Sermon for April 10, 2005 (3 Easter A)

by The Rev. Susan Anslow Williams

Focus on Luke 24:13-35, “The Road to Emmaus”

 

ROAD SIGNS

 

This past Friday, as I made my way east on I-86 to Olean, I heard on the radio a story about another familiar highway in my life: I-75 in Michigan. Early morning commuters caught a glimpse of a construction sign that made them do a quick double-take on their way to work in Flint. Someone had hacked into its computer system, so the sign, usually announcing a work zone, now read in bright LED letters: “Speed Limit 100 m-p-h. Go go go!”[1]

 

Fortunately for two homeward bound disciples, traffic on the road to Emmaus moved a lot slower, more like two or three miles per hour on foot. Plenty of time to carry on a conversation with a fellow traveler. Cleopas and friend – perhaps it’s “Mrs. Cleopas,” as several Biblical scholars suggest – are making their way home from Jerusalem, dejected and without hope.  The eleven principal disciples had locked themselves away in Jerusalem; but these two have had enough of the city, and the dashing of their dreams for what Jesus could have accomplished. It’s been three days now; he’s really dead.

 

And so home to Emmaus they go, talking about those dreams and expectations; wondering what went wrong, when Jesus seemed like the one that all Israel had been hoping for: another Moses, a true leader, perhaps the one to free them from the tyranny of Rome and usher in a new kingdom, one He called the Kingdom of God. It was not to be. So Emmaus, a little village, is the place for little dreams: manageable goals like having some bread on the table, and a roof over one’s head, and steering clear of temple officials and Roman soldiers. “Emmaus,” writes Fred Buechner, “is where we go, where these two went, to try to forget about Jesus and the great failure of his life.”[2]

 

It has been quite a week for considering life, and death, and legacy. The death and funeral of Pope John Paul II has affected everyone to some degree; whatever form of news media one receives, there he is; along with some very inspiring biographical programs on his early life and pontificate. Terry Schiavo has continued to be in the news as her family feuds now over her remains and burial; her legacy, in a positive light, is that here at St Luke’s and in countless other places, people are thinking about their own wishes for the end of life, and how to communicate that effectively. (Join us the next two Sundays at 9.) And closer to home, our State Senator Pat McGee was laid to rest  from St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Olean, which is the reason I was on the road Friday listening to NPR. (I could have gone 100 mph; all the state troopers were in Olean!)  At the funeral, members of her family, staff and the legislature paid tribute to Pat’s humility, combined with a tenacious care for her constituents. They didn’t quite equate her with Jesus, but at times the eulogies seemed headed that way. Still, I left that service impressed by her life, and wanting to emulate it.

 

In a couple of ways, nevertheless, these newsworthy deaths did resemble Jesus’ own on Good Friday: They all died sooner than the public had hoped; and left many people in despair or confusion, wondering what to do next to further their cause. Such was on the minds of those two disciples on the road to Emmaus. The death of their beloved Rabbi was so public, so shameful. They had invested time and energy, and perhaps funds and possessions, to further this movement: one they thought would change Israel, if not the whole world.  Now they would have to explain to friends and family what had happened, even if they still couldn’t figure out why it had gone so terribly wrong. As they walk back home, their shoulders are sagging,  sadness is written all over their faces; and a stranger drawing near asks them what’s wrong: what sort of conversation could provoke such deep discouragement? Their ironic reply – "Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?" – is phrased by Luke to make us smile: of course Jesus is the only one who DOES know what has taken place!

 

Then, Luke tells us, Jesus – still disguised by divine slight of hand – Jesus goes on to lead them in an amazing Bible study that explains how their expectations have been misplaced; and how God’s plan all along has been a suffering, redemptive Messiah. It is, perhaps, the most important commute two people have ever made; and an appropriate road sign en route to Emmaus might have been:

 

        Or,  

 

For, it is that walking and talking – that leisurely pace, resulting from disappointment, now spent discussing the scriptures in the living presence of Jesus – that prepares them to recognize him in the meal that follows. Wow!  Good thing they weren’t driving; they’d have missed it all.

 

Perhaps you remember the movie “Bruce Almighty,” when the dejected Bruce (played by Jim Carrey) keeps praying for a sign from God –     and the construction signs oblige, with messages like “Caution!” and “Turn Back Now.” But Bruce is so self-absorbed, he doesn’t even see them. My sister just emailed me pictures of some very funny, apparently genuine road signs – one looks to be in Death Valley, and reads “Absolutely Nothing, Next 22 Miles”:

  

Another, bearing the familiar symbol of a telephone on a blue field, helpfully announces, “Emergency phone,  174 km ahead.”

(Let’s hope you don’t have a real emergency!)

What road signs do we need, to remind us to slow down from our “100 MPH, GO-GO-GO”  lifestyle, and take a leisurely walk with Jesus?

 

There are days and weeks, maybe even months, when we feel more like those two dejected, disappointed followers on their way home to hide on Easter day, than the joyful Easter people we are supposed to be. Weeks when all the headlines are about death, few about resurrection. When asked by Jesus why the long faces, the Cleopases replied, “We had hoped that he was the one...” We had hoped.  But we were disappointed.      So much of life can make us feel that way: Experiences dash our dreams and make us sad, maybe even bitter. Perhaps a part of us feels like there’s been “Absolutely Nothing for 22 miles” – or a lot longer.

 

We had hoped that the treatment would work.

I had hoped to retire ten years ago.

I had hoped to get an A on that paper, I worked so hard on it.

We had hoped to have children.

I had hoped for that promotion.

We had hoped to grow old together.

 

When Jesus heard, "We had hoped..." he rebuked Cleopas and his companion, and called them slow of heart.  Not stupid, or even forgetful, but slow to process what they had been hearing – not only that morning from the women at the tomb, but all along, from their equivalent of Sunday School to the direct words of Jesus himself. So he began to teach them about how God truly operates – and because they want to hear, and have their hope and faith renewed, Jesus stays with them, and breaks bread with them, and then they know he has been with them all along; and every hope has been fulfilled, on that surprising Easter day.

 

This famous story of the Road to Emmaus shows us many things; among them is that spending time with Scripture en route to the table is time spent with Jesus, getting us ready to recognize him. It also helps us to see that those making the journey with us, everyone seated around you, myself (and the other clergy) included, have had a combination of disappointments and joys in their week, and are looking for signs that Easter really happened, that this meal is really in Christ’s risen presence, and His life puts right all the news of death.

 

Finally, perhaps most importantly, the Emmaus story reminds us that the signs we need to look for are not written in large, reflective letters; but on the faces and in the stories of those who walk with us. Once they reach their destination, Cleopas and friend are moved to offer Jesus hospitality; to come to their home for dinner and to stay for the night. They still aren’t sure who he is, but they have shared a journey and have talked at length about hopes and dreams, promises and fulfillments. They might have been mixed up about the identity of God’s Messiah, but the Cleopases had learned from Jesus about hospitality, and they show it to this stranger. In doing so, they are blessed and transformed, just like the bread they and we know as Christ’s Body.

              

“The disciples knew the Lord Jesus in the breaking of the bread,” we sing at 10 a.m.  May it ever be true for us, and the companions we invite to the table. The more, the merrier – for all disappointments and headlines fade in His presence. Look for the road signs, they are there. Alleluia!