Sunday, April 11, 2021
Luke 24:13-35
1.
These two disciples—at the end of Luke’s Gospel—they’re headed away from Jerusalem, away from the action, away from the destruction of Good Friday and the confusion of Sunday morning. And you really can’t blame them for this. They’re disappointed and sad. They’re understandably anxious that the violence, that the cruelty of that weekend won’t stop at Jesus’ cross. So they’re off to Emmaus. Rehashing details. Working through their grief.
When a stranger catches up with them.
And you notice in so many of these resurrection stories, that the Risen One is a stranger. In John’s Gospel, the Risen One’s a gardener, doing what gardeners always do. And here, in Luke’s Gospel, the Risen One’s a pilgrim, a traveler, a stranger. Just like the two of them. Just like all the others on the road that day. Heading home, maybe, after a long day of work. Wandering the roads, maybe, looking for a place to sleep. But it’s this ordinary stranger, this tired traveler, this pilgrim who questions the two of them, and then shares his own experience, his own questions, his own hopes with them. And along the way, they’re moved by his commitment, they’re inspired by his curiosity, they’re persuaded to invite him to dinner.
So—maybe this is the first Easter lesson. We discover Jesus in relationships. Right? And what we discover about Jesus, what we discover in relationships, is changing, evolving, deepening all the time. If Jesus is that pilgrim in the road, then Jesus is the old friend now, whose pain you’re asked to witness, and bear, these days; and Jesus is the refugee now, whose hope you’re invited to nurture these days; and Jesus is the colleague now, whose question, whose bewilderment puzzles you, but draws you deeper in conversation and wonder.
And it’s not just individual relationships we’re talking about. We encounter Jesus, we meet the Divine, in relationships with whole communities, in collaborative relationships with friends at the New Roots Church, for example, or the Seacoast Interfaith Sanctuary Coalition, for another. We discover Jesus in relationships: as we listen to one another, as we bear one another’s pain, as we open our hearts to one another’s wonder and joy and faith. You’ve all got stories about this. I know you do. The empire’s tomb couldn’t extinguish Jesus’ light. The empire’s violence couldn’t contain Jesus’ love. That love is everywhere we are, and in every soul, every story, every stranger we meet on the road.
2.
So they invite that stranger in for dinner, and not just for dinner, right? They invite him to stay with them, to abide with them, to make their home his home for a bit. This is a little community that’s come together on the road out of Jerusalem, in the shadow of all that violence and fear. And he goes in with them, to stay for a while, to share a meal. And it’s there—over that meal, at that table—that their eyes are opened at last, that he breaks bread and passes it around, and their eyes are opened. This stranger is their teacher. This stranger is the one who died on Friday. This stranger is the Risen One.
And of course, being a good story, it takes a sudden turn. Because just as soon as they recognize this stranger, just as soon as they see Jesus in him, he vanishes from their sight. Poof. He’s gone. Or is he?
1.
These two disciples—at the end of Luke’s Gospel—they’re headed away from Jerusalem, away from the action, away from the destruction of Good Friday and the confusion of Sunday morning. And you really can’t blame them for this. They’re disappointed and sad. They’re understandably anxious that the violence, that the cruelty of that weekend won’t stop at Jesus’ cross. So they’re off to Emmaus. Rehashing details. Working through their grief.
When a stranger catches up with them.
And you notice in so many of these resurrection stories, that the Risen One is a stranger. In John’s Gospel, the Risen One’s a gardener, doing what gardeners always do. And here, in Luke’s Gospel, the Risen One’s a pilgrim, a traveler, a stranger. Just like the two of them. Just like all the others on the road that day. Heading home, maybe, after a long day of work. Wandering the roads, maybe, looking for a place to sleep. But it’s this ordinary stranger, this tired traveler, this pilgrim who questions the two of them, and then shares his own experience, his own questions, his own hopes with them. And along the way, they’re moved by his commitment, they’re inspired by his curiosity, they’re persuaded to invite him to dinner.
So—maybe this is the first Easter lesson. We discover Jesus in relationships. Right? And what we discover about Jesus, what we discover in relationships, is changing, evolving, deepening all the time. If Jesus is that pilgrim in the road, then Jesus is the old friend now, whose pain you’re asked to witness, and bear, these days; and Jesus is the refugee now, whose hope you’re invited to nurture these days; and Jesus is the colleague now, whose question, whose bewilderment puzzles you, but draws you deeper in conversation and wonder.
And it’s not just individual relationships we’re talking about. We encounter Jesus, we meet the Divine, in relationships with whole communities, in collaborative relationships with friends at the New Roots Church, for example, or the Seacoast Interfaith Sanctuary Coalition, for another. We discover Jesus in relationships: as we listen to one another, as we bear one another’s pain, as we open our hearts to one another’s wonder and joy and faith. You’ve all got stories about this. I know you do. The empire’s tomb couldn’t extinguish Jesus’ light. The empire’s violence couldn’t contain Jesus’ love. That love is everywhere we are, and in every soul, every story, every stranger we meet on the road.
2.
So they invite that stranger in for dinner, and not just for dinner, right? They invite him to stay with them, to abide with them, to make their home his home for a bit. This is a little community that’s come together on the road out of Jerusalem, in the shadow of all that violence and fear. And he goes in with them, to stay for a while, to share a meal. And it’s there—over that meal, at that table—that their eyes are opened at last, that he breaks bread and passes it around, and their eyes are opened. This stranger is their teacher. This stranger is the one who died on Friday. This stranger is the Risen One.
And of course, being a good story, it takes a sudden turn. Because just as soon as they recognize this stranger, just as soon as they see Jesus in him, he vanishes from their sight. Poof. He’s gone. Or is he?