Sermon
When I was an undergrad, our college chorus would periodically give concerts both at school and local churches. As a music major, I performed often enough that I didn’t often invite my friends and family, who lived more then 2 hours away, to the majority of the concerts. Sometime my first year, we gave a concert in this beautiful cathedral in downtown Columbus. The concert went well and I returned back to my dorm and began studying for the next week’s classes. Later that night, I called a friend of mine and began to tell him about the concert.
Right away, I knew something was off. My friend seemed a bit distant and his responses to me were gruff. Finally I asked him what was wrong.
He replied- “How can you just act like nothing happened today? I came all the way down to Columbus to surprise you at your concert, and you didn’t even bother to thank me, or to acknowledge that I existed.”
“Oh,” I said stunned, “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you came to the concert.”
He replied, “Come on, when you were standing at the front of the church getting ready for the concert, I walked up the center aisle and stood 15 feet from me. I waved my hand at you and you starred right at me. You didn’t respond at all! Finally, I stopped waving, and feeling stupid, wondered back to my seat.”
You see, I didn’t know my friend was coming, so it never even occurred to me to look for him. I couldn’t recall that night what I might have been thinking of when he came up and waived at me. I have no doubt I might have been facing his direction, but I apparently was preoccupied with thought. Even when he stood in front of me and waived, I simply didn’t, or couldn’t, see him. I’ve since found that that is a habit of mine. If I don’t know to look for someone, they have to pretty much come up and tap me on the shoulder before I will notice they are there. What I can see is apparently terrible limited to what I expect to see.
This is the same malady that affected those two followers of Jesus as they transversed the long road back to Emmaus in our gospel account today. Following the death of Christ, they had waited three long days in Jerusalem. We have no idea what they did those days, but they must have huddled closely together with other followers of Christ because they apparently were there when the women came from the tomb to say that Jesus’ body was missing.
The women’s message, however, does not seem to bring about joy. They must have assumed the obvious, that someone had stolen Jesus’ body, and discounted the vision of angels as simple hysterics. I mean, what other logical conclusion is there? Even if they had believed Jesus when he said he would rise in three days, they certainly hadn’t seen it yet. They had waited with the other disciples for 3 long, terrible days. And yet, there was still no sign of Jesus. Finally, they must have decided to give up and return home.
As they plodded along the road, they are interrupted by a stranger who simply appears to be clueless about all that is going on. After the question is asked, scripture indicates “they stood still, looking sad.” The NIV translates this as their faces were downcast.
Can you picture the scene here. A long 7 mile walk. Hopes and dreams crushed. Their savior dead, the body stolen, no hope to be discerned. Have you ever seen someone walk like that. Head hanging low, just kinda putting one foot in front of another? Have you been at a viewing, or a reception after a funeral, and seen the hushed tones of conversation. This is the atmosphere I imagine when I try to picture these two men.
For three days, they waited for their savior to return. And then, wouldn’t you know it, just as they leave the city, Jesus suddenly appears. Time to celebrate right? But some how, some way, they stare right at Jesus and don’t see him. They talk to him, but don’t recognize him.
How can this be? How could they have followed Jesus this whole time, and yet somehow not recognize him when he appears?!? Scholars have debated this over the years. One commentary said that “Luke wants us to infer that senses were supernaturally dulled.” Other scholars place the blame on the men themselves- “they failed to recognize Jesus because, like many a modern sceptic, they were convinced that miracles of that sort could not happen.”
Neither extreme seems like a satisfactory answer to me. Though Jesus often spoke in parables that were confusing to the disciples, I cannot recall another occasion where Jesus supernaturally causes others to not see the truth. In fact, Jesus’ stories are filled with occasions where he heals blindness and opens peoples eyes to the kingdom of God which is all around them. I also wouldn’t castigate these two followers of Jesus as hardened skeptics, they did indeed wait 3 days in Jerusalem before leaving- presumably to see if Jesus would indeed rise.
No, I think they do not recognize Jesus because they have resigned themselves to the belief that death wins. While they may have held out hope for a while, they are returning to Emmaus resigned to defeat. All the parables of Jesus were for not, death wins. All of the healing Jesus’ ministry brought about matters not, death wins. All of the love shown to the poor, the outcast, the sick, the imprisoned, are irrelevant. Death wins.
Once you’ve come to accept that reality, its hard for anything else to penetrate it. Think about for a moment the miracle of birth. A couple comes together at the right time, and in nine months, new life enters into the world. Though there are ways that we can help to keep the process healthy, the journey from an egg to new life occurs almost entirely outside of our control. From the tiniest of cells comes a complete human being. This is an amazing display of God’s creative powers of life. And it occurs all around us, everyday! And yet, that is certainly not what captures our attention and imagination. The overwhelming power of life that surrounds us is so constant that it fades into the background. If you tune into the evening news, they don’t lead every night with “Miracles abound! New life is created!” We almost become blind to it. And then, having lost our wonder at the power of God to bring forth life, we begin to notice instead the reality of death and destruction. And fear begins to overwhelm us. And we begin to believe that those who demonstrate the powers of violence and terror hold the real power in the world.
Brothers and sisters, I have been struggling most of the week about how and whether to discuss this next section of the sermon. I realize that it will broach a sensitive and controversial topic, but it has nonetheless hung heavy on my heart and been foremost in my thoughts all week. I have said since I arrived here almost a year ago that I will never claim to have the last and final word on an issue, and will never expect all to agree with me on issues ranging from theology to politics. A church where we have the permission to question and disagree, and can do so with love in our hearts, is a healthy one indeed.
When word broke late Sunday night that President Obama was set to address the nation, I like many others flipped to CNN and began to surf the internet trying to figure out what was going on. As the news began to break that we had successfully killed Osama Bin Ladin in a raid on his compound in Pakistan, I immediately began to feel a little disquieted. As I listened to Wolf Blitzer declare that this was a tremendous night that Americans should celebrate, I found that my heart was anything but jubilant.
As I sat exploring my feelings, I knew that my discomfort was not born out of feelings of mercy or compassion for the death of Bin Ladin. Though his death brought me no joy, there was no part of me that particularly wanted to mourn the death either. In light of Jesus’ command that we should love our enemies, I recognize that I need to continue to confess my short comings to God.
No, I realized that my discomfort was spurred more by how we might react to his death as a country. My unease only grew as I watched coverage of the spontaneous celebration that began to unfold in front of the White House, as young people flocked to the streets and began to shout USA, USA, and sing God Bless America. I’ve spent quite a bit of time in conversation and reflection trying to determine exactly why I was struggling. Though I am sympathetic to pacifism, I am enough of a pragmatist to know that if I were in the president’s shoes, I too would have ordered the raid that killed Bin Ladin. No, I was more disturbed by the glee being expressed over the killing of another individual. As evil and vile as Bin Ladin’s actions were on earth, his birth was another of God’s miracles, he had a family, a mother and father just like the rest of us. Even if we approved of the killing, even if we thought it was some measure of justice, was it not a time to quietly reflect and to mourn the tremendous loss of life and innocence over these past ten years? I struggled with the seeming disconnect between a country that often declares itself to be Christian and the seemingly un-Jesus like response to this particular death.
On the road to Emmaus, Jesus followers were blinded with grief and fear over the death of their savior. The question that I would like to leave you with today, is that if Jesus Christ had suddenly appeared in our midst this past Sunday, would we have recognized him? If our Lord and Savior broke bread with us and said, “Peace be with you,” could he have heard it amidst our celebration? Or might we, like the disciples before us, have been blinded by the belief that it is death, and not life, that has final victory? Do we believe that it is human justice, rather than God’s divine love, that has the final word? As we continue our own walk toward Emmaus this day, let us open our eyes to the miracles of love and life that are around us, so that we may see Jesus’ active presence in the world.
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