On the Bridge (Sermon from 4/26/20)

Luke 24:13-35

          In the past, when I have approached this Gospel reading, I have looked at the ways it highlights the significance of the Eucharist.  Only when they break bread with Jesus can they see that it is truly him, the resurrected Christ.  Their eyes are opened in the breaking of the bread, like how we know Christ to be present in the breaking of the bread at the Eucharist.  But, given our current circumstances, that just feels sad.  Preaching about the beauty and importance of Communion to a bunch of Episcopalians stuck at home, missing Communion does not feel hopeful, grace-filled or where God is calling us today.  So I looked at this text again, this famous passage often referred to as the “Road to Emmaus.”  It occurred to me that what we most often remember about this text is the road part, the journey, when the disciples are unknowingly discussing scriptures with Jesus. 

          I feel like that speaks more honestly to where we find ourselves today.  Luke Timothy Johnson[1] points out that this passage acts as a bridge between “the shock of absence” or the crucifixion and empty tomb and “the shock of full presence” or the appearance to the gathered community.   Is this where we are today?  Are we somewhere between the shock of absence and the shock of full presence?  The shock and trauma of a world completely changed, routines upended, plans cancelled and emptiness- empty streets, empty churches, empty playgrounds, empty schools.   And the shock of full presence, the many emotions and adjustments of a life lived together again.  I sometimes imagine the tears and nervousness that will accompany our next full gathering as a church. 

         So here we are on a bridge between two worlds, like those confused, traumatized, heartbroken and disappointed guys walking to Emmaus so long ago.  Some days I find myself thinking about the place I came from.  Life before all of this, the faces I miss, the routines that brought me comfort and the plans I made.  I also find myself replaying those moments when the reality of this situation began to dawn on me.  I vividly remember picking up the kids from school on that last day in March.  All we knew at that point was we would have an extra week of Spring break, but the world was shutting down quickly.  Announcements about churches cancelling services, the NBA and NCAA cancelling games and borders closing were coming in quickly.  It was a cloudy, cold and gloomy day.  When I picked up my 2^nd grader I looked into his backpack and what I saw shocked me.  It was his pencil box.  I knew that they only bring that home on the last day of school.  I thought “do they think they might not come back for the rest of the school year?” but I dismissed that thought as unlikely. 

          I will also always remember youth group that Sunday.  We gathered in the upstairs youth room after an emotional worship service of nervous people carefully spaced apart and random tears of longing for those not with us and not knowing when we would meet again.  As the teens shared their “check-ins” with the group it quickly turned into the most emotionally intense youth group I have ever been part of.  Would they have graduation?  Would their play be cancelled?  Would they get to say good bye to friends?  Did they do all the things they hoped during this chapter of their lives?  The anxiety, sadness and deep care for one another was palpable as we did our closing prayer without our usual way of holding hands and instead a decent space between each of us. 

           The shock of absence.  That eerie awareness of a piece of you missing as you say goodbye.  Surely this is what the followers of Jesus were experiencing as they walked away from Jerusalem and all the violence and heartbreak they experienced there on Good Friday.  An empty tomb did nothing to stop that.  It just furthered their feelings of loss, anxiety, unknown and … absence.  The shock of absence, when the thing that was always there no longer is. 

          That’s where they were both psychologically and physically as they walked from the pain of Jerusalem to what they would find when they gathered together.  It was an in between moment, a journey between two places and yet … Jesus was right there with them, right where they were. 

         This space we are in is in many ways a place of waiting, wondering, looking back, looking forward and standing between two realities and yet … Jesus isn’t waiting for us at the end.  He is right here with us.  I know this to be true today as I preach to you and every Sunday when we say to ourselves “what is this weirdness of recording services from our house and will it be enough?”  As I recorded our children following  my husband around the front yard with pine tree branches for the Palm Sunday service I wanted to both cry for the traditions, people and spaces I was missing and laugh at how absurd it must have looked to the neighbors.   And yet, when we light our candles, quiet our hearts, see your names pop up on the screen and pray through the recorded service together on Sunday morning Jesus is there, the Holy Spirit shows up and it is more than enough, it is grace that spills from our hearts. 

          Jesus is in our homes, in our anxious prayers, in our troubled hearts, even when we, like those two disciples on the road, can’t see him.  Henri Nouwen writes, “If we could just be, for a few minutes each day, fully where we are, we would indeed discover that we are not alone and that the One who is with us wants only one thing: to give us love.”[2]  Just a few minutes, not a year’s long journey into the desert, not a 24 hour fast, just a few minutes each day where all you have to do is nothing- just be.  That is how close God is. 

        I’ve heard many say how this experience these past 6 weeks has given them a new appreciation of simple gifts, like watching a squirrel dance around in a tree.  I too have found this to be true.  In the time that I might normally be taking a kid to practice or signing permission slips or planning an event, I am taking time to do ridiculous things like watch the clouds separate in the sky.  I even bought a hammock and rigged it up between two trees in our back yard.  When I lay down in it I can look up and see straight to the top of a big pine tree and all the secret busy-ness inside its stillness.  When I see the way the sunlight sparkles on its needles or hear a crow chatting above my head it is so stunningly clear to me that indeed God is near and God wants love for us.  Like the disciples finally opening their eyes to the presence of Christ with them, I can see the presence of Christ so near to me, and there all along. 

        The interesting thing about how this passage ends is that it isn’t an end at all but rather the beginning.  It is the beginning of a worldwide movement that would stretch across thousands of years and into eternity.  It starts with a story.  The women had told their story to the disciples, and now at the end of this passage the disciples are all sharing what they experienced.  The two on the road to Emmaus talk about their hearts burning and their assurance that Christ has been raised and then they share the news that Simon too has experienced this.  It is a story-telling session that will change the course of history.  It is a story-telling session we are all invited to join in. 

         This is how we keep the church going, how we feed our faith and the faith of our brothers and sisters.  This is how we keep our eyes open to the work of Jesus all around us and the love of God sustaining us.  We tell about those moments of awareness of God’s presence in the big moments and simple gifts.  We tell the children and the graduating seniors and college students about times in our lives when we grieved or when things were taken from us or when we felt overwhelmed or when we couldn’t say good bye and our hearts broke but God showed up.  We tell the story of how we are never really alone to the nurses, doctors and grieving family members with loved ones in the hospital.  We tell about times when our eyes were closed and we couldn’t see any hope or any possible way out or any light at the end of the tunnel but then they were opened and we saw that Jesus was there with us the whole time. 

        In an article in Christian Century[3] a youth pastor tells the story of how her life and work was completely transformed.  In the midst of trying to get teens to show up for big fun events and collecting permission slips and setting up parties, one of her teens got very sick, so sick that for several days it wasn’t clear if the teen would survive.  The youth pastor sat in the hospital waiting room with the mother and slowly other teens, parents and people from the church trickled in and took turns sitting there with them.  One day a part time custodian who wasn’t active in the church showed up, a teen asked him why he was there and he told the story of when his daughter died twenty years ago and he wasn’t there with her.  After his vulnerable sharing others began to share their stories of loss, grief and regret.  Sitting there in the waiting room they cried together and bonded in a way that was genuine and deep. 

        The sick teenager recovered and that experience completely transformed their youth ministry.  They started a weekly gathering called “the waiting room” where people of varying ages were invited to come and share their story as they reflected together on a passage of scripture.  It went from a struggling ministry of keeping everyone busy and trying to stay exciting to a ministry of faith stories and witness of the resurrected Christ in the world over and over again. 

          We don’t have to be in our building, or have the right kind of Biblical knowledge, or the right depth of intellect or the time devoted to deep thinking to open our eyes and see the living Christ beside us.  Jesus is here.  We didn’t leave him behind in the past with our filled calendars and covid free lives; he isn’t waiting for us in the future- to be perfect people without anxiety or fear.  Jesus is with you right here in this strange time.  Open your eyes and see. 

         

---

[1] Johnson, Luke Timothy.  Sacra Pagina: The Gospel of Luke. Liturgical Press, 1991.  Pg. 398

[2] Nouwen, Henri.  Here and Now.  Crossroad, 1994. Pg.  20

[3] Root, Andrew.  “Youth ministry isn’t about fun” The Christian Century.  3/25/20.  Pg 26-31