April 6, 2008 – The Third Sunday in Easter
Luke 24:13-35
Grace and peace to you from God the Creator and the Lord Jesus. Amen.
Several weeks ago a series of comments by the Rev. Jeremiah Wright Jr., Barack Obama’s former pastor in Chicago, propelled race relations back into the forefront of our nation’s consciousness. Incendiary comments, carefully selected and edited for maximum political impact, enflamed public opinion about white racism and black racism. That controversy flared against the backdrop of another controversy, this one quieter but just as live, between groups of feminists, one group angry at another for jumping off the Clinton bandwagon and onto the Obama bandwagon. About the only quality the two groups had in common was a mutual anger at middle-aged white males because of their historic abuse of power. And that controversy came against the backdrop of yet another, a conflict of generations, younger and older, because of real and perceived advantages and disadvantages of one group over the other.
None of those controversies was brand-new, but they all seemed to swirl together to generate a kind of low-grade, just-below-the-surface angry frustration in our culture. And I believe that that angry frustration generated something else, something subtly destructive: Blindness. Not literal blindness, but figurative blindness, the kind that comes when one emotion or issue or cause dominates our lives to the exclusion of more important realities. It’s the kind of blindness that Jesus observes in Matthew’s Gospel when he says, “Seeing, they do not perceive, and hearing, they do not listen, nor do they understand.” (Matt 13:13)
People of faith can and do suffer from this kind of blindness. The two people of faith in our Gospel lesson this morning are a case in point. At the beginning of this story they are a sad couple of nobodies on the road to nowhere. One of them is named Cleopas, and the other is nameless. It’s almost as if the writer of Luke’s Gospel thought their specific identities unimportant, except to note that they were among those who had gathered that morning to grieve. Their leader, Jesus, had been executed. So the original core group of disciples and a number of followers had come together to commiserate with one another, support one another, try to figure out what happens next. Oh, there had been some crazy talk from some in the group about an empty tomb and a vision of angels bearing a message that Jesus was alive. But that was too fantastic to be true. No, nothing to do now except call it a day, head back home, back to Emmaus.
So they packed up their disappointments and hit the road, only to have their journey joined by a most curious stranger. “You mean you’re the only stranger in town who’s not up on what’s been happening?” And they patiently explain the events of the recent past, about this prophet named Jesus who had had such a promising career, well-loved by all the people; until it all turned sour when the authorities got their hands on him. Hadn’t taken long before he was put to death. And we had hoped that he was the one to restore Israel to greatness, to power, to a position of prestige! We had hoped, but no longer. Now, our lives are filled with disappointment.
Scripture says that their eyes “were kept” from recognizing Jesus. Grammatically, that’s in the passive voice. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to see him, it’s that their eyes were kept from it. Doesn’t say by what or by whom; but it would be completely understandable if their inability to perceive stemmed from their self-absorption; that even as they shared their experience they were so steeped in it, so consumed by it that they couldn’t recognize that the one for whom they had hoped was standing right in front of them.
You and I are on the road as well. Not the road to Emmaus, but we’re moving right along nonetheless. One of the first names for the Christian movement when the Church was in its embryonic stage was People of the Way. That implies a journey, forward travel, both toward eternal life with God and through this life here and now. Our second lesson this morning, from First Peter, calls our attention to that journey and to God’s desire for our conduct on that journey, that we are to love one another deeply from the heart. (1 Pet 1:22)
So as we journey it’s always a fair question to ask, of ourselves and of each other: What is the primary focus of our daily lives? For the two followers in our lesson this morning the primary focus was disappointment and grief. It might be for you as well. Perhaps you’ve suffered some monumental loss or tragedy in your life, and you simply can’t get past it. Or perhaps you’ve been the victim of a gross injustice, someone has wronged you terribly, and you just can’t forgive. Or perhaps you don’t want to forgive. Or perhaps your life has gone quite well so far. You’ve had some setbacks, some disappointments, but you’ve managed to balance those with some successes and achievements and satisfaction. So what is the primary focus of your life, day to day? Your family? Your career? Yourself? Uncertainty over the future?
The rabbis used to tell a story about a little boy playing hide and seek with his friends. When it came time for the boy to hide, he did so; but after only a minute of looking for him, his friends got bored and simply went home. The little boy began to cry. His grandfather came out of the house and took him onto his lap to comfort him. “Do not cry, my child, because your friends did not come to find you. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned.
“All of life,” the old man said, “is like a game between God and people. Only God is the one who is crying, because people do not play the game fairly. God is always seeking to be found, but people have gone off in search of other things.”
How easy it is to allow “other things” to capture our focus and render us blind to the real presence of Christ in our midst. That’s what Jesus encountered in these two travelers on the road to Emmaus – an inability to perceive because they were overwhelmed by their own agenda.
But notice that Jesus does not allow their preoccupation to push him away. He doesn’t simply leave, shaking his head because they just don’t get it. Part of the good news of this story is that Jesus does not limit his appearance to happy people who are looking for him. If he had, to judge from the Gospels, we wouldn’t be here this morning. There were no happy people on the morning of the Resurrection! No; he reveals himself to the disappointed, the disillusioned, to the people who don’t get it, those who have lost their faith, people who can’t recognize him even when he’s standing right in front of them.
And notice how he reveals himself to them! Here’s the twist in the story: Jesus reveals himself to them through their willingness to offer hospitality to a stranger. He reveals himself to them through their willingness to offer simple friendship.
You might know that we’ve started a new ministry in the Gardner-Spring Hill area. Since January 15 I’ve been meeting every Tuesday night with a small number of families there, rotating our gatherings among their homes. We have a simple potluck supper followed by faith conversations based on Scripture. Our working theme is “Learn the Story, Live the Story,” and we’ve been focusing on relationships: relationship with God, then relationship with each other and relationship with the world.
It’s been a terrific experience, at least for me; and I wanted to see how this process has gone for them. So last Tuesday night we checked in with each other. “How has this experience been for you since last January?” I asked. One young man responded with an answer that turned out to be representative of everyone in the group. “The first couple of times I came,” he said, “I left wondering ‘what have I gotten myself into? I’m not sure this is really for me.’ But somehow, around the fourth time, I found myself thinking to myself, ‘Man, I can’t wait for Tuesday night! I can’t wait to get together with these people again.’
“My wife and I have lived in this town for seven years, and this is the first time I’ve felt part of a community; the first time I’ve felt part of a network of solid friendships.”
Over the years, as I have lived and worked among you and in the wider community, it’s become clear to me that we have a multitude of acquaintances but very few friendships. And isn’t that what we want, what we hunger for; to be truly, deeply known for exactly who we are, warts and all, and to be not only accepted but valued, treasured, loved for who we are? That’s what Jesus offers us as our companion.
Experiencing the presence of the resurrected Jesus is not some dramatic, exotic event that requires unshakeable faith and deep spirituality. Jesus pulled it off with some very ordinary people by breaking some very ordinary bread. He still does. And lives are changed.
Your primary focus in life this morning might be disappointment that your life is not turning out the way you had hoped. Or it might be your career, your family; or you might be terminally self-absorbed. Jesus does not demand that you set that focus aside before he joins you as your companion. What he wants is your invitation. He wants your willingness to offer simple friendship and hospitality. He wants your willingness to see him in the face of another.
The face of another – it’s still Jesus’ favorite disguise. So for God’s sake, look again.
Amen.
