Sunday, May 11, 2014
Fourth Sunday of Easter
Sermon Audio
Trey Sullivan
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Belief is not something that comes easy to most of us. Over time, because of disappointment, unmet expectations or abused innocence, we become jaded, skeptical, and calloused. We learn that trust in a thing or a word comes at a price. The risk is just too great. You know what I’m talking about right? People we thought we could rely on end up letting us down. The job is terminated even though the supervisor guaranteed budget cuts wouldn’t effect the position. After years of disapproval and half-hearted attempts at understanding, home just doesn’t feel like home anymore. Marriage vows forgotten – betrayal, numbness, resignation. We get stuck in the rut of the mundane. The everyday rhythm of coming and going chokes out our sense of mystery and wonder. Where do we turn? When was the last time we heard from God?
When I was a kid, I was into everything. And not in like the “hey, I love to make papier-mâché models of Civil War heroes” kind of way, or the “spend all afternoon reading 19th century British mystery novels.” Not the endearing and cute kind of “into everything,” but the “hey stop you’re annoying the bejezus out of me” kind of way. You know, sort of like how you can’t leave a puppy alone for more than five seconds or he’ll chew up the priceless, mint-condition, first edition 1888 National Geographic magazine you accidentally left on the coffee table. That kind of way. I was really into remote controlled cars when I was younger. I loved those things. I loved paying very close attention to make sure the stickers lined up exactly with every contour of the machine. This I did, of course, while I waited for the battery to charge (that used to seem like an eternity). After about a month of driving the car all over our back yard, building ramps for it, crashing into everything, and stacking stuff on top of it to see how much weight it could carry, I inevitably took it apart. At first I would just start with the tires. Maybe I could take these tires off so I can put on newer, knobbier ones? But of course, the tires were attached to the wheels with this sub-atomic kind of binding agent that made it virtually impossible to remove the tire from the wheel. It’s that kind that the government banned because it caused kids fingers to turn purple or something. You know that kind. After I saw the mess I made with the tires, I decided to go for it. Take the whole thing apart. Maybe I can replace the tiny electric engine with something that would power a small yacht? What if I replaced this wire with that one or how about I take that thing and put it there? Before long, I was in over my head. The whole thing was ruined. Of course, when my mom would find me sitting in the floor of my 9′ x 9′ bedroom holding that pile of plastic and rubber, she would say to me, rather disapprovingly, “Trey, I told you to stop doing that.” And I would shoot back, “But mom, it’s so fun to see how it works. Why can’t I do it?” And to that she would say, “Because I said so.” Underneath this rather terse phrase was my mother’s care and concern for my good. She was basically saying each time, “Don’t you get it?!?! I’m trying to do what’s best for you.” I can see now that this was her attempt at inviting me into a safe space, a place of learning and growth, a place of community. She was trying to get me to trust in her integrity – “I’m trying to help you get through life, don’t you see that? Isn’t that what I’ve done all along?” I see now that God was in those words, for anytime one human invites another human into a place of safety with love in their heart, the Divine is at work.
My mom said “because I said so” a lot. And trust me, I’m thankful she did. If she hadn’t intervened in the mess I constantly created, I’d probably still be sitting in my bedroom floor disassembling toy cars. And that’s about the creepiest thing ever. Yes, she said “because I said so” all the time. Why do we have to go to church on Sunday nights…because I said so. Why can’t I watch the Simpsons…because I said so. Why do I have to wear this ridiculous Christmas sweater with a hand-sewn brown felt Rudolph and actual jingling bells on the front…because I said so. Even at a young age, I remember thinking, “That’s not good enough for me.” Even while holding the plastic mess I’d created, I still needed more evidence to believe that her words were true and dependable – I needed something else to help me move in the direction she was guiding me. I didn’t know that her words were an invitation to experience deeper connection and a greater sense of purpose. I didn’t see that her care and attention were more divine brush strokes of grace on the canvas that was my childhood.
While this reality has it’s roots in childhood, we still experience it today. Every moment of our existence, we are bombarded with promises, with commands, with “because I said so’s.” Everything will be fine. Will it really? I’ll love you forever. Will you, really? You can trust me, I know what’s best for you. Can I trust you? As you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me. Are you sure about that? These words range from the very mundane and insignificant to those things concerning actual life and death, safety vs danger, hope vs despair, existence vs annihilation. You see, we never know when we’ll hear the voice of God, and many times that tender melody is masked in the laugh of a baby or the pursuit of a loved one. In our text today we see the transcendent collide with the mundane.
The unthinkable had happened. Jesus had been tortured, mocked, shamed, and crucified by the evil genius of the Roman death machine. With groans from the earth and the tears of his disciples, death had conquered life. Hope had been defeated. All sense of purpose and personal mission was lost. After they laid the long-awaited Messiah in the tomb, the disciples returned home. Three days later, very early in the morning, some of the women went to cleanse the body with spices, but when they arrived at the tomb, the mammoth stone had been rolled away and the body was gone. As the women stood there, to their amazement two heavenly beings announced that Jesus had risen from the dead. Upon hearing this incredible news, they rushed back to tell the other disciples, but since something like that had never happened before, the other disciples had a hard time believing their words.
That same day two other disciples were on their way from Jerusalem to Emmaus, a town about 7 miles northwest of Jerusalem. They had most likely gone to Jerusalem to observe Passover. And now they are heading home. Or, at the very least, they just need to get the heck out of Jerusalem. Our two main characters are Cleopas and an unnamed person. This pair could have been husband and wife, based on an assumption that Cleopas and Clopas in John 19 are the same person. Clopas had a wife named Mary, and this could have been her. We don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. Luke tells us that the promenading pair were talking about all the things that had transpired a few days before in Jerusalem. They could have also been talking about other things – the latest fashion trends, where the nearest sandal repair shop was, or they could have been gossiping about other people they saw on the road. We get the impression that they weren’t really expecting to encounter the Divine on the road to Emmaus. As the travelers were walking and talking, Jesus joins the pair and begins to walk with them, and according to the text, the two disciples were kept from recognizing Jesus. Now how did that happen? Maybe the pollen count was really high that year and they couldn’t see very well. Or maybe Jesus had gotten a new hair do…who knows? All we know is that Jesus was right in front of them, and they didn’t see him. The story is already troubling.
And as you do when you’re on the road to Emmaus, Jesus asks them what they’re talking about. Shocked, Cleopas tells Jesus he’s got to be the only person in town who didn’t know what was going on. After Jesus feigns ignorance yet again, Cleopas recounts to him all that had happened – how this prophet mighty in word and deed had been handed over to death and how some of the women in their company claimed they had seen a vision of angels, who said he was alive…but no one had seen him. Upon hearing this history, Jesus decides to step in with his classic, “Don’t you get it?” “Don’t you see how all this was necessary. Don’t you see how everything concerning Israel’s history from Moses to the Prophets was pointing to this Jesus, the one who had been raised from the dead? Don’t you see it’s me?!?!?!” Even though the fulfillment to all their hopes and fears was speaking directly to their hearts on the road, they didn’t have a clue.
They didn’t get it. They didn’t see the culmination of all the Scriptures standing right in front of them. They spent two hours walking and talking with the resurrected Christ, one whom they had followed for three years, and they missed it. They had hoped Jesus was the one who would redeem Israel, but after what had just happened, they weren’t so sure. The women relayed that Jesus had reportedly risen from the dead…but the disciples had their doubts. It was too much. Maybe the chaos of the last three days paralyzed their senses so much so that even the most familiar face would have been distorted or hidden from recognition. Maybe they just needed to get away from that memory. Not even the presence of the long-awaited Messiah would help them believe the things they had been told. They were not expecting to encounter the Divine in an ordinary place like the road to Emmaus.
The day wears on and as the sun begins to set, they near their final destination. Jesus, though, ignores the billboards and flashing lights that inform the travelers, “Exit here for Emmaus.” With an earlier version of James Taylor’s Walkin Man ringing in his ears, Jesus doesn’t know nothin bout nothin, and he keeps going. Luke always has Jesus “going further,” so it’s no wonder that in this scene he’s ready to plow through to the next town. I get the feeling like Jesus is holding out for the next best thing. He might have been thinking, I wonder what kind of restaurants are at the next exit…? OR, it could be that he was implementing an Ancient Near Eastern practice of social deference. Traveler A acts like he is going farther so as to provide Traveler B the opportunity to be hospitable – inviting the person to stay. Traveler A then refuses, which prompts Traveler B to insist, at which point Traveler A relents and follows Traveler B to the Hampton Inn with the free breakfast. At the insistence of the two spiritually blind and weary travelers, Jesus accepts another invitation to receive hospitality. He was invited to stay – so he stayed. His intended destination no longer matters. Jesus was invited off the road. What will happen next??!?!?
After 17 verses on the road, the narrative then shifts to the table scene. Jesus took bread, he blessed it, he broke it, and he gave it to them. Does this ring a bell? Anyone? Do you remember what Jesus did with the multitude – the loaves and fishes, OR at the Last Supper? In the midst of the mundane he took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them. At the exact moment they received the bread, they recognized him! The shroud of mystery that previously stopped their ears and blinded their eyes had been removed in the breaking of the bread. At long last they were able to hear the song their hearts had been singing all along. It’s Jesus! The angels had appeared to the women at the empty tomb! He is the long awaited Messiah, the one who will redeem Israel, and he has risen from the dead!!! It’s Him! But before they could even feel the coarse bread in their mouths or shout out with joy and amazement at what had just happened, he vanished. The two travelers confess to one another that somehow they knew it all along. Our hearts were burning within us while he opened the Scriptures. Or as someone said, they felt reverence humming inside. Without hesitation, they gathered their things and hastily traveled the 7 miles back to Jerusalem – this time in the dark! When they finally reach Jerusalem, they find the disciples gathered together. In between pants and deep breaths, the two exhausted disciples report that they had seen Jesus. They had walked with him and talked with him, and they told them how he was revealed in the breaking of the bread. Can you imagine how excited they must have been? In some way, God was going to make good on all his promises, and they were going to be there to see it! Now they can really believe the things Jesus told them.
This encounter with Jesus completely altered the fate of the travelers. Near the end of the dialogue on the road, we get the impression that Jesus is annoyed at the disciples for not getting it right, for messing up their interpretation of the present, for not seeing what was right in front of them the whole time. “O foolish ones, and slow of heart,” he says. The connection Jesus makes here is not based on “because I said so.” No, the eternal connection Jesus makes here is based on “because I AM.” The “I AM” walked with the Israelites through the Sea of Reeds into the land of Promise, and much in the same way, the “I AM” walked along the road to Emmaus with the travelers and was revealed in the breaking of the bread. In the middle of the familiar everyday, Jesus showed up and touched the hearts of those to whom he spoke.
The good news for us friends is that we are invited to see ourselves in the story. You see, we don’t plan sacred moments. We don’t control the Spirit, and more often than not, we don’t understand her or recognize her. God’s presence is fleeting and elusive, as if it is, as Alan Culpepper says, “dancing at the edge of our awareness and perception.” Our ears have grown accustomed to hear only what is being said – we have lost, if we ever had it, the ability to hear with the third ear. The ear that hears Spirit language. Many of us have grown skeptical. We don’t want to believe anything the text, or pastor, or community tells us. A tree is a tree. A hug a hug. A child is a child. But what if all these things were meant to be enjoyed and experienced for what they are – miraculous manifestations of the Divine. A call from a friend is no longer just a call from a friend – this call is an invitation to worship, to gratitude, to belief. We must be proactive in this endeavor. We must turn our spiritual hearing aids to full blast!
The call of God, the movement of the Spirit, the footprints of the risen Lord – these are meant to be explored, suffered, and enjoyed by the community. We walk together.The experience of the presence of God in the interpreting of Scripture and the breaking of the bread is a transforming reality – it’s not a private gift. The disciples ran to tell the others. They didn’t sneak off quietly to the mountains to commune with the badgers and bluebirds and foxes. The word of God is best served at the table with the lights on, not hoarded up in a dark basement under boxes of undrinkable Sonoma Valley red wine….belief is not a solitary endeavor. When we find that the mundane is planted in the warm soil of the holy, others will know. This mode of being is infectious. God intends for us to hear as a community. With a corporate ear, we will hear the resounding, “because I AM!” We believe because I AM!
Frederick Buechner explains in his book, The Magnificent Defeat, that “Emmaus is the place we go in order to escape – a bar, a movie, wherever it is we throw up our hands and say, “Let the whole damned thing go hang! It makes no difference anyway.”…Emmaus may be buying a new suit or a new car or smoking more cigarettes than you really want, or reading a second-rate novel or even writing one. Emmaus may be going to church on Sunday. Emmaus is whatever we do or wherever we go to make ourselves forget that the world holds nothing sacred: that even the wisest and bravest and loveliest decay and die; that even the noblest ideas that men have had – ideas about love and freedom and justice – have always in time been twisted out of shape by selfish men for selfish ends.” And maybe that’s how you feel today – defeated, like running away, like escaping. You may feel like believing Jesus’ words is just out of the question.
The risen Lord meets us on the road to that place, in the ordinary. This is hard for me to believe though if I’m honest. I get the feeling sometimes that in stories like these Jesus wasn’t really walking with the disciples. You know, he was hovering just above the ground as he went. There’s got to be something special and out of reach about the holy, the Divine, and the sacred. The greater truth this text points to is that Jesus meets us wherever we are – whether we’re running away to escape or huddled back home on the floor taking apart toy cars. Wherever we are, he comes to us – with feet in the sand and hands breaking bread, he comes to us.
Fear of the unknown keeps us from believing in the potential for new life. Change is scary. That’s what we’re talking about here. When people say (myself included), ‘ I just don’t like change…,’ what we’re really saying is that something inside of us is being stirred up that feels like death. Don’t you think the disciples we’re scared out of their minds??? The words ‘fear’ and ‘afraid’ are all over the place after Jesus’ crucifixion. Jesus walked with the disciples along the road, he talked with them, he ministered to them in the midst of their suffering, in the midst of their defeat, in the midst of the mundane – always inviting them to see and hear the holy.
He stayed with them on into the evening, and he was made known to them in the breaking of the bread. The disciples had reason to believe all the things Jesus said “because I AM.” And we too are on the road. We too are on our way to Emmaus, and we now have the opportunity to invite Jesus off the road to sit at the table with us – and in the reading of Scripture and the breaking of the bread we will find courage, we will find peace – We will find that “I AM” was with us all along. And when it’s time to get back on the road to Jerusalem, we will find that Jesus is there too – waiting on us.