I like to take walks. Walking is one of the best ways I have found
to be in relationship with others, with myself and with God. For the past thirty years my most common
walking partner is my husband Jeff. We
started walking together while we were in college and have walked many, many
places since. It is one of the ways we
seem to be able to connect on a different level about things that we wrestle with in life or that we
are dreaming of or planning for in our near or distant future. It is where we can talk ourselves through a
disagreement, keep one another informed or work together to solve a problem or
uncover a truth in ourselves. It is one way for us to travel through life
together.
We talk a lot about God when we walk and
about how to live out God’s plan for our lives.
Walking has given us space to express innermost thoughts and secret
goals and moments of joy. I will
sometimes walk with Jeff to work out a format for a paper or sermon or
to wrestle with a topic in seminary.
There is something about the physical sensation of moving forward that
helps me think.
There are many references to walking in
scripture, and many of them are referring to long walks or journeys of
faith. There are stories of people in
exile, walking from place to place to find their sense of home: stories of
Moses, Ruth, Mary and Joseph and Jesus and his followers. They are people who are looking for their
place in this world. Travelers in some sense
of the word, out of necessity or out of obligation, like the two men on their
journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus in today’s Gospel.
Like many people in scripture, we are all
travelers.
The very identity of this place tells us
so. This church is named for the patron
Saint of travelers, St. Christopher. The
building is surrounded by busy roads filled with busy people rushing from one
place to the next, traveling here and there.
And this? (Sweep arms) This is a
holy resting place betwixt and between it all.
This is a place where we seek our relationships with God; where even the
mission statement says, “See Christ. Be
Christ.”
The road to Emmaus from Jerusalem is not long
by our standards. The Gospel writer says
it is only about seven miles—a good two to three hour walk, not too far to
become exhausted, yet far enough to carry on a long conversation with a
friend. It was probably a safe way for
two friends to talk about all that had happened in the previous days in
Jerusalem: the arrest, the conviction and the crucifixion of Jesus. These men
were not a part of the inner circle of Jesus’ apostles. They were people like
you and me who followed Jesus. Perhaps
they were traveling to the homes they left when they left to follow Jesus and
now that Jesus was dead, they had no other place to go. They were grieving. They were probably afraid. Had they mistakenly followed the wrong
man? Had they given up everything for
this? They were on a familiar road to a
familiar destination, but they were lost.
I know many of you travel, because as a
community we do something each week that I am particularly fond of: we pray for those who travel. So I know that most of you have probably been
lost in a strange place, even Minneapolis, wondering, what next?
These individuals were just realizing what the
impact of this life change, this detour of sorts, would have on their lives. Their path no longer looked the same, they
were surrounded by strangers, and they did not know how long it would take to
find their way back to the AAA marked route on their Triptik. They were travelers on a faded grey and white
dashed line on the map. The voice on
their GPS went mute. Lost.
When another traveler joins them, asking them
what they are talking about, they simply stop.
They stand still, looking at this new traveler, surprised that he didn’t
know what had happened, yes, but also allowing the depth of their grief, the
content of their conversation, the absence of purpose and direction in their
lives to wash over them. It is in this
moment of stopping that the impact of their loss is fully expressed.
Have you ever been so overwhelmed with
emotion that you just stopped?
Have you ever been struck speechless and
motionless, unable to express the depth of your emotions? Torn between laughter and weeping in the
absurdity of the moment? Perhaps this
is what these men were experiencing when the stranger; who we know is Jesus,
approached.
It’s ironic.
These men begin to tell Jesus what happened to … Jesus. Why is it important? As a literary device it recaps the story
concisely. It expresses how some of
Jesus’ followers experienced the past few days, how they were feeling about it,
and how what they experienced impacted the way they understood Jesus.
They talked about Jesus as a prophet, as a
teacher who opened up the scripture in new ways, who did things that were
miraculous, like healing people and befriending outcasts and making a crowd
find abundance in five fish and five loaves.
He taught them how to be a true friend by showing them how to be a true
friend.
They talked about Jesus as a redeemer, a man
who they understood to be the one who would end the tyranny and oppression
perpetrated by the government; a leader who would turn the government upside
down and create a place more equitable and peaceful.
They talked about how the authorities needed
to kill Jesus because they were afraid of losing their power over the
people. That Jesus was an enemy of
Caesar and had proclaimed that he was a king for the Jewish people. And they brutally killed this man who had
given them all hope that their future would be better than their past.
They told how it was the women who went to
the tomb that morning and found it empty three days after the body of Jesus had
been laid there. They told that though
the tomb was empty of Jesus, the women claimed to have seen angels who said
that Jesus was alive. But, how could
that be? Were the women so overcome with
grief that they were seeing things?
They told how some of the other men went to
the tomb to check out what the women had claimed to have seen. How the tomb was empty and that Jesus’ body
was missing. There were no angels to
greet the men, to tell the men that Jesus was alive. Some of the men returned to their room and
locked the doors in fear, like Mary told us last week, while others, like the
men of this story, walked away, not knowing what to believe any longer.
While their recollection of the past few days
was accurate, in the end, their recap told Jesus that they simply did not
understand what had happened. They did
not understand that these things had been foretold by both Jesus and in the
scriptures. It told Jesus that it was
going to take a miracle for them to understand.
Of course, they did not know it was Jesus
they were speaking with. Luke’s Gospel
says a few lines earlier that “their eyes were kept from recognizing”
Jesus. Even though they had followed
Jesus and been taught by him, they were travelling in a dense fog—unable to
clearly see the truths Jesus had proclaimed.
These resurrection stories often tell of the inability to know Jesus,
even when he is standing right next to them.
As with any kind of journey, the travelers
need to be fed. Their walk made them
peckish. Their conversation left them
hungry. It is in the miracle of a shared
meal, in the taking, blessing, breaking and giving of the bread, that the men
see Jesus in the man who joined them on the road. With shocking recognition, in Jesus’ revelation,
the men are transformed. And as quickly as they recognize Jesus, he’s
gone. Their personal miracle, their
personal relationship with Jesus, gave them every indication that what they had
hoped for was true, even if it was different than what they expected.
Their journey was only beginning. They realized in that moment that Jesus was
with them while they walked and continued to be with them. This transformed them, it motivated them and
it sent them rushing back to Jerusalem, to the room where the eleven were
staying. These were people like you and
I who found Jesus in the person walking next to them on their journey, talking,
teaching, laughing and crying with them.
In their excitement they had to tell the story. They had to return to the place where it
began. They had to return to their
spiritual home to begin again.
The men went full circle that day. Walking away from their fears -- from
Jerusalem to Emmaus -- and walking back into their hope -- from Emmaus to
Jerusalem. Sometimes that’s how a walk
works. It can take us from one place
emotionally and spiritually and return us home renewed and with a different
sense of purpose.
It’s kind of like church. We are given the tools each week through
scripture and messages, music and prayers, wine and bread, to go out into the
world showing how much God loves us.
When we walk out these doors we may experience difficulties, fears,
hopelessness and loss. We may stop when
it all seems too difficult to bear. But
if we look around us, we will find others willing to walk with us on our
journey, helping us navigate the complexities of living. And they may look like someone familiar or be
someone we’ve never met. Look
closely. Listen deeply. Let the Christ be revealed through them.
Then, let your walk through the week lead you
back here, to this holy resting place betwixt and between the roads, where we take,
bless, break and give the bread and the wine, and where we meet Christ and we
can be Christ.
Amen.