The Road Goes On

Psalm 30

This psalm is one of Thanksgiving, one that expresses the kind of hope and gratitude that has been earned and developed over time.

A psalm that reveals not only the depth of pain we humans experience in life, but the joy that comes when we find our way beyond illness, beyond grief, beyond separation.
When we find ourselves blinking and adjusting to the light of a new day, a new opportunity.
When we can’t help but give glory to God as we begin the next portion of our journey. Because the reality is that the road of life goes on.   

The Gospels tell us that Jesus was on the road for much of his life…

Of course we know he traveled with Mary and Joseph from Bethlehem to Egypt and from Nazareth to Jerusalem on multiple trips to the Temple. For most of the years he spent teaching and healing, he and his followers walked all over the region around the sea of Galilee.

During Lent, we followed them on the road to Jerusalem, where he spent his final week before being crucified. He was placed in a borrowed tomb nearby, and that was the final place anyone expected to see him.

And now, just hours after the women discovered the empty tomb, were reminded that he would be raised back to life, and then told their story to the others. Just hours after Peter ran to the tomb to confirm their story.  Just hours afterward, Luke tells this story about Cleopas and his traveling companion, listen…

Luke 24:13-35

Luke doesn’t tell us, but I suspect these two companions left Jerusalem around mid-morning. After all, they were discussing the mysterious events of the early morning.  And, they were clearly still unsettled by them.  

I can’t speak for you, but I can relate to this story more than I can to many others told about Jesus’ followers.  This story resonates with me because Cleopas and his friend are doing exactly what I do with my friends when something leaves me (or all of us) confused and unsettled.

We spend time talking it out.
We go back over the things we can wrap our heads around.  The verifiable details.
We recount the things that were most unbelievable.  The most difficult to reconcile with those verifiable facts.
We struggle out loud with the things that cause us pain, that leave us unable to go forward emotionally.

So when Jesus joins them on the road, they assume he would want to be folded into their conversation. And because this is the biggest, craziest news these friends have ever had to process, it’s stunning to them that Jesus has no idea what they’re talking about.

Of course, they don’t know who they’ve just invited into the conversation.  Luke tells us that – for reasons we don’t ever get – they were kept from seeing who he was.

But surely anyone walking away from Jerusalem, any Jew in particular, would have been talking and thinking about the events of the past week.  You might say it was the talk of the town.

But apparently not this man.
And it stops them in their tracks.
Literally.

They stop and look at him. Dumbfounded.
Dude- seriously?
You must be the only person in Jerusalem for the Passover feast that didn’t hear about it…
Or maybe you just don’t remember… ??
How many glasses of wine did you drink during that passover meal?
Huh.  Really. Ok… well… where do we start?

Perhaps they took it in turns to fill in some of the details that Luke leaves out. I mean the conversation went on for 7 miles!

But the gist of it was this…
Jesus was as important to the children of Israel at this moment as Moses was in his.
He was an amazing prophet, wise, powerful, before God and in front of all the people.
He was a liberator.
He was our hope.
And they took him away – the chief priests and the leaders.
They took away the one who would save the people.
And they had him killed.
They didn’t do it themselves, but they handed him over in a way that made clear what they hoped was going to happen.
It was awful. Everything about that trial and crucifixion.  Awful.
What were we supposed to do… he was the one we just KNEW was going to turn the world upside down.
We had hoped at the very least…

Well, now where are we left after all this?
Do we continue on his path?
Following his teaching?
We’ve spent the last couple of days wondering exactly how we could do that without getting ourselves nailed to a cross.

And now – today – on the third day since all of this got started, things got even weirder… maybe a good weird. But definitely more confusing.

So it just seemed like a really good time to leave.
Get some space between us and Jerusalem;
between us and the danger.
Between us and the sorrow.
Between us and what might have been…
What might still be… ?

Jesus- incognito as he was – must have been enjoying this a little.  Pulling the story out of them with nods and mm-hmmms.  Even as he smiled knowingly on the inside.  

There was so much they hadn’t quite understood, that they hadn’t quite managed to connect between his teachings and their current situation.

And so eventually, he can’t help himself.  

Even as he remains hidden from their recognition, he takes them back to Scripture and begins to teach.
Starting with Moses and moving through all the prophets.
He reminds them of all they’d heard – from the time they were children in synagogues to the times he was with them on the plain and in the various synagogues of the region and even in the temple courts.

They continued on down the road, talking, walking, teaching and learning until they finally arrived in Emmaus.

Now, I do a lot of walking, and when I get deep into a conversation with someone, it takes a lot longer than usual to get where I’m going.  So it doesn’t surprise me that a walk that could have been completed in a matter of 2-3 hours (even faster if you’re in a hurry), took the better part of the day.

And because they had been talking for so long, it makes sense that they would ask this stranger to stay, to eat, for sure, and perhaps to continue the conversation.

Doesn’t it just seem right that Jesus would say “yes” and join them at table?
After all, so much of his ministry happened around tables…
So much of his ministry was about making sure that everyone had a place at the table.

And doesn’t it seem right that it is at the moment Jesus breaks the bread…
When Jesus is doing the thing that is most HIM,
When Jesus is reversing the roles of guest and host,
When Jesus offers hospitality and sustenance through the blessing and breaking of the bread…
THAT is is the moment when it becomes clear who is at the table.

It wasn’t while he was walking and teaching… though he was surely reinforcing all that he’d said about himself over the years.  And certainly the teaching would have felt at least a little familiar.

No- it was at the table.

Perhaps it was his unique way of blessing the bread
Or the way he held it and looked at it.
Or perhaps the fact that this guest so humbly had taken the role of host to serve them

Regardless, in that moment, their eyes were opened.
They saw him
They knew that all he had said, on the road that day and on all the roads they’d walked together before,
they knew – deep in their hearts- that it was true.
They understood that he had been with them all along.
And then, he was gone.

Yes, it was baffling and unexpected.
And yet, it was so HIM.

Of course, they had to go and tell the others:
We have seen the risen and living Lord.  Thanks be to God!

You know, every time we gather at the table – every time we gather at the font, for that matter – there is a long prayer. The prayer of thanksgiving we call it.

And I know that it is annoying sometimes to listen to a prayer that long because I’ve felt antsy plenty of times myself. After all, we ministers seem to enjoy the sound of our own voices… And mercy, but we can make worship inefficient with long sermons and longer prayers.

But that prayer does what Jesus was doing on the road that day.
It is meant to remind us of just how far back we can travel and still not find the beginning of God’s love and care for us.

The prayer is meant to help us to rehearse and retell the story of our liberation from slavery, of God’s promises kept, of our salvation in Christ and through Christ, who is not only a great prophet, but is also the Messiah.

That long prayer is meant to remind us that we are at the table of the host who knows and loves us best.

Many of you wondered, some of you aloud and in my hearing, why we would add communion in today, when we we shared the bread and the cup on Maundy Thursday and again at Easter.  And it will be the first of the month in a couple of weeks.

Why add in one more round of communion?
The truth is, we need to be at the table.  

We need to be nourished, spiritually nourished, if we hope to live faithfully in this world of ours.

In our noisy, fast-paced, efficiency-focused culture, we are taught or at least convinced to ignore our spiritual hunger pangs – those longings for communion with God and one another- that ought to lead us to the table more often, rather than waiting for our regularly scheduled meal.

Coming together in fellowship at this table is crucial, because It is around the table that we reveal the body of Christ, in all of its human, flawed but forgiven glory.

It is at the table we experience the presence of Christ,
where we experience the grace that abounds as it extends to sinners and tax collectors,
And as grace extends to preachers and retirees, to teachers and business owners, and everyone else who hears and responds to his invitation to come, eat, and remember.

Preparing the table, whether once a month, or three times in two weeks, is an act that embodies faith,

Preparing the table in an act that embodies hope and embodies love.
Gathering the bread and the juice, setting the table, offering an invitation…
Each step of the way we are re-membering, re-enacting the hospitality of these bewildered disciples and their beloved Jesus
our beloved Jesus.   

Their hospitality opened the door, literally and figuratively, to the opportunity to encounter Jesus at this meal.

They welcomed the stranger on the road,  and he opened the scriptures in new ways
They welcomed the stranger at the table, and he offered a revelation of his care for them.

Luke’s telling of this encounter with the Messiah tells us that an encounter with the risen Lord requires two parties.
There is Christ’s divine act to come and reveal himself.
But we have a part to play.
Without an openness and vulnerability on our part,
Without a spiritual willingness to risk and a physical willingness to welcome,
we may as well just close the door.

For our eyes will not see and our ears will not hear,
And our hearts will not burn in the telling of this very good news:
Christ is risen.
He is risen, indeed.

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