Today’s Gospel reading about the Road to Emmaus is one of my most favorite Bible stories. I love the humor of Jesus not revealing himself on the road, pretending to be clueless about the big events that had taken place in Jerusalem in the days prior. I love how easily we can relate to Cleopas and his companion’s feelings as they tell Jesus, “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” And I especially love how they finally recognize Jesus when they see him take, bless, break, and give the bread.
Suffice it to say, I was excited to preach on this text. Excited, that is, until I began to think more deeply about how I could possibly preach this wonderful image of Jesus being revealed in the breaking of the bread when we ourselves have not broken bread together, have not shared in the Communion meal, for seven weeks?
So much of my preaching, so much of our Lutheran theological reflection, relies on the power of the sacraments – the reassurance and nourishment and promises we receive when God’s word is combined with ordinary water and bread and wine. Jesus is really there, we say! And so, as often as possible, we remember our baptism and share in the Communion meal, because we need to take in, literally, that Jesus is for us. We need the reminder in our own body that we are so deeply connected to God and to one another and to the saints of all times and places. When belief seems to waver, when our mind is uncertain, we need to touch, and feel, and taste that we have received salvation, forgiveness, and new life, apart from our own understanding or worthiness.
How can I possibly preach this text without pointing to the meal we would be about to receive, were the circumstances different; a meal in which Jesus would be revealed to us in the breaking of the bread? And, more important than my preaching dilemma, what do we do when we are not able to commune?
As I read the familiar story again, it struck me that, though it is not until the breaking of the bread that the two disciples finally recognize Jesus, the reality is that Jesus had been with them the whole time. His presence did not require their acknowledgement or depend on their understanding. What good news, that their foolishness and slowness of heart to believe did not determine whether or not Jesus would stay with them.
Indeed, Jesus had been with them on the road, listening as they shared their heartbreak and grief, confusion and despair. He had been with them in the word, as he opened the scriptures to them, beginning with Moses and all the prophets. He had been with them, as the table was set and the meal was prepared. And though he soon vanished from their sight, Jesus’ presence and proclamation strengthened and accompanied them as they returned to Jerusalem to share the news with the eleven disciples and all the others.
As our isolation stretches on and on, we can especially relate to the sadness that Cleopas and his companion were feeling as they trudged home from Jerusalem that afternoon, weary and grieving. We, too, can list the things we had hoped for. We had hoped that we’d be back together in the sanctuary for a spectacular Easter celebration. We had hoped that we’d be celebrating milestones together with friends and loved ones, graduations and award ceremonies, birthdays and anniversaries, weddings and funerals. We had hoped that family members would stay healthy, that the shadow of death would miss the ones we love. We had hoped for a normal school year, for a sunny opening day and a winning team, for security in our work and finances.
This is not the year we hoped for or expected. There is no script for this, no clear way forward, no precise timeline of when thing will be back to “normal”, and no sense of what “normal” will even look like. In the midst of our uncertainty and grief, what good news it is to hear that Jesus is walking with us, even when we do not recognize him. Though we cannot gather at the table, cannot be strengthened and nourished by his body and blood, given and shed for us, we are still strengthened by his unfailing presence, and nourished by the word.
The stories Jesus told on the road were the stories of salvation history. They were the stories of the promised Messiah, stories of God’s faithfulness to God’s people even when the way seemed bleak. They are the same stories that strengthen and encourage us now. We know that God is faithful. We know that we belong to God, and that nothing – not pandemics, not dashed hopes, not hearts that are slow to believe – can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
While we long to be together, and long to see Jesus in the breaking of the bread, we trust that Jesus has been with us the whole time. Even now, as we walk a path of which we cannot see the ending, Jesus is walking with us, listening to our grief and holding our sadness. Even now, our hearts are burning within us, kindled by the fire of the ever-present Holy Spirit.
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| Road to Emmaus, Michael Torevell https://images.app.goo.gl/pWHbty2DG5gtJabh7 |
Suffice it to say, I was excited to preach on this text. Excited, that is, until I began to think more deeply about how I could possibly preach this wonderful image of Jesus being revealed in the breaking of the bread when we ourselves have not broken bread together, have not shared in the Communion meal, for seven weeks?
So much of my preaching, so much of our Lutheran theological reflection, relies on the power of the sacraments – the reassurance and nourishment and promises we receive when God’s word is combined with ordinary water and bread and wine. Jesus is really there, we say! And so, as often as possible, we remember our baptism and share in the Communion meal, because we need to take in, literally, that Jesus is for us. We need the reminder in our own body that we are so deeply connected to God and to one another and to the saints of all times and places. When belief seems to waver, when our mind is uncertain, we need to touch, and feel, and taste that we have received salvation, forgiveness, and new life, apart from our own understanding or worthiness.
How can I possibly preach this text without pointing to the meal we would be about to receive, were the circumstances different; a meal in which Jesus would be revealed to us in the breaking of the bread? And, more important than my preaching dilemma, what do we do when we are not able to commune?
As I read the familiar story again, it struck me that, though it is not until the breaking of the bread that the two disciples finally recognize Jesus, the reality is that Jesus had been with them the whole time. His presence did not require their acknowledgement or depend on their understanding. What good news, that their foolishness and slowness of heart to believe did not determine whether or not Jesus would stay with them.
Indeed, Jesus had been with them on the road, listening as they shared their heartbreak and grief, confusion and despair. He had been with them in the word, as he opened the scriptures to them, beginning with Moses and all the prophets. He had been with them, as the table was set and the meal was prepared. And though he soon vanished from their sight, Jesus’ presence and proclamation strengthened and accompanied them as they returned to Jerusalem to share the news with the eleven disciples and all the others.
As our isolation stretches on and on, we can especially relate to the sadness that Cleopas and his companion were feeling as they trudged home from Jerusalem that afternoon, weary and grieving. We, too, can list the things we had hoped for. We had hoped that we’d be back together in the sanctuary for a spectacular Easter celebration. We had hoped that we’d be celebrating milestones together with friends and loved ones, graduations and award ceremonies, birthdays and anniversaries, weddings and funerals. We had hoped that family members would stay healthy, that the shadow of death would miss the ones we love. We had hoped for a normal school year, for a sunny opening day and a winning team, for security in our work and finances.
This is not the year we hoped for or expected. There is no script for this, no clear way forward, no precise timeline of when thing will be back to “normal”, and no sense of what “normal” will even look like. In the midst of our uncertainty and grief, what good news it is to hear that Jesus is walking with us, even when we do not recognize him. Though we cannot gather at the table, cannot be strengthened and nourished by his body and blood, given and shed for us, we are still strengthened by his unfailing presence, and nourished by the word.
The stories Jesus told on the road were the stories of salvation history. They were the stories of the promised Messiah, stories of God’s faithfulness to God’s people even when the way seemed bleak. They are the same stories that strengthen and encourage us now. We know that God is faithful. We know that we belong to God, and that nothing – not pandemics, not dashed hopes, not hearts that are slow to believe – can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
While we long to be together, and long to see Jesus in the breaking of the bread, we trust that Jesus has been with us the whole time. Even now, as we walk a path of which we cannot see the ending, Jesus is walking with us, listening to our grief and holding our sadness. Even now, our hearts are burning within us, kindled by the fire of the ever-present Holy Spirit.
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