Meeting Jesus on the Road

I have to start off this morning with a little bit of a disclaimer-- the story of the walk to Emmaus, our gospel story this morning, is one of my all-time favorite stories from any of the gospels.  Throughout the New Testament we read of so many astonishing events— miraculous healings, exorcisms, the multiplication of loaves and fish, Jesus walking on water, and of course the most astonishing event of all-- the resurrection of Christ from the grave.  And yet, none of those stories hold for me the kind of uncomplicated grace and power that this one does.  In the Emmaus story we read of something so simple it’s almost commonplace.  Two friends, journeying to a destination.  Sharing conversation and bread with a stranger along the way.  And it is in that very simple, humble act of fellowship and hospitality where God is made known to these two disheartened and disillusioned disciples. 

I love this story because I think it often reflects how many of us feel after Easter.  We have joyfully proclaimed that the tomb is empty, and Christ is risen.  And yet for some of us, even though the stone has been rolled away, we remain in the tomb.  Struggling with the fact that— much like the dashed expectations of these two disciples-- our own expectations for what God should be doing in our lives, or in the world, are not being met.  Or at least-- not in the way we would like them to be.  For me, this is particularly true when it comes to the world around us.  There is this stark and sometimes almost impossible juxtaposition between the proclamation of salvation and resurrection on Easter, and the fact that there are still so many places in the world where hope and salvation seem nowhere to be found.  Places where children go to bed hungry, where war and violence are the status quo, and the sins that Jesus supposedly came to save us from seem to be still very much ruling in the hearts of humankind.  In the midst of all that, we may be inclined to ask: If the resurrection was supposed to change things, why does it sometimes seem like everything always remains the same?

Like the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, we may not believe the good news of the resurrection, because like them, we don’t see it happening in the way we expect or desire.  These two disciples didn’t believe the good news, and so they were inclined to give up and walk away.  But of course, God had other plans for them, and so God came to meet them on the road.  And so I suppose we could just stop there, and say that despite our doubt and disillusionment, God comes to meet us where we are.  (Actually I think that pretty much sums up exactly what I said last week.)  And that would certainly be true.  However, it’s not altogether as simple as that.  Yes, God comes to meet us.  But what then?  This story begs the question, even if God does come to meet us where we are, would we even recognize it when it happens?  The disciples don’t.  Not at first.  They walked seven miles with Jesus, talking with him, listening to him expound upon scripture.

And they didn’t recognize him.  One biblical scholar observes that even as the disciples are walking and talking with the risen Christ, they still don’t get it.  “In their eyes,” he writes, “either the mission had entirely failed, or they had themselves been badly deceived in their own expectations of Jesus.”  They were so wrapped up in their own disappointment that they couldn’t see what was right in front of them.  Of course the disciples do eventually come around.  They do eventually recognize the risen Christ in their midst.  So what was it that made the difference for them?  What was it in that interaction that changed the way they were seeing things?

Well I would argue there is a crucial turn-around moment in this story.  A moment where everything hangs in the balance.  A moment when the disciples arrive at their destination and Jesus is about to walk on.  The choice they make at this moment is critical.  Will they part ways with the stranger?  Will they go back to their homes and continue to dwell in their failed expectations, never to realize the opportunity God had placed right in front of them?  We all know what happens, after all we just heard the story.  But pause for just a moment at this point in the story, and imagine what you might have done if you were in their shoes.  You are exhausted after a long day’s journey.  You feel defeated and deflated.  You would probably just want to get home, have some supper, and go to bed.  You might feel a twinge of concern for this man you had been walking with, after all it’s dark, and walking alone on the road he could easily fall prey to robbers or bandits.  But you don’t quite feel comfortable inviting a stranger into your home and you’re almost too tired and depressed to give it much thought or concern.  What would you do?  Would you invite him in?  Or would you simply give him a polite goodbye, wish him well, and shut the door?  It would have been very easy for the disciples, in their present state of mind to react exactly this way.

Perhaps it was that pesky Holy Spirit, but there was something that just wouldn’t let them leave it at that.  And so they invited him to stay with them.  They opened their door to him, reached out in a moment of generous and almost reckless hospitality, and shared a meal with him.  And that’s the turnaround moment in this story.  It was in that moment of exceptional hospitality that the disciples were pulled up out of their own feelings of hopelessness and defeat and their eyes were opened to the risen Christ in their midst.  It’s a powerful moment, because it speaks to how it is often in and through our acts of reaching out to others— especially to the stranger in need of hospitality--  that we encounter God.

This, by the way, is an ancient religious truth that goes back to the very roots of Judeo-Christian tradition.  The Emmaus story harkens back to one of the earliest stories in the bible.  A story about Abraham and Sarah, the founders and parents of our faith.  They were promised many offspring by God—“ I will make of you a great nation”, God says to Abraham.  But years and years went by without any children.  They were starting to get old, and Sarah had lost hope.   I imagine even Abraham was feeling pretty disappointed and doubtful himself.  Well in the midst of one of their darkest moments, three strangers appear on the scene.  Sarah doesn’t want to have anything to do with them.  In her disappointment and despair, she had turned her energy inward.  But Abraham found it within himself to welcome these three strangers, open up his home to them, wash their feet, and share a meal with them.  And as it turns out, the three strangers were messengers from God.  And it’s from this story that we get the famous truism, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

Both of these stories have similar aims-- they present us with the conditions for recognizing God’s presence in our midst.  They teach us that it’s not just in those moments of miraculous triumph that we see God’s presence in the world.  It’s not just in the trumpets and bells and alleluias that God shows up.  And that actually, more often than not, it is in the regular moments of everyday life, with all its trials and tribulations and disappointments, where God comes to meet us.

There is no doubt in my mind  that discernment of God’s presence among us happens in many different ways.  But this morning’s story is perhaps an indicator that more often than not, discernment of the resurrected Lord is most visible when we look beyond ourselves and our own problems-- when we take the risk of opening our hearts and our doors to someone in need of hospitality.

Somewhere in the back of their minds, maybe the disciples remembered this, because in fact it was something Jesus himself had taught them.  In Matthew 25 he says to them-- whenever you offer food to the hungry, or shelter to the homeless-- whenever you welcome the stranger, or visit the sick or imprisoned-- whatever you do for the least of these, you do for me.  Perhaps somewhere in the back of their minds they remembered this just as they were about to part ways with the stranger they met on the road to Emmaus.  And in that moment, whether they expected it or not, they encountered Christ.

Sometimes I think we view this practice of reaching out to the least of these as something to be done by people who are well-off in life for those who are not.  We say that we give to the needy or to those less fortunate.  But I think this is actually a little deceiving.  Because truth be told, we are all needy-- especially when it comes to God’s grace and love.  We all have problems that we struggle with—our own disappointments and disillusionments.  We all have our own Emmaus roads that we walk.  We all have stuff.  If it was only ever the happy, healthy, well adjusted people who reached out to others, then I suspect we would live in a world of very self-absorbed people who never helped anyone.  Because the truth is, as these stories this morning illustrate, we reach out to others not because we are so much better off, but because we are the needy ones.  We are the ones in need of God’s presence.  And we find it in our gestures of love and compassion towards others, knowing that Christ is most fully alive in our world today in the midst of loving and caring relationships and communities.  Not between the so called fortunate and less fortunate.  Just one person caring for another.  Just one stranger walking with another.

And so this Easter season, I encourage you to test your vision as you seek the risen Christ in your lives and in the world.  Think of those two disciples on the road to Emmaus, lost in their discouragement and disillusionment.  And think of your own road to Emmaus-- wherever and whatever that might be.  And ask yourself: Where might God be giving you an opportunity to meet Christ on that road?