Sunday April 6th 2008

"WALKING THROUGH CONFUSION”

Scripture: Psalm 116, 1 Peter 1:17-23, Luke 24:13-35

MESSAGE GIVEN BY THE REV. PAUL MULLEN

Is there something about Jesus’ hands as he takes the bread and breaks it? Do his hands contain a message that speaks to them of the Jesus they knew and loved? Is it the way he holds the bread, or the way he speaks as he breaks it open? Something about his face, his eyes, his smile? Or is it just something about his hands?

Today’s story begins on a road. It is not just any road, but a road to nowhere and a road to somewhere, a road to anywhere and a road to everywhere, a road out of there and a road to here. Scholars tell us that there are at least six town sites of old that could be Emmaus. We don’t know, and probably never will, which one is the “right” one. Emmaus is somewhere and at the same time it is nowhere. Those two disciples, Cleopas and his wife, Hannah, are going somewhere. They are going to Emmaus. More significantly they are going in the opposite direction from Jerusalem. They are getting out. They are going toward their house but are they going home? Whether it is fear of the Romans and the Jewish authorities and they are seeking safety, or whether they are just plain disillusioned and packing it all in, we don’t know.

There is lots to fear. Their leader, Jesus, has been killed. Hung on a cross like a common criminal. And if they hung around Jerusalem waiting to see what would happen next, they might be next. This same fear had some of the disciples locked behind closed doors, waiting perhaps for the inevitable – their own death as followers of Jesus.

There is a lot to be disillusioned about as well. Jesus was supposed to be the great leader, the one to lead them out of oppression and restore their nation to its former greatness. And now he is dead. It was even a greater disappointment than if the Flames fail to make the playoffs – though that may be hard to believe!

All their hopes and dreams died on that cross and were buried and sealed in the dark, coldness of a tomb. What will happen to them now? Where will they go? Where is a path they can follow, a road that will go somewhere? And not knowing where they could end up, they set out on the road to Emmaus.

It’s a road to somewhere, somewhere other than Jerusalem. It’s a road to safety and comfort, a road that will take them to the security, they hope, of a predictable life. It will take them away from Jerusalem.

Jerusalem, the very heart and soul of their faith. Jerusalem, the holy city, site of the only true temple. Jerusalem, the place of pilgrimage where everyone goes as often as they can to be close to God.

They are on a road to somewhere all right, a road as far away from God as they can get. A road to anywhere, anywhere else. As the saying goes, “If you don’t know where you are going, any road will get you there.” And that is where, I suspect, Cleopas and Hannah are headed.

And you know, they might get there. They might get anywhere but here, anywhere but Jerusalem, but they became aware that they were not travelling alone. What do you suppose they’re talking about as they journey together? I doubt that it is idle conversation meant only to fill in the time as they stroll along at a leisurely pace. I think their thoughts are as frantic as their pace. If they speak at all it is out of disbelief, disbelief about the events in Jerusalem that have turned their lives upside down. Turned from hope in a great victory to disillusionment and despair. I believe they are sharing their pain and their fears because as they walk along they became aware of someone walking with them, someone they do not recognize. Someone who doesn’t seem to have a clue about what had happened in Jerusalem. And so they recount the events of the past few days. They tell the story to this stranger. Tell of their pain when they saw their hopes and dreams, their longing for a Messiah, a Saviour, die on the cross. Cleopas’ wife, Hannah, speaks of how she had stood near that cross and watched her friend and her dreams die. And Cleopas speaks of how he had watched from afar for fear of ending up next to the crucified ones on a cross. And how they had ended up on this road, this road out of there.

If this is any ordinary stranger there might be three travellers scurrying from Jerusalem along that road to anywhere else. But that is not to be. This is no ordinary stranger, just as the road to Emmaus is no ordinary road. The stranger begins reminding them of their story. The story they all share. The story they had, all three, lived from the moment of their birth. The story they had been told again and again. The story of their people. A people going nowhere. A people stuck in slavery and oppression. A people with no control over their own lives, their own destiny. Until a stranger comes along. A stranger named Moses who leads them on a journey. A journey along a road and a road that takes them through the wilderness, forges them into a people and gives them a land of promise and helps them become a mighty nation.

It’s a story of how that mighty nation loses its way, loses the road. Consumed with greed, its great wealth is not enough. Everyone wants more. Lying and cheating become acceptable. Taking advantage of the poor and powerless becomes commonplace. People become consumed with amassing more and more goodies, more status, wealth, prestige and power. And then they lose it all. Overrun by others who do not know the road the people had been given, they are carried off into exile and slavery – again. And then come the prophets. Men and women who speak the truth in love. Men and women who know the story. Men and women who remember the road. The prophets keep the memory alive. They give hope to a broken and disillusioned people. The prophets speak of how the road will be given back to them and it will take them, straight as an arrow, back to Jerusalem. Back to their God. Back to where it all will end.

And the prophets speak to them of a stranger. A stranger who will be a servant, a servant who will help them find the road whenever they got lost again. He will not be just any servant. He will be God’s own servant and he will be a suffering servant. This stranger will not be a mighty warrior, a conquering King. He will serve and he will suffer and he will die.

He will be despised and rejected. He will be an object of scorn. He will die a humiliating and agonizing death. And it will be in and through his wounds and his death that they, once again, will find the road. The road that will not take them away in fear and trembling, but the road that will take them back into the presence of God.

And this is their story, the stranger reminds them. This is the story they have heard from birth, the story that is so familiar that they have not really understood what it has been telling them. But now they know. Cleopas and Hannah burn with excitement as they begin to understand the old, old story in a profoundly new way.

And they come near to where they were going, these three sojourners. Near to Emmaus, near to nowhere. But the stranger is not going to stop there and walks on. They call to him and invite them to stay with them for supper and to stay with them through the night.

And then they are at table, ready to eat. It starts getting a little spooky, a little eerie. Something familiar, yet so unusual. And then he does it. The stranger picks up the bread, blesses it and breaks it open. And as he breaks it open, he breaks open their eyes.

Is there something about Jesus’ hands when he takes the bread and breaks it open? Do his hands contain a message that speaks to them of the Jesus they knew and loved? Is it the way he holds the bread, or the way he speaks as he breaks it open? Something about his face, his eyes, his smile? Or is it just something about his hands?

Are they just ordinary hands, the kind of hands that ordinary travellers might have? The kind of hands that you and I have?

Look at your hands... take a few moments and really look at your hands. Experience your hands. Notice what they tell you. Notice where they are soft, where they are rough, where they are calloused. Notice where they have been hurt. Notice how sensitive they are – to touch, to temperature, to pain. Remember how they have been used – to make things, to break things, to hit, to caress, to comfort, to heal.

When Cleopas and Hannah see the stranger pick up the bread and break it open, it is more than a deja vu experience brought on by the breaking or by the smell of fresh bread. I think they see the scars. Just as Thomas had seen them when Jesus had appeared to him and the others and invited him to touch. To touch those wounds that are so real, yet so much in the past. They see the wounds which make nowhere into right here, which make anytime into right now. Right here and right now. The wounds which rearrange their reality and turn their world upside down and back to where it ought to be all at once. The wounds by which they know exactly who they have been travelling with, where they have been and where they are going.

Those wounds enable them to remember who they are – not just defeated and disillusioned people, but a people with a story. A people with a road to walk. A road to walk together. A road which does not lead just anywhere, a road which does not lead to nowhere, a road which does not lead everywhere. It is a road that leads to the heart of our faith.

Within an hour of talking to the stranger, Cleopas and Hannah are back on the road. This time it is not the road to Emmaus but the road to Jerusalem. Back to the road which will not bring tranquillity and comfort, ease and security, but one which will take them to new life – a life filled with struggle and pain, a life of wounds, a life of impossible challenge, a life of absolute joy and abundance. They head back to Jerusalem.

It is here on this road that we have a chance to join them. Not the kind of empty chance you get when you buy a lottery ticket, but a very real opportunity. An opportunity filled with hope. When we join them on this road, the road that leads through the cross to the heart of our faith, we will not journey alone. We will have each other. We will have strangers travelling with us. Wounded strangers. And they will know our wounds and travel with us anyway. And we will know that we travel with the risen Christ, the one who walks on wounded feet, the one who heals with wounded hands.

For the rest of this day, at least, look on the face and hands of those you meet, even if they are old friends, and be ready to enter into communion with the Christ who walks with us each step of the way.

Life goes on in God’s world, thanks be to God.

Amen.