magic bullet, protecting us from difficulty or hardship. Rather it is the choice to continually seek meaning in life. It is the refusal to be cynical or hard-hearted in a world which encourages just that.
As the disciples walked along the road to Emmaus, they were caught in the pain of past events. They were slow to see that Jesus himself was walking with them. That, too, is our own dilemma every day of our lives. We cannot experience goodness and joy when we only expect sadness and defeat. I’ll close with the poetic prayer of J Barrie Shepherd as he give us new food for thought and ponders the meaning of this story for our own time.
This tale of the Emmaus road
is a fascinating one for Christians
in this present day and age.
It speaks to our condition in our active,
traveling, mobile way of life
That the risen Christ
Revealed himself in the course of a journey.
These two travelers, making their sad
dejected way out of the city,
where their hopes and dreams had been destroyed,
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pouring out the burden of their broken hearts
to that sympathetic stranger on the way:
I read their tale and feel I walk beside them.
As he explains to them the hidden,
Glorious meaning of the events they have seen,
My heavy heart grows lighter,
My mind begins to wonder and perceive.
And when they ask him to abide with them,
Invite him in to share a simple evening meal,
A sense of blessing kindles in my soul.
That moment when he takes the bread
And tears it in that certain way, just so,
can bring the tears to my eyes even now,
across so many centuries. And then I hasten
with them back the way they came; yes back
to dread, bloodstained Jerusalem with all its menace
and alarm, to bear the news, the greatest news
that ever came to pass;
The Lord is risen!
He is risen indeed!
Walk beside me, living Lord,
down all the roads that lie ahead.
When I am puzzled and perplexed,
when I doubt myself or,
even worse, doubt you, draw close
and make things clearer to my sight.
And when I reach that final evening’s rest,
abide with me, reveal to me your own self
in the breaking of the bread.
Shalom and Amen
