P.S. There’s More: From Speculation to Recognition (MTKA)

Luke 24:13-35

Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.” Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.

As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

This is one of the longer stories about Jesus appearing to his followers after the resurrection. Seven miles of scripture and lessons are finally cracked open in the breaking of bread. And then the disciples get up, and go back the way they came, seven more miles, with clear eyes and a brisk pace, a movement of liberation and love they couldn’t wait to share.

All of this happens on the day of resurrection, immediately following Luke’s telling of the women at the tomb, and the men having to see for themselves. It’s still Sunday. It’s still Easter.

It’s one of the reasons I love the liturgical calendar — Sundays break into Advent and Lent as mini-Easters. They dare Alleluias anyway. We light candles and sing about life — even and especially when light and life seem hard to come by during the week. 

Last Sunday morning Daunte Wright was not yet a household name. Kim Potter was still a training officer going about her day. National Guard members were at home with their families, or tending to their day jobs. Citywide curfews were so 2020. The communities of Indianapolis, Chicago and Brooklyn Center were carrying on before the weight of more violence and loss.

God, have mercy.

It’s hard to be Easter people in a Good Friday world.This is one of those weeks that had me hungry for Sunday, for a sign that it’s still Easter.

We need the liturgical calendar, these Sundays and seasons. They help us find the road and good company when life is hard, hope is scarce, or faith feels weary. When we can tell the story in pieces, but fail to see how they all fit together. 

I have been missing the spontaneous company of strangers, the small talk of standing in line, of mingling with people beyond my pandemic places. I really miss eavesdropping on nearby conversations, listening for voices that give me another perspective.  

We know that the best antidote for bias and skepticism is relationship — and this pandemic has made it more difficult to make and nourish connections with people who have different experiences, backgrounds, and ideas than we do. 

I guess that’s part of the reason I feel envious of the disciples in the story today. They have stumbled upon someone who has not been where they have been and wants to hear about it. The invitation means backing way up, providing wider context, and remembering more in the telling for the sake of the stranger listening. It’s surprising and refreshing. 

Or maybe it’s exhausting to have to tell what still pains them, to teach what hurts their hearts to speak plain. 

The scripture says the disciples stop walking and stand still, that their faces are downcast before they respond.

They are kept from recognizing him. By their sorrow? By Jesus’ appearance? By a pillar of cloud? By the stranger’s face-mask? We’re not sure. But the mystery allows for the discussion they’ve needed, the mutual ambling and sharing, the piecing together of things.

We’re talking about Jesus, the man from Nazareth. 
He was a prophet with power and authority.
Religious and state leaders felt threatened and handed him over.
He was sentenced to death and they crucified him.
It’s a safe and true version of what they already know. What they’ve already seen with their own eyes.

But then there is the brave and vulnerable admission:

We had hoped. 
We had hoped he was the One. 
The One we’d been waiting for.
The One who could redeem us all. 
And today marks three days since this happened.

And then they speculate a bit. 

The women amazed us. 
We heard the tomb was empty.
They saw an angel who said he was alive. 
Some of our friends found the tomb empty, too.

All these puzzle pieces. All this pain and grief, this fragile hope and speculation. And it’s still Sunday. It’s still Easter.

Thank God for the pushback, the fresh perspective, the different voice in the conversation. Jesus has something to say — seven miles worth — and starts even further back than they did. 

I see your Jesus of Nazareth and I’ll raise you a Moses in Egypt. 

He speaks to them about things they already know, but it’s like they are hearing it anew because more voices add value and perspective and sacred wisdom to scripture that comes alive when we tell it like stories we’re still living.

I imagine that Jesus makes more complicated what they’d simplified and simplifies what they’d made complicated.

He reminds them that the Messiah had to suffer these things. It was the only way for God to know — to be like and with and for us — to take away the sin of the world — to declare Sunday and Easter even still.

They arrive in Emmaus and the disciples invite him to stay. It is nearly evening and the day is almost over. The story is better together, and they’re all in it now. 

So Jesus, still hidden, remains there with them. He has been with them this whole time — even though they could not see him while walking or stopping, when faces were downcast or hearts were burning. 

They didn’t recognize Jesus in their safe speculation, the intellectual theorizing, or the mess of faith fragments. Not even when they offered him lodging and received him as a guest. 

Rather, they saw Jesus when he turned the tables, from guest to host. He took the bread, gave thanks and broke it. And then the disciples recognized him. In the staying. The sitting. The feasting. The soft hope they dared to admit was revealed and all at once the pieces fit:

They had hoped he was the One who had come to redeem them all. 

And he was. He is. He will be!

But it meant 

– Offending the authorities
– Exalting the voices of the oppressed
– Peace that requires justice
– Suffering that declares God’s solidarity in all things.

It meant making a mess of the things for the sake of real change, real redemption, real life that death cannot hold. 

What pieces of the story are you holding and what are you missing? Who is telling more of the story than you normally hear? How can we listen to one another, not for the sake of figuring out who is right or wrong, but for planting seeds of trust?

The fragments of this week and the mystery of this story have me daring to believe that Jesus is still coming alongside us when our faces are cast down, asking open questions and adding pieces we’ve failed to include in the story, making the picture bigger, bolder, and more alive than we’d hoped.

We do not have to wait for Sunday because it comes and finds us on the way, again and again, whether we recognize it or not. May the risen Christ find you on the road, challenging your conversations, turning your tables around, and revealing visions of love that endure all things.