The Emmaus Road by Rev. Miriam Bowlby
Luke 24:13 - 35
This is not how I imagined my first Sunday back with you again would look like nor is it how I imagined delivering my first sermon. I pictured myself gathering with this wonderful church community in our sanctuary. I imagined greeting friends old and new with a hug. Imagined praying with the choir just before church and Carol checking her watch to make sure we start on time. I imagined Evan at the organ and the choir in the loft and see of familiar faces in front of me as we began to worship. But everything changed so quick six weeks ago. And we are doing things differently. Even church. Instead, I'm leading church from my living room and you are joining from the comfort of your home. And even though it is different than I imagined, I still see a sea of familiar faces in front of me. Evan is still leading us in music and we continue to have the familiar rhythm of worship with its hymns and prayers.
I imagine it’s a similar thing that Cleopas and the other disciple were going through as they walked those 7 miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus. They were trying to understand this strange new normal. They were trying to get back that feeling of familiarity. As they walked, they were going over every detail. How they gathered in an upper room. How he broke the bread and blessed the wine. How he prayed in the garden before the soldiers came. They remembered the horror of crucifixion.
As they walked, a stranger starts walking with them. It is Jesus but, in their grief, in the sorrow, their eyes were kept from realizing who this stranger was. I'm guessing it's like those times you are in a mall or store of the arena and you meet someone out of context. You don't recognize them because they are in the wrong place. As they walk the stranger asks, “what are you talking about?” And they can’t believe that this stranger even asked this question. Is he the only one who doesn’t know about Jesus?
So they tell him everything – about waiving the palms and the prayer in the garden and the bread and wine and the soldiers and the cross and the tomb. They pause for a moment. Almost afraid to say it. They say, "and some of our women, went to the tomb this morning. They say it was empty. They said there were angels. They said that Jesus is alive.” The two hang their heads, “but, but we had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel.”
And can't we just imagine the pain of those few words. But we had hoped. And can't we understand it. But we had hoped schools would be open. But we had hoped staying home would be over and the virus is gone. But we had hoped they would get better. But we had hoped it would be different this time. But we had hoped the violence would be no more. But we had hoped…
Silence hung in the air as they stood on that road. And after a few minutes, the stranger starts talking. Oh, how foolish you are. Don't you know it had to be this way? And he starts with Moses and tells the story of God's love and how in love God sends us Jesus. As the travellers arrive at Emmaus the stranger continues to walk. But they beg him to stay. It's getting dark they said. The day is almost over. Stay with us. As they sit at the table, he breaks bread and blesses it. And at that moment, their eyes are opened and they know that the women told the truth. The stranger disappears and the two fly back to Jerusalem. The find the disciples and say, "The Lord has risen indeed!" And they tell all those gathered in the room how their hearts were burning when the stranger opened up scripture to them and he was made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
This is one of my favourite gospel stories. It has everything. Sorrow, hope, joy, transformation. It’s a reminder that Jesus comes to us in our need, in our brokenness reminding us that he is with us. It’s a reminder I needed in this week of violence and tragedy. Because somehow in the midst of this sorrow we need to find a hope we can cling to. This week I caught a glimpse of it as from across Canada shared in prayer for those who are hurting and suffering because of the mass shooting in Nova Scotia. People put candles in their windows. There were online vigils. Everyone finds a way in this time of separation finding a way to gather together to pray and to hold one another in love.
Sheree Fitch, the well known children’s author wrote this poem. She said it just came to her…
April 20, 2020.
Because We Love, We Cry.
Sometimes there is no sense to things my child
Sometimes there is no answer to the questions why
Sometimes things beyond all understanding
Sometimes, people die.
When it hurts like this, my child
When you are scared, suffering, confused
Even if we are not together
Together, let us cry
Remember there is so much love
Because we love, we cry.
Sometimes the sadness takes away your breath
Sometimes the pain seems endless, deep
Sometimes you cannot find the sun
Sometimes you wish you were asleep.
When it hurts like this, my child
When you are scared, suffering, confused
Even if we are not together,
Together, let us cry
Remember there is still so much love
Because we love, we cry.
Pray that I had answers, child
Pray this wasn’t so
There are impossible things, child
I cannot bear for you to know.
When it hurts like this, my child
When you are scared, suffering, confused
Even if we are not together
Together, let us cry
Yes, there is still so SO So much love
Because we love, we cry.
There is so much love and because we love we cry. Into our tears comes the blessed stranger, breaking bread, offering love and reminding us that we are not alone. Amen