Lessons to and from Emmaus (April 19)

Readings, Psalm 116 and Luke 24:13-35
Image, Maximino Cerezo Barredo (Spanish, 1932–), In the Breaking of Bread, 2001.
 
I have four mini-sermons this morning, each of which will end with a question and a little time for silent reflection and collective sharing, about what this reading from the Gospel might mean for the Kirk.
 
First, and carrying on from the message on Easter Sunday: the resurrection still on the move. I spoke on Easter that each of the resurrection appearances point to movement, Jesus is often already on the move ahead of the disciples, calling them to come find him. Here, we have another scene of resurrection appearance which is also on the move.
 
What’s helpful to note is that this is not a departure but a continuation of the manner of Jesus’ ministry. For while we have records of Jesus’ preaching in synagogues, or his conversations in homes, the bulk of his teaching is on the go. Along the road, by lakeside, on hilltop and plain, Jesus expounded the kingdom of God, interpreted the Law, told parables, and proclaimed good news. And such movement was not incidental but ancillary to the message, as Jesus continually draws what is around him into his parables and lessons.
 
And so it is with the life of the disciple of Jesus. While it is true that we gather, spending time in church services learning and worshipping, the vast bulk of our Christian life takes place on the road, on the move. And indeed our own acts of worship, evangelism, mercy, and justice, are, like Jesus’ often responding to the world around us – those things we see in our context that inspire us to thanks, lead us to wonder, draw us into action, sharpen our understanding. Like the scene on the way to and from Emmaus, our life with Jesus is marked by movement, by becoming, by living the way, on the way.
 
The question then, for us as the Kirk, is how (and what) are we learning as we go? What are the practices and people that draw us near to Jesus as we go hither and thither?

Second: We see in this scene the confirmation of the teaching, where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them. But such is the gracious mercy of our Lord, that even when the two or three who are gathered in Christ’s name are rather confused about what that name means, Jesus is there among them. The resurrected Lord appears time and again to those who are doubting, those who are scared, those who are confused, those who are wavering on the edge, whose commitment to the cause seems tenuous.
 
The peaceful and assuring presence of the resurrected Lord is not reserved for those who have it all together, those with no further questions, no more “t”s to cross or “i”s to dot on their airtight confessions of faith. Jesus draws alongside those who cannot even recognise him, those who fear that all he said has come to naught, those who grieve at the apparent victory of the forces of the world over the Son of Man. Jesus is present when two or three are gathered in his name, among us, even when we are riddled with doubt and questions, ready to journey with us until we can grasp a clearer vision of who he is for us.
 
As we said in the shortened communion liturgy we used on Maundy Thursday, we come to the table of grace, like those who sat down at Emmaus:
Not because you are strong,
But because you are weak.
Because you love the Lord a little,
And would like to love him more.
 
The question for us as the Kirk might be: is there something we are holding back from, because we want to wait until our faith is perfect, our questions are quieted, our doubts assuaged? Might there be something we can step out into, in the faith that Jesus will draw up alongside us on the way, and help us see clearer his place in it all?
 
Third: We see in this scene the confirmation of the teaching, what you did to the least of these you did to me. At the future coming of the Son of Man, he shall not separate sheep and goats, righteous and unrighteous to his right and left based on comprehension of the creed, top marks in catechism, or longevity of weekly worship attendance. Rather the divide is based on what we did or did not do for the least of these – who are identical with the unrecognised Christ. This teaching plays out here.
 
These men place (as one translation renders it) “hospitable pressure” on the hungry traveller who has drawn up beside them. They insist that this tired stranger take shelter with them: rest and eat in the welcome of our home. In this they, like the righteous, serve the Lord without knowing. For them, however, they do not need to wait for that final day, the recognition of who they have cared for is made immediately apparent.
 
In this way, the third and second points are related – Jesus draws alongside and resides among us even when we do not fully recognise who he is, or the significance of what he has done, and likewise we serve, honour, and love Jesus even with acts that we do not fully recognise as being done for or to him. Paradoxically however, it is in these acts of hospitality and kindness that we come to see more clearly who Jesus is, and – perhaps most pivotally – all the Bible study, theology, and preaching comes to make the most sense in these acts of grace to those most readily scorned. It is only in the wake of the act of welcome, do the disciples see Jesus clearly and all that he had shared with them on the road, find a home in their hearts.
 
The question for us at the Kirk might be: What might we be learning about Jesus through the acts of hospitality, kindness, and justice we perform in and through our various ministries? 
 
Fourth: The elusive poetry of the resurrection brings the disciples together (in a way something fixed could not). Again, I spoke on Easter Sunday about the elusiveness of the resurrection, where we are dealing with something unfixed and uncontainable – something living and not dead, something in motion and not static. Here, such a poetic elusiveness continues. No sooner is the resurrected Jesus recognised than he disappears.
 
But here’s the thing, his movement leads to our own. For the continued elusiveness of the resurrected Christ, his continued going ahead, forces the disciples to continue to go to one another. As the women are instructed at the empty tomb to go and tell the others, so too these disciples in Emmaus, at the moment Jesus vanishes from view, rise up from the table and hurry off to find the eleven in Jerusalem and tell them of what has occurred.
 
The elusive movement of the Risen Christ, the unfixed, poetic nature of the resurrection, does not allow the disciples to stay put and hoard Jesus to themselves – rather they are continually flung to each other to become what they are being made to be: the community of Christ.
 
It is the very fact that no disciple possesses the fullness of the resurrected Christ, that the disciples must keep coming together to share their own encounters, their fragments, their testimonies. And it is this holding together of all things in common – which will come to be empowered by the Holy Spirit – that makes this rag tag group of disciples into the church, in whose lineage we gather today.
 
The question for us at the Kirk then might be: Do you have testimony, do you have an encounter, an experience, a fragment of this wonderful good news, of the power of the resurrected Christ intersecting in a strange and elusive way with your life that would help draw us together, that would help draw us into a fuller picture of the one who rose from the dead so that we might have life in his name? What might it look like to witness to and embody this in our life together as Christ’s church here in this place?
 
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?’       
This Easter season, as we consider our life and mission together as the Kirk, let us remember this foundation of our purpose and hope: the burning of our hearts in response to the tender and gracious presence of Christ, who draws up alongside us as we go, helping us to see clearer his love for us, and leading us into community with one another, to carry on his work with acts of hospitality, kindness, proclamation, mercy and justice.