YEARNING MINDS AND BURNING HEARTS
Acts 2: 14, 22-33; 1 Peter 1: 17-21; Luke 24: 13-35
Two disciples are walking along the road to Emmaus, seven miles from Jerusalem, on Easter evening. On Saturday, they had retreated to the upper room, locking the doors for fear of the Jews. They gathered in fear, trying to come to grips with the unspeakable events that had transpired the night before when Jesus had been taken and crucified. Now, in the upper room, they pace back and forth, trying to make conversation, engaging in uncomfortable small talk, trying to deal with their loss and the horror of the events surrounding it all.
Then Sunday comes: the sun comes up, the city goes about its business as usual, like any Monday morning here in Roxbury. Life goes on, as if nothing has happened. There’s always something about that realization that stuns you when someone you love dies, someone that you’ve never imagined living without. Your life is shattered. Then, after the funeral, you walk out to your car, and the sun is shining, the traffic is moving, and someone is cutting their grass. Life is moving on. You wonder how that can happen. It seems like no one understands that something important has happened. Your life has just fallen apart. But it seems to barely register a blip in the pulse of the world.
Sure, a couple of women had returned from the tomb that morning in hysterics, but the disciples knew the women’s loss was at least as great as theirs, so they understood. The facts of life are sometimes hard to deal with, and each of us has to work out our grief in our own way. The women got hysterical, Thomas shipped out, and these two disciples took a walk. They just had to get away for a while. They needed to escape the situation, to get out of town, away from Jerusalem for a while.
Emmaus was, and is, a lovely place. There’s a beautiful garden there with rosemary hedges and almond trees that are in full bloom this time of the year. The garden is still there, part of a monastery that now sits on the site. It’s no wonder the disciples wanted to take a break to go to Emmaus. Emmaus is that place where we go to find the joy and meaning we aren’t finding in life. It’s a secluded, beautiful spot where we can take our broken life, lick our wounds, and hopefully, gather enough strength to come back and go on.
But along the way, they are joined by a third party, a stranger. They’re deep in thought, deep in discussion, so they really don’t pay too much attention to what he looks like. It is Jesus who has come to meet them, out on the road, not waiting for them to come to him. As they’re walking away from the situation, trying to cope, trying to get things straightened out in their hearts and heads, before they’re able to get a handle on what has transpired, in the midst of their grief and confusion, Jesus comes to them.
“What are you discussing?” he asks. And one replies, “Are you the only one who does not know of the things that have taken place these past few days about Jesus of Nazareth?” And we too reply, “Are you the only one who does not know the things that have taken place?
- Have you not heard that someone I love so much has just died?
- Have you not heard that I was diagnosed with cancer?
- Have you not heard that I lost my job?
- Have you not heard that my parents are splitting up?
- Have you not heard that I’m dealing with an addiction that I just can’t seem to break?
- Have you not heard that I think I’m gay and I’m scared that my family and friends won’t accept me?
- Have you not heard that I’m so depressed that sometimes I don’t know how I’m going to get out of bed in the morning, and sometimes feel like ending it all?”
- Have you not heard that my problems and the pressures of life are so overwhelming me, I just can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel?
But he has heard and he is there. He is there, but he is not recognized. He is there but he is hidden. He is there, but we do not see him. We think he has deserted us when, in fact, he is walking with us, bearing us up, opening his promises to us. He is allowing us to see how he fulfills his promises if we will listen, and still we do not recognize him. Our eyes are still blind. The world seems more real to us than its creator. Our fantasies seem more appealing to us than his presence.
As they go along the road, Jesus talks to them about God’s promises and their fulfillment in the Christ. His words give them consolation in the midst of their grief and hope, in the midst of their doubt and confusion. So when they arrive at their destination, they prevail upon this one whom they only see as a stranger to sit and dine with them. Away from Jerusalem, in this safe house, they can let their guard down a bit. A little of the tenseness has left; they breathe a sigh of relief. Now they can relax, get their minds on to other things before they go on, before they have to face up to a future without the one on whom they put pinned their hopes, the one they had loved.
They sit down, share a glass or two of wine. A few pleasantries are passed. Then Jesus takes the bread from the table, blesses it, breaks it, gives it to them. And suddenly they are no longer in Emmaus. They’re sitting around the campfire on the road by the Sea of Galilee. They’re sitting on Mt. Tabor, surrounded by a huge crowd, and Jesus is blessing and breaking loaves and fishes, while talking to them about the Kingdom of God. They’re sitting at the Last Supper in the upper room in Jerusalem, and Jesus is telling them of his death and resurrection. Suddenly it all comes together in one moment - all of their experiences, all he had said, and they recognize who it is that is in their presence. It all comes together. And they say to one another, "Didn’t our hearts burn within us as he talked?” When they finally realize who it is that has broken the bread, they also realize that it was he who has been with them all along.
Although two disciples walked the road to Emmaus that Easter evening, only one of them is named – Cleopas. Maybe that’s because the other one need not be identified. We’re all too familiar with who it is. It’s us. It is you and it is me. Where are you along that road? Are you disillusioned with life? Are you fed up, tired, burnt out? Are you looking for relief, longing an Emmaus? Are you thinking that life is somewhere out there, yet to be discovered? Do you feel like maybe you’ve missed something? Which way are you traveling this morning?
Wherever you’re going, by whatever road, I want you to know this morning that Jesus is there with you. He is alive, and he is available, and he is trying to open the door of your heart, as well as the eyes of your mind, to receive him. He comes to us, the slow of heart, and walks with us, and talks with us. He takes the time to open to us the wonderful promises of God, if we will take the time to walk with him, to stay with him for a while, to feed upon him. He comes to you today, in the hearing of his word in Sacred Scripture and in the breaking of bread, in his sacramental presence, and in the stranger, the one in your midst, the one who might be sitting on your right or on your left, the one who sits across from you at your kitchen table.
He comes to you today, to this, his broken body, to give us the gift of his presence, so that we may also minister healing, minister peace, to a broken and tired world. He comes to give us hope, to share with us his peace, the peace that only he can give. He comes to restore life to us, as he did to those disciples, who went away saying, “Didn’t our hearts burn within us as he spoke?" They went away with new life. And so can we.
