Who Are We Now?

Luke 24: 13-32

Video link to the sermon at Community of Hope UCC.

There’s a problem with the story of these two folks on the road to Emmaus.

They seemed to know where they were going. It seems as though they lived in Emmaus.

 

They were grieving the death of Jesus.  They had no idea what the future held. But they were heading toward this place called Emmaus. They knew where they were going. But we don’t.

 

That’s the problem. Some 2,000 years later, we have no idea where this place called Emmaus was. There are a half dozen places in Israel today that folks say might have once been the village of Emmaus, but nobody knows for sure. 

 

That’s sort of a metaphor we can use for our own lives. These two had  just been thrown into a state of confusion and disappointment and fear. They knew the road. But they did not really know where they were going.

 

They told the stranger on the road about Jesus. “We had hoped he would be the one,” they said. He was “a prophet mighty in deed and word before God.” And now hate had killed him and with it, their hopes had been dashed.

 

Have you ever felt that way?

There has been a pandemic that has thrown all of our lives into turmoil over the last two years. We are watching a brutal war raging in Ukraine. We are painfully aware of the racial disparities in our society. 

 

We are witnesses to the hatred that pervades our politics at the moment. On this Earth Day weekend, we are painfully aware that we are not moving fast enough to ameliorate the causes of climate change. 

 

We are wandering along a road and we do not have a clear picture of where we are going. We are not even sure of who we are now.

Closer to home, I know Community of Hope UCC is going through a period of discernment, looking for your way to an uncertain place like Emmaus, defining who you are now and who you will be in the future.

 

What a perfect Sunday, then, to dive into this story.

 

It is a story 

of walking together through grief and uncertainty, 

of letting the stories of our sacred scriptures serve as a guide along the way, 

of extending hospitality even in hard moments, 

of sharing a meal and seeing Jesus in the breaking of the bread. 

And here’s an added bonus: the word Emmaus means “warm springs” – it’s a place of comfort and healing.

 

Have you ever come across people who look lost, sad, full of anxiety? 

 

Jacqui Lewis, pastor of Middle Collegiate Church in New York City, tells this story in her new book Fierce Love of the night at the hospital in a strange city in Canada. She and her husband had been in a car crash and he was hospitalized with injuries. She was not allowed to  stay at the hospital with him overnight and had no place to go. The terror of the accident and the anguish over his injury as well as the uncertainty about where she could spend the night left her crying in the hospital hallway.

Then, out of seemingly nowhere, a woman wearing a lightweight black coat over a flowered dress walked over to her. She asked if Jacqui was OK. She listened to Jacqui’s story of the accident, of her agony at feeling so alone right then. 

 

Jacqui writes, “She was so present to me, listening closely, making space for my pain. When I finished speaking, she hugged me, and I remember thinking I was ruining her coat with my tears.”

Then the woman asked Jacqui how she could help. She crossed all the barriers that might have been between them. 

 

In Jacqui’s words: “I was a stranger, not a Canadian but an African American stranger in a strange land. I must have been a sight to behold. Tall, skinny, wearing a large afro, likely with little pieces of glass in it. Small cuts on my face, jeans dirty from sitting on the gravel on the side of the road, Paul’s blood on my denim jacket.”

The woman got Jacqui some food, took her to a motel, paid for her room, took her to the insurance company the next morning.

 

On that road to Emmaus, Jesus came across two people – I like to think a man and a woman, although only one of them – the man – is mentioned by name. They were downcast. They were talking about the horrible death they had seen Jesus die in Jerusalem and then the confusing message they had heard that morning about Jesus rising from the dead. They did not know what to believe, what to think, what to do. 

 

And Jesus walked with them. He asked them what they were talking about, what was underneath their sadness and fears. 

That’s the first thing: Walking together in hard times.

 

Then he offered them a new way to think about what happened, giving them a fresh look at the stories in the Hebrew scriptures they surely already new.

 

That’s the second thing: Reinterpreting the story in a way to help make some sense out of the chaos around them.

 

Then they took a step forward as well. “Stay with us,” they said, “because it is almost evening and the day is nearly over.”  They did not take Jesus to a motel like Jacqui’s helper did, but they did extend the kind of hospitality that brought the bond between Jesus and them even closer.

 

That’s the third thing: Offering hospitality to help heal the separations in our midst.

 

And then there was the meal.

Of course there was a meal. So often in the stories of Jesus, there is a meal.

 

There’s the meal on the hillside – that grand picnic – when bread and fish get passed through the crowd and all are fed.

 

There’s dinner with people you might not expect to be at the table with Jesus -  with Simon the Pharisee, with Zacchaeus the tax collector. There’s dinner with his friends Mary, Martha and Lazarus. 

 

There’s that last dinner with his closest followers the night before he died – you know, the one where he broke bread and passed it around and told them to remember him. In one of the stories after the Resurrection, he is cooking fish on the shore and there is bread to share with his apostles.

 

This night in Emmaus, however, we don’t know what else might have been on the menu. But we do know that there was bread.

 

Before we get to the bread, though, let’s pause for a moment for an interesting contrast. Do you remember the story Jesus told about the rich man Lazarus (not the same Lazarus who was Jesus’ friend who died and then whom Jesus brought back to life)? This also from the Gospel according to Luke (16: 19-31). 

 

Lazarus ate sumptuous meals at his table, but would not let the impoverished man at the gate even get scraps from the rich man’s table. Ultimately, both men died. The impoverished man went to be with Abraham, the father of the Jewish people, and the rich man landed in Hades, a place of torment. What if Lazarus had shared the food on his table with the poor man? What if he had invited the man to the table? Would the story have ended differently?

So here we are at this home in Emmaus, three people gathered around a table. Jesus had walked with the strangers and given them a new way to think about the disorientation of their lives. The couple had invited the stranger who walked with them to have dinner with them. 

 

Up to this point, the couple had no idea who they were with. It was just a stranger they met on the road. They could not see clearly who this was. 

 

Then the rhythm at the table got very familiar.

Jesus took bread.

He blessed it.

He broke it.

He gave it to them.

 

They ate together and then then their eyes were opened, writes Luke.  And in an instant, Jesus was gone.

 

They had been comforted by someone who took their grief seriously. Their hearts had burned as they learned a new way to understand the scriptures. They had recognized Jesus in the breaking of the bread.

 

Their energy was restored and they went right back out onto the road to Jerusalem and they found Jesus’ other followers there, all sharing the news that Jesus had overcome death, overcome hate, overcome evil.

 

For me, this story contains some of those central ideas of how we can be followers of Jesus.

We can walk with those who are suffering.

We can help people find meaning by drawing on the stories that guide our community.

We can welcome strangers into our midst.

 

We can let the love of Jesus emerge as we break bread together.

 

Yes, these last few years have been hard. They have been hard on so many different levels. The things that can disorient us are still present today. It’s like we are on the road to Emmaus – a place we hope exists but can seem pretty elusive.

 

People have walked this road before. They have shown us the way. Let’s head out into our lives today, in the days ahead, knowing that we can walk this road in a spirit of hope, with some grains of faith, with the assurance of God’s love as we rejoice not only in the good news of the Resurrection, but in the good news that touches our lives and that we then share with others.

 

There’s a song we often sing at communion time – “Let Us Break Bread Together.” But there’s another song that reminds us that in the breaking of the bread, we get glimpses of Jesus, we get to experience God’s love. It's called “Be Known to Us in Breaking Bread.” 

 

Be known to us in breaking bread, but do not then depart;
O Savior stay with us and spread your table in our heart.

Here share with us in love divine, your body and your blood;

That living bread, that heavenly wine, be our immortal food.

Dinner Guests

Sermon from April 3, 2022 at Community of Hope UCC in Madison WI

Isaiah 43:16-21; John 12:1-8

Welcome to our meal!

Let’s say my name is Lazarus. We are here with my sisters, Martha and Mary. You know them. Martha is the busy one. Mary is the one who likes to listen and learn.

 

We are very honored to have our friend Jesus with us today. He often stops by when he is in the area of Bethany, that village just two miles east of Jerusalem. And he is the reason I am here with you. I had died – yes, I know this is hard to understand – but then Jesus came and brought me back to life! 

 

For many people, that was amazing. But for the religious leaders in Jerusalem, that just reinforced their worry that if they did not do something about this Jesus fellow getting a following among the ordinary people, then Rome would crack down on Israel. 

 

Caiaphas, the high priest, told them, “It is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed.” So that was when they decided to have Jesus killed – decided because he restored life to me. 

It turns out, they also wanted to kill me, since they saw my restored life as the reason so many Jews were becoming followers of Jesus.

 

Anyway, back to our meal together. Yes, there was fear lingering in the background. We all knew that Jesus was a marked man at this point. But we were just glad to have him and some of his friends with us.

 

One of those friends was named Judas. Perhaps you have heard of him. He ultimately would cast his lot with those who wanted Jesus killed. By this point, he was more than a little on edge.

I’d like to invite you to join us for this meal. You could come as yourself – you’ll have a chance to actually do that later this morning in this place. Or you could imagine you are one of the people in this story.

++++++++++++

 

Well, thank you, Lazarus, for getting us into the moment. 

 

There are so many rich themes in this short story. And at the end, it will link back to that brief reading we heard from the prophet Isaiah.  

 

There is the story of what happened at the meal and what that might mean for us. 

 

There is the story of Judas and his … shall we say perhaps…his concern for the poor. 

 

There is the question of whether we can celebrate when there is injustice and sadness around us. 

 

And then we might ask, how can we live out the best of this story?

One of the things that we know about Jesus is that he liked to eat. He ate with many different kinds of folks – folks that others would be reluctant to hang out with, folks that sometimes were his opponents.

 

This meal, with some of his closest friends – and with the one who would betray him – has some amazingly close links to the Passover meal Jesus would be having the next week. 

 

In the Gospel according to John, he uses the Greek word diepnon for dinner only two times – once for this meal and once for the Last Supper.  

The central moment in this story is when Mary takes this very expensive perfume – nard – and anoints Jesus’ feet and then wipes his feet with her hair.  There’s a lot to unpack from that one act.

First of all, it was the job of a slave to tend to a visitor’s dusty and tired feet, not one of the hosts of the meal. And women did not let down their hair – well-kept hair was a sign of a woman’s dignity. 

Yet here is Mary, breaking all the rules to show her appreciation and love for Jesus. It was a lavish, intimate, sensual moment.

 

This foreshadowed what Jesus would do at the Last Supper. The Gospel according to John describes the scene this way: Jesus took off his outer robe, tied a towel around himself and began to wash his followers’ feet, drying them with the towel. 

 

He told them, “If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.” 

 

Mary had set the example of service to others. Then Jesus carried that forward. 

 

Now the story moves on to Judas. 

Why was Judas with Jesus for this meal anyway? We don’t know, although we do know that Jesus never shied away from breaking bread with people who might be skeptical of him.

 

And when Jesus was washing the feet of his followers at that Passover meal, he washed Judas’ feet along with all the others. It was not until later that he confronted Judas about his plan to betray Jesus. And then Judas’ supposed care for the poor came up again.

 

After Mary does her extravagant act of anointing Jesus’ feet, using nard that would be worth a whole year’s wages, Judas asked why the perfume was not sold and the money given to the poor. John suspects Judas’ motives, suggesting he was a thief, but Jesus defends Mary and then says two puzzling things.

One is that she might keep some of the nard for the day of his burial. Remember, the specter of Jesus’ execution hung over this meal. She was in effect anointing him before his death even though that would normally happen after someone died.

 

But the bigger puzzle is around these words of Jesus: “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

Does that mean we are not supposed to care about the poor? That they should take care of themselves, maybe pull themselves up by their bootstraps?

 

Nope. No way.

 

This is really an allusion to the book of Deuteronomy in the Torah. Chapter 15 gives instructions for the forgiveness of all debts every seventh year. It was an ancient way to close the wealth gap. And it acknowledges that ending poverty is not easy, even with that system of generous economic forgiveness. 

 

So Deuteronomy adds these words: “Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.’ ”

In terms we tend to use these days, the Jewish tradition that Jesus was familiar with called for both justice and charity.

 

But in this story, Jesus also recognizes that even in the midst of threats, fears, injustice, worry, there can still be time to celebrate. Let me take a brief detour to a contemporary story about this. 

 

Scott Girard in a reporter for the Cap Times. Six years ago, his brother died after a long battle with cancer. That day of March 20, 2016, he had walked with his family as they escorted his brother’s body out of Hospice. 

 

That evening, he and his family were watching the Badger men’s basketball team in the playoffs. The game was tied and time was running out when Brian Koenig hit a three-point shot at the buzzer, sending the Badgers to the Sweet Sixteen.

 

Scott wrote about that moment a year later: “I ran across the living room — having already been standing in nervousness at the moment, of course — to hug-tackle my sister on the couch in celebration before returning to the other couch to do the same to my girlfriend.

After the frenzy of about 15 seconds, I sat back down on the couch and a feeling of guilt swept over me.”

He thought about his brother’s death only hours before. He asked: “How could I have even been smiling on this day, I thought, let alone jumping for joy and cheering?”

 

And he concluded with the lesson he drew over time from that moment: “There is never anything wrong with joy, even in the darkest moments. It’s probably more important than ever in those times to find a reason to smile, if only briefly.”

 

That sounded to me like what Jesus was telling Judas – and perhaps the rest of us. Yes, care for those in need. There will always be those in need. But also celebrate those moments when God’s presence is there in a smile or a laugh or a hug – or in expensive perfume being poured on your aching feet.

 

Then there’s Judas at the Last Supper.

At that Passover meal, when Jesus confronted Judas about the impending betrayal, he told him quietly, “Do quickly what you are going to do.” The rest did not understand what he had said and some thought Jesus had told Judas to go out and give something to the poor. Funny how that comes around again.

 

What, then, might we take from this meal we have been sharing with Lazarus and Martha and Mary and Jesus and Judas – and maybe others?

Remember the questions about Mary anointing Jesus’ feet, drying them with her hair, then Jesus washing the feet of his followers? They did not stand on their status. They took a step down to raise the status of another.

 

How do we live out this call to service, growing out of our commitment to be followers of Jesus? How do we do that in ways that might diminish rather than elevate our own status?

 

One of the things I have learned in the past few years is how those of us who have some degree of privilege in our lives, some status in our community, some comfort in our position in society need to be willing to step back a bit, to listen to the people who are on the margins, to not just give them a place at the table – be it a dinner table or a boardroom table – but to create space for them to set the table, to lead the planning. 

 

The technical term for that, I believe, is being an ally. 

 

It sounds simple. It’s not. We all have a lot of experience and knowledge and resources we’d like to bring to bear. And those all matter. So does humility. So does being willing to get down on our knees, to let down our hair, to hold the towel.

 

Another takeaway for me is that message of seeking both charity and justice as we approach the economic disparities in our society. 

 

Jesus was not proclaiming that poverty is a permanent state of being. He was drawing on that rich Jewish tradition of jubilee – of forgiving debts, of giving up a bit of what we think is rightfully ours – in order to have a more equitable society. That’s part of our challenge. And then we still need to reach out to those in need.

 

Let’s loop back to that first reading from Isaiah. The Jewish people are nearing the end of their time in exile in Babylon. Through Isaiah, God tells them not to get stuck considering the things of old because God is about to do a new thing.

 

That’s part of what was happening at that dinner. Judas was clinging to the things of the past. Mary saw what new things God was doing through Jesus, new things that involved both life and death but that were filled with rivers in the desert, with a way through the wilderness.

 

Wherever we are in our lives right now, wherever we see the world in the midst of all the hard things around us, ultimately our story is a story of hope, that God will be doing new things through what each of us do.